Last night, after I snuck out back with Dana, I was sure he’d come barging through our apartment door and cause a scene. He didn’t.

“Dana gave me a ride,” I answer, pressing the fresh pizza dough into a round stone.

“I was going to give you a ride.” He uses the wooden spoon to swirl the sauce around. His shoulders are tense, and he sounds tired. Exhausted actually.

“Dana offered. I accepted.”

He sighs, running his long, thick fingers through his hair. “Why are you so stubborn?”

I still can’t figure out why he feels this need to wiggle his way into my life, to protect me. Maybe Mallory had something to do with this. Whatever it is, I don’t need it.

“Can you just drop it?” I ask. “If you were so worried about how I was getting home, you should have followed up sooner.”

“I made sure you made it home okay,” he replies in a low voice.

“How did you do that?”

He shrugs. “I followed you.”

“That’s not creepy.”

“Some day you’ll thank me,” he answers.

Maybe he’s right.

“Can I have that please?” I ask, holding my hand out for the spoon.

He just stares at me, eyes locking for longer than I’d like—longer than I can bear. His Adam’s apple dips as he places the spoon in my hands. “What are you making?”

“Veggie pizza. It’s my mom’s recipe.” I train my eyes on the pan, watching the sauce simmer. Anything to keep from looking at him.

“Smells amazing. I don’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal . . . besides eggs, of course.”

I stir, trying to make myself look busy.

He stares, increasing my discomfort.

I don’t know him well enough to make easy conversation. I keep my hands and eyes occupied, until I remember he didn’t walk in empty handed.

“What’s in the brown bag?” I ask, pointing to where he’d set it on the counter. When my eyes find him again, I notice he hasn’t moved. He’s been standing right behind me, just far enough back that we’re not touching. He’d been staring . . . I can tell by how long it’s taking him to react to my question.

“Tequila.”

“Do we have limes?”

A sexy grin spreads across his face. “Bottom drawer of the fridge.”

Glancing out the window, I see huge snowflakes falling across the light from the street lamp. Blake wouldn’t be my first choice to spend a snowy night with, but it doesn’t look like either of us will be going anywhere.

“If you share your tequila, I’ll share my pizza.”

Without hesitation, he says, “Sounds like we have a deal. Do you need any help? My end of the bargain is already met.”

I wave him off. “I got it.”

“I’m going to jump in the shower,” he says. He holds my waist, gently moving me aside to place the tequila in the fridge. His hands apply the perfect amount of pressure. I shiver, imagining what else they could do. Then, without another word, he disappears behind his bedroom door.

I pour myself another glass of red, taking small sips as I place the sauce, veggies, and fresh mozzarella over the homemade dough. I slide the stone in the oven, my mouth watering at the mere thought of having the reminder of home against my taste buds.

Blake walks out of his room in a pair of navy lounge pants that hang low on his hips and a tight white T-shirt right as I’m about to pull the pizza from the oven. The mere sight of him causes me to hesitate. I can’t remember the last time someone affected me like this.

“Is it ready?” he asks, sliding up behind me. His body doesn’t touch mine, but I still feel the heat as I breathe in his scent.

I shake all thoughts of him and his allure from my mind. “I was just about to take the pizza out of the oven.”

“Do you need help?”

“Umm, you could take out some plates and silverware.”

He steps away from me, allowing me to relax. I turn the oven off and carefully take the pizza stone out. It looks amazing, crust perfectly browned, cheese bubbling . . . exactly how Mom makes it.

“Do you want me to cut it?”

I shake my head, handing him a cup of fresh grated cheese and crushed red pepper flakes. “Set these on the table, I’ll be right over.”

“The only place I’m going to let you have any control around here is in the kitchen.” He winks, then walks away from me. I’m not exactly sure what he meant by that; there’s not one aspect of my life I’m going to let him control.

I cut the pizza, placing two perfect slices on each plate, and carry them over to the table. His eyes widen like it’s nothing he’s ever seen before. “Is this all you can make?” he asks, sprinkling some Parmesan over his.

I take my first bite, the hot sauce burning the roof of my mouth. “I have lots of tricks up my sleeve,” I reply, wiping the corners of my mouth.

The sexy smirk returns as he fixes his gaze on me. “I’ll bet you do.”

“So do you have any plans after dinner?” I ask, almost hoping for a night to myself.

“I don’t think so. They’re calling for at least a foot of snow overnight. I’m thinking about watching a movie or something.”

I groan. “I hate TV.”

“How about a game? I know one in particular that could be interesting.”

“And if I say no?”

“We could talk about your rules. I didn’t quite get through all of them last night.” He takes a big bite of pizza, but his eyes never leave me.

“I’m serious about the rules.”

His head tilts to one side. “And I’m serious about not following them.”

I feel my face heating up. I didn’t ask him for too much, or at least I didn’t think I did. “We better just let the rules be then.”

“Finish your pizza, and then I’ll explain the game. Since we’re going to be roommates for the foreseeable future, Lemon Drop, we should probably get to know each other better.”

For the next ten minutes, we quietly devour our pizza. Even without words, it’s nice to have someone to sit with. There’s no arguing at least.

When we’re done, he picks up our plates and rinses them off while I disappear inside my bedroom to change into a pair of black jogging pants and a matching hoodie. I tie my long red hair up into a bun and step back out into the living room, noticing the supper mess has been completely cleaned up.

Blake’s in the kitchen, slicing limes and bobbing his head to the rhythm of some heavy rock song. When he spots me, his eyes scan my body, head to toe. “I like that look much better than your Charlie’s uniform.”

“No you don’t,” I say, rolling my eyes at him.

His eyebrows knit in.

Sighing, I plop myself down on one end of the couch, pulling my knees up in front of me. “Let’s get this game started, or I’m going to go read a book.”

He comes around the counter with two shot glasses, a bowl of sliced limes, and a full bottle of tequila in hand. “Did they not have shitty bars, books, and cheap rent in Nebraska?”

I’m back to wanting to kill him. “They sure did, but there were also a bunch of things I wanted to leave in Nebraska.”

“I get it. You’re running from your past.”

“The game, Blake. Let’s get to the game.”

He arranges everything on the wooden coffee table, settling in on the other end of the couch. Then, he glares at me until I can’t even look at him anymore. Maybe I’m afraid that I might see too much in him . . . or maybe it’s that he might see too much in me. Before he says anything, he grabs my knees and pulls me closer. Not on top of him or right next to him but still too close.

“Have you ever played truth or dare?” he asks.

“When I was like thirteen.”

He smiles. “This one is a little different . . . there won’t be any dares.”

“What’s the point?” I ask, scrunching my nose. “Besides, aren’t we a little old for this?”

“Maybe, but I just want to get to know you better. Is that so hard to believe?” He watches me carefully, and when I don’t respond, he fills both shot glasses and slides one to my side of the table. “Here are the rules. We take turns asking questions. If you don’t want to answer, you have to take a shot.”