“Great. If they have eight of them, I can get this job done tonight.”

“You need eight screws to get the job done?” That brow cocked even higher. “That happens to be my favorite number.”

Now this guy I could flirt with.

I rolled my eyes and pushed gently on his chest, which was broad and thick. He wore a dark gray track-style jacket which fit his upper body much better than the old baggy sweatshirts he used to wear in high school. “Very funny. So you’re talking to me today, huh?”

The smile slid off his face, and immediately I was sorry I’d mentioned anything about our previous meeting. “Yeah. Sorry again about… that one day. I was just…” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, his muscular chest rising and falling. “I don’t know. I was having a bad day.”

“Me too. God.” My shoulders shuddered at the memory. “An awful day.”

He looked at me sideways. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I got fired. And then I fell on my face in front of you at the beach. And then the Cherry Pageant people took my crown away.” At the time, it had seemed like such a serious personal insult—now it just sounded silly, like I was a child whose favorite toy had been taken away.

“Why?”

I sighed, closing my eyes. “It’s a long and embarrassing story.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets. “We all have those.”

I thought about what Natalie had said about his recent past. What do you know, Sebastian Pryce and I have something in common. It gave me an idea. “Hey. Want to trade long and embarrassing stories over a drink?”

His expression immediately went from sympathetic to scared, and I wondered if I’d gone too far.

“I’m sorry.” I glanced around. “You came here for something, and the store’s about to close. I shouldn’t keep you. It was just a thought. Maybe some other time.”

“No, no. It’s OK.” He paused. “Actually, I think I’d like that.”

I cocked my head. “You don’t sound too sure about it.”

“I’m sure.” He tapped my nose, an affectionate gesture that surprised me. “Listen. It’s not every day that the Skylar Nixon asks me for a drink. You have to give me a minute.” Lifting an arm in between us, he pinched the skin on his wrist.

“Oh, stop.” Flustered, I pushed his hand down. “Don’t be silly.”

He grinned. “I need to grab some chairs, though. Should we meet out front?”

“Chairs? You’re shopping for furniture at the hardware store?”

“For my patio. They’ve got some on sale here this week.”

“Where do you live?”

“On Old Mission. I built a cabin.”

“Really? I live on Old Mission too. I mean, my parents do, and I’m—” I shook my head. “Never mind. That’s another embarrassing story. Anyway, that’s awesome about the cabin. I love cabins. So much charm.”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure you’d call it charming yet, but it’s working for me.”

“I’d love to see it. Maybe I can help.” He looked at me sort of oddly, and again I wondered if I was being too forward. “Sorry—it was just a thought. I tend to say anything that comes into my head. I should really learn to think before speaking.”

“No, it was a nice thought. I just—haven’t had many visitors.”

I decided to drop it. “Well, I’m going to pay for my screws”—I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut. “Don’t even make a joke, please—and then I will meet you out front. Sound good?”

He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips. I liked the way the bottom one was fuller than the top. “Sounds good.”

He brushed by me, and I pretended to occupy myself counting out eight screws, but really I watched him as he walked away, enjoying the fluttery feeling in my stomach. I admired the round ass, the trim waist, the V of his torso to his shoulders. I imagined what he’d look naked, and the flutter moved lower.

Whoa, there, Skylar. Just calm down. Yes, it’s been a while since you were in the saddle, but that is no mechanical bull you’re looking at. And if what Natalie said was true, he probably needs a friend.

Still.

I tilted my head to get a better view.

I could go seven seconds on that body. I could go seven seconds on that body all. night. long.

The fact that I ran into Skylar again on a good day was the most mercy I’d been granted in a long time. It’s not that the obsessive thoughts weren’t there, but they didn’t feel so huge or compelling. I was able to consciously file them in a compartment of my brain I thought of as the Fuck You I Don’t Care folder and be myself. On my good days, I could do that.

It felt so easy to talk to her, and she was so sweetly embarrassed about her unintentionally dirty remarks.

But I’d had an unintentional twitch in my pants when she put her hands on my chest, and I’d faltered when she mentioned my behavior from two weeks ago. I had no decent explanation. The truth was, not a day had gone by that I hadn’t thought about her.

And then there she was. Chatting me up. Asking me for a drink. Expressing interest in where I lived. Wanting to come over and see it.

And I’d handled myself just fine.

I could have said no to the drink. I could have gone home, crossed Talk to Skylar Nixon off my list, called today one of my best days yet, and allowed myself a celebratory beer on the deck in one of my new chairs, most likely followed by celebratory jerking off to the memory of her ass in those yoga pants. (Twice, of course.)

But the truth was, I didn’t want to be alone.

Was it wrong to take her up on her offer just for a little company? Would it be too misleading? She was pretty and sweet, but dating was out of the question. She deserved better than me. And I couldn’t see her as a fuck friend, either. She was too good for that.

Keep it in your pants asshole. She said a drink, that’s all.

So while I selected and paid for my Adirondack chairs, I made up my mind to get to know her the way I wished I would have in school, and not to let either my attraction for her or my irrational fear of hurting her get in the way. I’d keep my compulsions in check, and stay in the moment.

For a guy like me, it was a pretty fucking tall order.

But today was a good day.

• • •

She pulled up next to me as I slid the heavy boxes containing the chairs into the back of my truck. “What do you think?” she asked through the open windows of an old Ford Explorer. It surprised me—I’d pictured a girl like her driving a much flashier car. Although her clothing today had surprised me too. I couldn’t ever recall seeing Skylar Nixon in sweats before. They looked good on her, though. She was small but curvy, not waif thin like a lot of the beautiful women were in New York. Skylar looked like the kind of girl you could go hiking with, but then you could take her out for ice cream afterward, and maybe she’d order a double scoop.

It gave me an idea.

“Hey, have you had dinner yet?” It was close to six, and I hadn’t eaten. A restaurant was always a trigger risk, but if ever I was going to take one, it should be on a day like today.

“No.” She glanced at the plastic bag on the passenger seat. “I was trying to get this last chore done first, but I don’t care about it now.”

“Would you maybe want to grab a bite?”

She smiled. “Sure. Place?”

“What do you feel like?”

She thought for a second. “I wouldn’t say no to a cheeseburger.”

“How about Sleder’s?” I suggested. “Meet there?”

“OK. Or we could drive together,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll ride with you and you can drop me here afterward.”

“All right.” I said it, but the hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I moved around to the passenger side to open the door for her.

“Thanks.” She hopped up into the cab and I shut the door, my heart pumping a little too quickly for comfort.