“Where the hell are you?”

“I know.” I glance in my rearview mirror and then back to the road ahead. “I’m running late.” My foot presses down on the gas pedal. It’s over a forty-five minute drive to Haddonfield from Philly, depending on traffic. I need to speed the hell up.

“You’re fucking lucky Dad’s not here. He had a consultation for another job in Royersford this morning. He just texted me that he’s finishing up now and will be on his way. I suggest you get here—fast—before he does.”

There is a God. I gun it, pushing the speedometer to almost ninety. “Thanks, Bry. I owe you one.”

A snort erupts through the speaker. “Yeah, one of many. And you better not be speeding. If you lose your license again, I won’t be your personal chauffeur this time.”

I let him slide on that one and we end our call. Over the past couple years Bryson has done more for me than anyone else. He’s more than just my cousin; he’s my brother and best friend. We grew up living next door to each other, learning the importance of family from an early age. After Sean died, our relationship could have gone either way, but thanks to Bryson’s support and loyalty, we’re closer than ever.

Finally, I reach the McDaniels’ home and pull into their massive driveway. I cut the engine off, hop out of the truck, and hustle toward the back of the house. I’m walking along a pathway that leads past the scandalous front porch—just the sight of which brings a smug grin to my face—around a small pond, and through a landscaped grove of trees when I nearly trip over my own two feet and face-plant onto the perfectly manicured lawn.

The source of my smug grin only moments before is right ahead of me, and she hasn’t seen me yet. Jenna. Her back is to me as she makes her way down the path, so I do what any guy would do and take a moment to appreciate what’s in front of me. Her cinnamon hair is tossed in a high bun on top of her head and a loose blue shirt falls off her left shoulder. Very tight jean shorts reveal the curves of her very fine, perfectly shaped ass. An ass I had the pleasure of groping just a few days ago. She seems to struggle with carrying a large box. I, being the gentleman I choose to be at times, jog to catch up with her, but before I can reach her, the box slips from her hands, spilling all the contents to the ground.

“Fuck!” she shouts. Her head swivels as she surveys the mess, and she huffs once before bending over to pick up what appear to be painting supplies.

I smile. She’s in the perfect position for me to fully check her out. So I do. Again. After my peep show, I kneel down and grab a few paintbrushes from the ground. “I wouldn’t have expected the first word popping out of your mouth to be fuck. You just don’t seem like that kind of girl.”

Brown eyes pin mine. “Yeah? And what kind of girl do I seem to be?” Her eyes tell me she’s amused, but her tone tells me otherwise. Does she ever smile? This is the second time I’ve seen her, and both times she’s given me dirty looks— attractive dirty looks, but dirty looks all the same.

My lips form a lopsided grin. “Hmm…dammit. Yeah.” I nod, sure of my assessment. “You seem more like a dammit kind of girl.”

Jenna rolls her eyes. She quickly gathers the rest of her art supplies and tosses them into the box before standing and resting the package on her left hip. “Too bad you don’t know two fucks about me.”

I laugh. I have a major smartass on my hands. That’s okay; it’s just going to take a little longer to lighten this one up a bit.

I’ve been around a lot of women, so I’m able to tell one type apart from another. Jenna’s type is daring. They’re smart, snarky wiseasses. They live for a challenge and love being right. But they’re also—no matter what—women. And women can be sweet-talked at any moment.

I lean into her. She steps back. I smile.

There’s just enough sun to fully take her in. Jenna’s eyes, man, they’re something. It’s not the cute button nose, the soft, plump lips that I had the pleasure of tasting, or the even, golden skin tone that compels me. All of these features are striking, sure, but her eyes… Jenna’s eyes are exotic, stunning. There seems to be an untold story hidden behind those large, almond-shaped beauties. The mystery of those eyes…

I lean my head in close to her. Really close. Jenna’s lashes flutter, with wide eyes stunned. An extensive grin spreads across my face. “Ah, but if my memory serves me correctly, I know exactly how you taste.” Her breath catches; she seems to be at a loss for words. Score. I lift my hand and twirl one of the paintbrushes I’m still holding. “And it seems to me that I just learned you like to paint.” Her eyes narrow and her nostrils lightly flare as she snatches the brush out of my hand. She opens her mouth to say something but shuts it when we hear someone else call my name.

“Logan?” Bryson walks up beside us. Eyes still on Jenna, I straighten my shoulders, flash her a knowing grin, and then turn to face my cousin.

“What’s up?”

He raises a questioning brow and glances over at Jenna. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Let’s get to work.” I clasp his shoulder and start walking, guiding him toward the site.

“What was that about?” he asks quietly.

I turn my head and look at Jenna who’s still standing there breathing heavily with the box glued to her hip. I wink at her and turn right back around. “Nothing. I was just helping her with a few things she accidently dropped.”

He grips my shoulder and leans in. “Logan, not here. This is work. Keep it like that. You understand?”

I shrug off his hold. I know what he means. I don’t like it, but I understand. “Yeah, I understand.”

It’s not like we’d have more than just that one kiss on her front porch anyway.

Jenna

Logan looks back at me as he walks away with the other contractor. He shoots me a wink before turning his attention back to the path. “Nothing. I was just helping her with a few things she accidently dropped,” I hear him say.

Exactly. Nothing is going on between us, and Logan better keep that in mind the next time he invades my personal space. A few days ago, I asked for it; I knew what I was getting myself into. Well, I wasn’t expecting for his kiss to be so powerful and scorching hot. Still, that was on my terms. I was in control. Sort of. I couldn’t foresee that I would enjoy the taste of him, the smell of him, the way he held me firmly against his chest, how strong his arms felt wrapped securely around me, or how, for a short moment within that one kiss, I forgot who I was. The world around us was completely still. I was lost in the arms of a complete stranger. That’s what bothers me most: him. He bothers me. I know nothing about him, so how the hell could he make me feel so alive, so at peace, so…safe?

It’s infuriating, not to mention unrealistic. The whole thing must have been a fluke brought on by the anxiety of everything that occurred prior to seeing him: the scene in Dr. Rosario’s office the day before, losing the bracelet, him diving into the pool, Matthew walking up when he was the last person in the world I wanted to see. Logan was there, and I took advantage of that by kissing him. But I kissed him to get rid of Matthew; I didn’t realize kissing him would rid me of all my thoughts as well.

The stubble of his growing beard was rough, yet the kiss felt soft.

His arms were confident, yet I felt vulnerable in his hold.

His touch was unfamiliar, yet it felt right within the split seconds of that kiss.

The memory shivers through me. I shake it off, adjust the box in my hands, and continue on my route toward the shed.

Thirty minutes later, I’m standing before three easels, all holding a different canvas painting. Old ones, of course, since I still can’t find the desire to actually create anything. Maybe by taking time to admire my previous work, I’ll find a sense of inspiration again. All three of the pieces in front of me have a sacred place in my heart. Each has its own story, its own venture and journey, which represents a specific time and place in my life.