My stomach churned. I felt sick. He was such a jerk; why did they obsess over what he was up to? Chasing stars never made sense to me. They were just regular folks. Often sleazy ones.

I flushed the toilet and stepped out of the stall. I wondered if he was a real musician, like a talented one? If so, that meant this was his first band gig because he was a genuine singer... who could perform solo on the show. He was famous, and I'd been mocking him nonstop, calling him a starving artist. Oh no. How had I missed that?

I despised nothing more than reality TV. I hadn't tuned in to anything since the debut season of The Bachelorette. I preferred crime shows. I washed my hands and glanced up at my puzzled expression in the mirror.

I hurried out before they spotted me. I didn't even know why. I just didn't want to be seen as the girl with the band guy.

When I returned to Gerry and Larry, the attractive woman was gone, and Larry wore an odd expression. He frowned at me and wheeled the cart out to the car. I glanced at Gerry, but his face offered no clues. They stayed silent.

Had I messed up somehow?

We drove without a word. I didn't even attempt to chat; something had obviously shifted.

When we pulled up at Gerry's place, Larry got out and helped haul everything to the door. I stepped out to assist, but Larry had it all balanced in his massive arms. Gerry hugged me but glanced at Larry first. "Larry, the spare key's under the mailbox." He turned to me. "It was great meeting you. I guess we'll catch you at a show?"

I started to say no but couldn't. I wanted to check it out. I nodded. "Yeah. When's the next?"

He smirked, almost challenging me to show up. "Tomorrow evening."

"Okay, cool. See you then." The exchange felt stiff. I felt awkward. I didn't know what had changed. I didn't want to find out.

I climbed back into the car. When he returned, he gave me a glance.

"What?" I asked.

He shook his head like it was nothing. "You hungry?"

Not up for his weird mood, I stared out the window. "No, thanks."

When he parked at our spot, I dreaded lugging everything upstairs, but he grabbed the bulk of it. I snagged a few items and rushed ahead to hold the door. He was midway up the second flight when a watermelon began slipping from his grip. I didn't spot it until he pinned it against the wall and stopped moving.

He nodded toward me. "Grab this."

I slipped my free arm beneath it, cradling the big thing against my bicep. Our bodies pressed close. I froze during the rescue as he sniffed my hair.

Hoisting it free, I dashed up the stairs with my now-loaded arms.

He sniffed my hair? What was that about? Was he ramping up the charm? Damn... Hair sniffing was kind of sexy. Unless he was thinking, what's that awful smell, and checked my head? Or if he was some creepy stalker—that wasn't hot. Damn, did my hair reek?

I set down the bags and unlocked the door for him. He didn't even say thanks. He dumped it all on the counter and began stowing things away.

I shot him a puzzled look. "What went down at Costco? Why did you and Gerry suddenly go quiet?"

He paused and studied me for a moment. "He thinks I should ask you out and clean up my act a bit. He figures a decent girl like you is the fix."

I swallowed thickly. "Decent girls don't go for guys like you."

He stepped closer. "I think decent girls aren't always truthful with themselves. They're so focused on being ordinary that they skip the fun. Once you get them to unwind, it's like hitting the jackpot."

I swallowed again. "I prefer ordinary. It's secure. It's reliable and straightforward."

He looked baffled. "You get one shot at life to make it extraordinary. Why squander it on average? Safe and easy is for wimps. Be exceptional and unique. Embrace what's special about you."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, Tony Robbins." I wanted to be pals with him, but teasing him felt safer.

He snorted. "That's how I aim to live. You never know when playing it safe blocks you from greatness." He picked up my new book. "On a fun note, The Brothers of County Claire? Maybe you're not such a decent girl. Maybe you're a bad one." His eyes sparkled with mischief.

I reached for the book, but he held it high. I ended up with my chest against his as I stretched. He lowered it with a smug grin.

I yanked it from him. "I enjoy reading. Decent girls read." My gut twisted. I wanted to be the 'bad girl.' His pep talk had me pondering what I was missing out on, like him.

He gave me a stare. "How many books a week? You think I haven't seen you're home every night? All you do is chill here."

I frowned and started shelving items. "I'm building habits for school. Why does it bother you?"

He took my hand, and I saw the change. He shifted from teasing me as a decent girl to trying to undress me. He leaned in, pinning me against the counter. He tilted his head, peeked down my shirt, then planted his hands on either side, caging me. "My sister reads those. Calls them one-handed reads."

My face heated, but I held firm. I pressed forward, pushing my chest into his. "Yeah, that's what all girls call them. Decent ones just keep quiet about it. They're superior to the real deal. The Brothers of County Claire don't leave messes or have temper tantrums. They don't ogle other women. They satisfy me and vanish, no need for shots or checkups."

His gaze locked on mine. "Maybe you haven't experienced the proper real thing."

I batted my lashes. "Oh, you mean one full night with Thin Ice's frontman?" I shoved him away and brushed past. "Thanks, but no."

He grabbed my arm, but I dropped the book and reached for my mace. He looked shocked, releasing me.

He raised his hands. "I wasn't going to harm you. Never would. I thought we were just playing."

I swallowed and glanced down. I bent to grab my book. My breath hitched. I turned and bolted to my room. I shut the door and clutched the book to my chest, back against it.

I didn't want him to notice. I was tough once. I didn't need aid. I had to stay tough.

I curled up on the bed and dove into the book. Every face became his. He elevated my one-handed read like never before. Fantasy trumped reality every time.

I dozed off after finishing, but the night was sweltering.

I tossed again before kicking off the final sheet. My tank and shorts felt like a sticky prison. Even with both windows open, the heat was brutal. I grumbled, got out of bed, and shuffled to the kitchen. I swung open the fridge doors and let the chill air hit me. I sighed, tilting my head back. The heat was unbearable.

I eyed the almond milk carton he raved about and grabbed it. It felt cool and moist in my hands. I pressed it to my chest. I hiked up my tank, tucking it under my breasts, and snagged another carton. I held it to my belly, rotating them as they warmed from my sweaty skin. I shut my eyes and moaned. "Mmmmm."

"That's a nice sound." He broke into my cooling moment.

I startled, shoving the cartons back. My cheeks burned, though it didn't matter—they were already red.

The fridge light spotlighted my embarrassed face.

He lounged against the counter in just boxers. I could make out his tattoos in the low light.

I turned, shutting the door. "Sorry." The kitchen plunged into near darkness.

He flicked on the stove light. "Did it feel nice?"

I nodded. "I'm melting."

He came around the counter; his warmth sparked a new sweat on my skin. He reached past me, his hairy arm grazing my thigh, opening the freezer. He pulled out a bag of edamame from Costco and handed it over. I took it with a smile.

"How was the book?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

I chuckled. "Good. Predictable. I like that." I went to press the frozen bag to my chest, but he shook his head and took it back.

He reached behind me. "On the back of your neck." I jolted as the icy cold touched my skin. He held it there, towering over me with his piercing gaze. I made a noise—neither of us knew what.

He looked puzzled as I stepped away.

"That's freezing."

He nodded. "Yep." He grabbed a bag of peas and repeated. "So you prefer predictable?" he asked, opening the fridge and handing me a bottle that looked like beer but wasn't.

"Yeah." I twisted the cap, took a sip, and exhaled. It was cranberry lemonade booze.

He grabbed a beer and drank.

I arched a brow. "You got these for me?"

He shook his head. "I keep lady drinks around."

I groaned. "Eww. So I'm sipping a hookup lemonade?"

He laughed and stretched, showing off his shiny muscles. Suddenly, I didn't mind the heat. If it made him gleam like that, it was worth it. Until he spoke. "You're so critical. Don't you ever just hook up for fun?"

Even in the faint light, my shocked expression was obvious.

"Okay, guess not. Maybe you should give it a try instead of reading constantly. You're pretty uptight, princess. I could help you chill, if you're interested."

I gasped. "I'm not. Why? Because I don't hand myself over to every guy I meet? I have too much self-respect to let someone like you near me."

His gaze turned icy and focused. The playful smirk faded like a forgotten thought. He stepped close, brushing my chest against his abs. "If I touched you, you'd enjoy it." He leaned his face near mine. "If I wanted to kiss you, princess, I would, and you'd love it and crave more." He hovered.

My unease was drowned out by the raw, primal urges surging through me. He grinned and pulled back. "You want me as badly as I want you."

I shook my head. "You're arrogant. I'd never let you touch me. Not a guy like you." I stepped back and around the counter.

I sensed his eyes on me as I smacked the edamame down and headed to my stuffy room. I shut the door, but he followed seconds later, opening it. I backed against the cool wall as he loomed over me. His frame was massive and intimidating in the best ways, hovering like that. He spoke quietly. "We need windows and doors open for airflow. Trust me, you Northern folks don't know how to beat the heat. I've got this."

I sipped my lemonade and replayed every kitchen moment.

The tickle of his arm hair on my thigh. His slick, firm body so near that my unsupported breasts pressed into his abs. I breathed through my mouth and shook my head. He was spot on—I wanted him. Worse, I loved that he wanted me.

Memories of the redheads, the trashy blonde, and his sleazy Costco stare were tough to summon with so little blood in my brain.

The attraction was impossible to ignore. So was his habit of bedding anyone he chatted with. That should be a turnoff, but no—my body craved him, and my mind was along for the ride. Didn't I mind that he hooked up with every girl he talked to?