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So, I think I’ll wait.

She looks surprised when she exits the building a short time later, but I note the redness around her eyes.

“You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“I wanted to quickly check in with the office anyway,” I lie. Then I tilt my head. “You okay?”

She forces a little smile. “Yeah. Bit scary though. It’s a lot of change in a short time.”

The tears start welling again as she speaks, and I inch a little closer.

“My mom helped me pick this apartment.”

I’m ready when a soft sob escapes and I pull her into my arms. She doesn’t stay there long, giving herself only a moment before she straightens up and steps back.

“I need to stop crying on you,” she self-admonishes.

“I don’t mind,” I assure her, adding with a cheeky grin, “I welcome any opportunity to feel you up.”

It has the desired effect when she snorts, her eyes now sparkling with humor.

“Good to know.”

Then she studies me closely, her head tilting slightly.

“Every time I think I have a handle on you, you surprise me.”

I almost laugh; there’s no one more surprised than me. Hell, I’ve successfully avoided emotional entanglements for years but, for some reason, I can’t stay out of this woman’s life.

And I’m definitely not in the habit of flirting, but that was a definite come-on. More than that, I realize it’s the truth; I like touching her, and she doesn’t seem to mind me doing it.

So, in the parking lot of the building she just tearfully said goodbye to, I brace her slender neck with my hands, tip her chin up with my thumbs, and lay claim to her mouth, not holding anything back this time.

Dana

* * *

My toes are still curled in my shoes when I pull up in front of the house.

That was some kiss.

If Mr. Vincenzo, my grumpy eighty-year-old neighbor, hadn’t yelled down, “Get a room!” from his window, I can’t tell you where it might have led.

And here I thought my sex drive was easing into its slumber years, but apparently it’s still very much alive. Turns out it had little to do with me, and a whole lot with the person kissing or touching me.

It’s been at least a year and a half since Daniel, the pharmaceutical rep I finally agreed to dinner with, insisted on following me home from the restaurant I’d driven myself to. He insisted he wanted to see me home safely, and then proceeded to ambush me with his lips by my front door.

Clearly he had an agenda, given he was in town only for the night, and the whole dinner experience left me lukewarm at best, but I thought, what the hell? He was decent-looking, had a nice smile, and smelled good, and tomorrow he’d be gone.

But I couldn’t get into it, no matter how hard I tried, and despite his well-practiced moves. After maybe ten minutes of making out in my hallway, and not a single stomach flutter or uptick in blood pressure, I made up some excuse of sudden fatigue and brushed him out the door. He not so graciously called me a dried-up old prune, and I considered maybe he had a point. Maybe I was past my prime.

In comes Rick, who is able to get those stomach flutters going with just a look or an innocent peck. But that kiss? Bold and unapologetic, inviting the same from me, and I couldn’t have held back if I tried. It felt like he was stripping years of protective build-up from my nerve endings, setting my body on fire with his touch.

No wonder my hands are still shaking when I pull up in front of my house, where Nate is already unloading furniture.

“Here, let me help you with that,” I hear Rick say as he jogs over to Nate, who is trying to pull my comfy sofa from the back of his truck.

I busy myself grabbing boxes from the back seat and carrying them inside, where I dump them in what may become my home office, but for the time being will serve as storage for all the things I don’t have an immediate designated place for.