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“Nothing?” I turned his hand over. “Nigga, your shit look crazy.”

“I’m good.”

“You punch somebody?”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Something like that.”

I laughed. “You too damn old to be fighting.”

“Who said it was a fight?”

I looked up at him.

Something about the way he said it made me pause.

Because Levin didn’t look like somebody who’d been in a fight.

Not a scratch on his face.

No busted lip.

Nothing.

Just fucked-up knuckles.

“Okay, scary ass,” I muttered, letting his hand go.

He chuckled.

“Anyway.”

He moved slightly closer.

“What gets you excited?”

Something about the way he asked that shit sent goosebumps across my arms.

“Huh?”

“What makes you excited, Samantha?”

His hand rested against my thigh.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t squeeze.

Just sat there.

Warm.

My eyes dropped to it.

Then back to him.

“I…I don’t know.”