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take.
    “Yes?”
    “Okay, I’ll be right back. Can I steal a T-shirt or something?”
    “Sure.” Looking to the ceiling after the bathroom door closes and the shower starts, I shake my head. “You like to torture people, don’t you?”
    Pacing the living room, I try to figure a way out of this mess. We’ve only hung out twice and she’s mentioned to me at least three times she’s happy to have a good guy friend. That most guys just want to get in her pants. I can see why. She’s fucking gorgeous. And perfect. And so damn tiny you could just pick her up and do all kinds of awesome things. And her tits are just right there and so tempting. And her ass is more than a generous handful.
    “And knock it off. She’s. Your. Friend,” I whisper to myself, but it doesn’t do much to detour my thoughts.
    The water in the shower turns off and I can hear her wet feet padding on the tile floor. Naked feet. Naked body. Wrapped in a towel, probably. She opens the door and steps out exactly how I imagined her.
    “Shirt?” she asks, holding out her hand.
    “Sorry. I forgot.” I grab the only other clean T-shirt in the closet and hand it to her while standing a few feet back.
    “Thanks,” she responds sweetly, and steps back into the bathroom. The only thing I can do now is pray her sweatpants weren’t damaged in the soda incident. I take my seat on the sofa and keep my eyes fixed on the TV when the bathroom door opens. She places the towel she dried her perfect, naked body with on the wet couch cushion and sits on the cushion right next to me. When her bare legs come into view, I swallow hard and try not to think about it, but she notices my discomfort.
    “I’m wearing underwear, you can breathe,” she jokes.
    “It’s cool,” I say stiffly.
    “Cutter, look at me.” I turn my head and train my eyes on hers, begging them not to drift lower. “I can put my pants on, if you’d like. They’re a little wet, but I will if you want me to.”
    Well, if that’s not a loaded question. If I say yes, I’m an asshole who would rather her sit in soiled clothes than let them dry. If I say no, I’m the typical dude that would never in his right mind ask a girl to put clothes on when they’re already off; half the battle is won.
    “I don’t know how to answer that,” I respond honestly. With Josette, truth seems like the best option. I’d like to think that even though we’ve only known each other a short time, she knows I’m not the typical guy who just wants to screw her because she’s hot. Don’t get me wrong, I’d have sex with her, but I also really do like her and wouldn’t want to ruin it because I’m hiding a hard-on underneath a throw pillow.
    “Answer with the first thing that comes to mind. Do you want me to put my pants back on?”
    “If you don’t, I’ll probably do something stupid,” I blurt. I have to look away; she can see right through me.
    “What if it’s not stupid?” she asks, catching me off guard.
    “How is it not stupid? You’re my only friend here other than Garrett. I do something stupid, we’re not friends anymore. I don’t want that. I really do like you, Jo. I don’t wanna screw anything up.”
    “Cutter.” She demands my attention. Her hypnotizing blue eyes pull me in and I know I’m a goner. This isn’t a crush. I want her. I want her bad, and not just for a night. She says, “It’s not stupid. You think you’re the only one over there freaking out? I just hide it better than you.”
    I lean toward her, putting my hand on her outer thigh, the silkiness of her skin scorching my palm, and her breath hitches. Some sort of weird man pride surges through my veins and I run my hand a little higher until I reach the hem of the shirt.
    “I’ve never been a fan of tennis, but I hear you’re good at zombies,” I say, hoping she’ll get the reference to the movie we just watched.
    “I like zombies,” she says on a breath, tilting her head to the side and licking her