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out was because he looked a little to cut and dry for me, but for Haven, he was perfect. It took some convincing, but she finally agreed to meet him. I think the fact that he was a reader cinched the deal. I could only imagine how the date would go. I had high hopes for her coming home deflowered, but witnessing her when he came to the door—zero chemistry between those two. I’d even “undressed” her appropriately for a first date.
    “I can’t wear that. Are you crazy, Weezie? That top looks ten sizes too small,” Haven yelped, rolling her eyes.
    “It’s actually two sizes smaller, and that’s the point. Makes the girls look huge. Just remember, you never get a second chance to make a first impression,” I quipped.
    “And that impression should be slut queen from whore central?”
    I chuckled. Only she would be convinced a short skirt and tight shirt would make her look like a whore. “Hey, watch it! Those are my clothes you’re talking about.”
    “I rest my case,” she replied as she shook her head. “I can’t wear this. Crap, I’ll look like a hooker.”
    “Well, fuck me. In less than sixty seconds, you’ve referred to me as a slut, a whore, and now a hooker.” I chuckled. “Exactly how am I supposed to take that, Haven?”
    “You know what I meant, and by the way, if the shoe fits—”
    I wagged my finger in front of her face. “Hold that thought. Your date is here. And put the hooker shirt back on,” I said as I shoved her into the bathroom, tossing the shirt in her face. I could hear her huffing and puffing as I closed the door.
    I went to let Harold in. I scanned him up and down. He looked different. There was something off about him. Fuck. So maybe Haven wouldn’t notice. She had no experience in dating, and besides, they’d probably talk about books all night. No use waving a red flag in her face. Besides, tonight would be educational for her.
    While Haven and Harold went on their date, I planned to watch some television, consume a lovely pint of Ben & Jerry’s, and get to bed early.
    It was almost nine when someone knocked at the door.
    Joey Miles. The walking, talking icon of the lacrosse team. Damn, he was pretty, even wearing a multicolored cast on his right arm. I’d heard he fell while skiing and broke it. Poor baby… Kissing it would certainly make it feel better, if not for him, for me. So here he stood, with me in a tank top, braless, and baggy sweatpants carrying a bowl of Cherry Garcia. Why was he here? We didn’t run in the same circles. I mean, yeah, I knew who he was. Who didn’t?
    “So you gonna invite me in, Red?” he asked in the sexiest, deepest voice I’d ever heard. I’m sure my ice cream began to melt just having him so close.
    “Umm… yeah, I guess so. Do I know you?” I asked, attempting to be coy. Not one of my better attributes.
    He squeezed past me as I opened the door farther. Holy crap, he was hard. I felt the size and it’s thickness as he passed me. I could feel the heat radiating from his package. I put the bowl of ice cream on the table by the door because I suddenly craved something else.
    I knew why he was here. I wasn’t incensed by it. How could anyone be upset with Joey Miles? God made perfection. Tall, lean, and a smile that would make any girl drop her panties—except me. I wasn’t interested in him that way. I had no intention of letting him get frisky with that part of my anatomy… especially right now. I heard him bite back a soft groan as he sat on the sofa. I noticed he beckoned me to sit beside him. Oh, he wants me close. He shifted his body and tugged on the front of his jeans, making his intentions obvious as I sat down.
    “Are you in pain?” I asked, grinning as I stared at the buttons on his jeans.
    “Among other things,” he replied as his eyes went to his crotch.
    We both stared at his full-blown erection. It was an encouraging sight. I pursed my lips together as I closed my eyes. Men had no idea what giving a