How Dare You: A Spicy Romantic Comedy

Chapter 1

Devon

Email Mom a list of reasons I won’t be going on dates she sets up anymore.

-Note from Devon Blake”s planner, June 10th

7:45pm. Not too late to get some work done. At least my night is salvageable. This guy hasn’t asked me a single question in the thirty minutes we’ve been on this date. I pull cash out of my handbag and leave it on the bar to cover my drink and tip. My-Credit-Score-is-the-Sexiest-Thing-About-Me doesn’t miss a beat explaining why his car is superior to his coworker’s until I stand up to leave.“

His wasn’t even on a waitlist. Hey—where are you going?” he stutters.

Walking away, I answer, “You don’t need me for this conversation. Carry on.”

If he protests further, I don’t hear it, because a low chuckle coming from my other side grabs my attention. “That was cold.” A tall man with sun-streaked blond hair comes into step with me, holding the door to the restaurant open and following me onto the sidewalk. “Deserved, but cold.” His mouth curves into a smile that’s probably been getting him laid since high school. “I liked it.”

His dark gray eyes watch me with the kind of smug assuredness only the owner of a face like his can carry off. Symmetry, enviable bone structure, and high cheek bones all showcase that irresistible smile. A clear aversion to sunscreen has his skin tanned a deeper shade than the slightly-too-long hair that grazes his clean-shaven jaw. A handful of thick-lined, traditional style tattoos decorate his thick, muscular arms. I have to look up quite a bit to make eye contact, making him at least six-four or six-five. He’s indisputably attractive—and he knows it.

My gaze latches onto his. After enough prolonged eye contact most people get uncomfortable, back down, and most importantly, they leave me alone. But not this one. Instead, he takes a step closer.

“Been a while since I was in a staring contest,” he jokes. “What rules do you play by? Am I allowed to blink?” When I don’t answer, he continues, “Okay, my rules. No blinking.”

This is ridiculous. And yet, something in my chest won’t allow me to blink. To lose. My lips try to betray me by curving into a smile that I immediately suppress.

“I saw that,” the man says. “You think you can distract me with your goddess smile? No ma’am. You’re in a stare-off contest with Rhett McCoy, Fort Worth’s undefeated champ.”

I arch a brow. “Sounds like a useful skill.”

“Sure is. Without it, I wouldn’t have the pleasure of your undivided attention.” He tilts his head, causing a strand of hair to fall loose from behind his ear. “What color would you say your eyes are, mama?” he asks, a touch of a southern accent slipping out around the words. “Sapphire? Navy?”

They’re dark blue, and they’re starting to burn.

His lips curl into a self-satisfied smirk. “I got it. They’re the color of the heavens at twilight, with gold flecks that shimmer like stars. The kind of sky you can’t help but fall in love under.”

“That’s the most cliché thing I’ve ever heard.” I suppress another smile.

“Why do you keep hiding your smile?” His brows draw in confusion. “I gave you the cheesiest description I could imagine. You were supposed to laugh.”

Tears gather at the sides of my cheesy-twilight-eyes from the lack of blinking.

The stare-off champ gives in, dramatically closing and opening his eyes. As soon as he’s done, I follow suit. He reaches a calloused hand up to swipe at my tears. “Had to give in. Can’t have you crying on our first date,” he shakes his head, “or ever.”

“We’re not on a date, McCoy.” Although, I’m not as opposed to the idea as I should be.

“Sure, we are. You remembered my name.” His hand barely grazes my waist as he switches places with me on the sidewalk, putting himself on the street side before we start walking again. “That’s something.”

“You said it thirty seconds ago. It’s not something.”

“It could be something, if we let it.” He shrugs, tilting his face down, so our eyes meet again. “What’s your name?”

Instead of telling him I need to get going, reiterating that this isn’t a date or simply that I can’t continue this conversation, I answer, “Devon Blake.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Devon Blake.” His words are slow, deliberate, and matched with a genuine smile as he reaches across to shake my hand.

“Where did you come from anyway?” I ask, tilting my chin in his direction as we stop at an intersection to wait for the light. “Did you just walk out on your tab back there?”

“No ma’am,” he laughs. “I’d just finished my drink and was about to leave when you sat down at the bar.” He leans in close, quieting his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Don’t be mad, but I enjoyed watching him miss every signal you gave that he was fumbling the whole thing.”

My eyes narrow into a glare. “You watched our date, were happy he was an idiot, and stuck around so you could follow me out?”

“I was not happy with how he treated you, but you seemed like someone who wanted to handle it herself.” His hand grazes my low back again, a barely-there touch to get me moving since I was too distracted to notice the light signaling us to walk. “You don’t need me to tell you how beautiful you are. That was what had me at first, but seeing you put him in his place was even better.”

It was kind of fun, but I’m not about to admit it.

“You want to know what had me the most curious?” he asks.

“Sure,” I respond with as much casualness as I can manage, even though I’m deeply interested in his answer.

“Who carries a physical planner these days?” He points to my hand where I hold my bone-colored leather day-planner. It was sitting on the bar next to my drink the whole time Looking-Down-His-Nose-at-the-Bartender was talking at me. Interesting that Rhett noticed.

“What about it?” I ask, squeezing the item in question against my hip.

“It’s old school.”

That’s not a question.I arch a brow.

“I mean that as a compliment, by the way. Everyone I know who’s attached to a schedule uses their phone to keep track.” His thick brows lift. “Why don’t you?”

Physically writing things out helps me remember them in a way saving them in my phone doesn’t. This planner has everything I need, organized exactly how I like. It took me years to find one with this layout, and it’s admittedly a bit of a security blanket. I give him a shortened version of the truth. “Works better for me.”

“I bet you send hand-written thank you notes and birthday cards too.” His head cants a little as he smiles widely at me, sending a little flutter into my stomach. “Don’t you?”

I nod, rolling my lips together to hide yet another smile. “I do.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll get that smile out of you eventually.”

“Eventually? How much time do you think we’ll be spending together?” He said he’s on vacation, didn’t he? He can’t be here more than a week—maybe two.

“We agreed this was a date. Remember, Devon?” Dammit, my name sounds nice in his low register.

“You know we did not agree on that.” I find myself tapping him playfully with my elbow. His eyes light up at the contact.

He comes to a stop, stepping around so we’re facing each other. “Maybe not, but you haven’t taken your eyes off me since we met.”

Can’t argue against that.

“And you just walked to a different bar with me.” Gesturing to the closed shops and offices around us, he asks, “Or is there something else you were planning to do over here?” My eyes bounce around the side street we’ve walked down. There is nothing else but a parking structure and the bar, Lemon + Sway. My stomach drops when I read the sign. “Come on,” he continues. “Your night just opened up. Let me buy you a drink.” His gaze is intense as he holds my stare again, adding, “Please.”

In the half hour of that awful date, I planned out enough work to fill the rest of my evening. Friday West Interiors, the interior design firm I started a little over a year ago is on the verge of either winning a few big projects or being in serious financial trouble.

Originally, I had a solid plan and enough capital to last me for multiple years, but I quickly ran into an unexpected and detrimental complication that’s required me spending all my free time working on marketing strategies, networking, prep, presentations, and anything I can do to gain new clients.

I need the projects I should be at home prepping for, yet this handsome stranger is so distracting I followed him two blocks in the opposite direction of my car, unwilling to relinquish his company.

“I have time for one drink,” I concede.

“I’ll make it count,” he says, holding Lemon + Sway’s door open for me.

The bar has been around for a few months now, but this is the first time I’ve been inside. I’m still sore after losing out on designing it to Trina Boatswain. They had originally hired me, and after several months of working together, called me one day to say my design didn’t align with their investor’s vision anymore. It didn’t take long to determine they’d gone with Trina instead.

I worked for her before starting Friday West, and Lemon + Sway was one of the first major projects I landed on my own. It was a major strike to my business and my ego when she ended up with it, and I’m filled with more than a little morbid curiosity at how it turned out.

It’s definitely not different enough from what I designed to constitute a different vision for the investors. But unfortunately, it does look good in here. Even if I’ve seen the same three art pieces that are behind the host stand at two other projects she designed.

There is a wait for a table, but Rhett is quick enough to grab the last two seats at the brass-topped bar. On closer inspection, it’s obvious the place only looks good on the surface. Obvious corners were cut either due to budget or time constraints. The bar is basically new, and already the wood finish on the stools is chipping. I recognize them as a brand Trina’s able to charge a high mark-up on, selling lower quality products at custom prices. Rhett seems to notice it too, his brow furrowing when a chip of the finish sticks to his sleeve.

He orders a whiskey cocktail off the menu, and I opt for a dirty martini.

“That’s what you had earlier too, isn’t it?” Rhett asks, as I take my first sip. His handsome smile is enough to pull me out of my contemplations about Trina’s design, and I nod in acknowledgment. “So, you’re not big on trying new things,” he concludes.

My brows lift. “That’s a quick judgment.”

“Doesn’t make it wrong.”

“No, it doesn’t,” I admit quietly as I set my drink down.

He laughs, reaching over to grip the seat of my barstool and using it to pull me closer to him. My mouth opens in surprise, and when I look up at him I see his self-satisfied smile. “There, now I can see your twilight eyes even better.”

We’re close enough now that my hand brushes his thigh when I adjust the hem of my navy sheath dress. “Is twilight truly what you’re going with? Didn’t you say that was intentionally cheesy?”

“They are the color of twilight,” he tilts his head, bringing his eyes in line with mine, “cheesy or not.”

I like that a little too much.Needing to change the subject, I ask, “You’re from Texas, right?” He nods in response. “What brings you to Palm Springs?”

“My friend lives out here,” he answers. “He’s a local I met on vacation when we were kids. We stayed friends, and he convinced me to—”

His story is cut off when the bartender asks for our food order. I should finish my one drink and go home like I planned, but instead I agree to split a couple of appetizers with Rhett. His earnest questions and overwhelming confidence draw me in, turning one drink into three.

The stress of finances, winning projects, difficulty with Trina, and running Friday West melts off me. For the first time in a long time, my mind isn’t working overtime in the background to fix my problems, but I equate that more to the company than the booze.

As our final drinks dwindle, my new date asks, “You want to go one more place with me?” There is a playful lilt in his question.

One more place?I check my watch, and I am stunned to find it’s well after eleven. One more place would inevitably be his hotel room. I’m hours past the time I should have been in bed with my face washed, skincare applied, and a hot mug of herbal tea in hand. Instead I’m finishing my fourth martini of the evening and considering a third location with a charming stranger. He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the long strands out of his gray eyes, a few inevitably falling right back into their original places. He might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever had drinks with. Would his hotel room be such a bad thing?

“Did I lose you up there?” His mouth widens into that knee-weakening smile again, as he nods toward my head.

“I have work in the morning. I should get home.” I should have gotten home hours ago.

He laughs lightly. “Didn’t ask what you should do. I asked what you want.”

“It’s way past my bedtime.” I swallow down the last sip of my drink. “I need to—”

“What do you want?” he interrupts.

I want to spend more time with him. I want to be in a place where I could entertain this kind of attraction. Having an incredible conversation on an impromptu first date is something worth indulging in, but I can’t afford to take my eye off the ball for even a second. If I’m not sharp tomorrow, I could show up late to my jobsite, disappoint my client, or botch the presentation I have in the afternoon. It’s not as simple as doing what I want. Every action has consequences.

“The right choice is going home to get some rest,” he says. I’m briefly disappointed when it seems he’s backing down quickly, but he adds, “What if you make the wrong choice?”

“I don’t do the wrong thing.”

His responding laugh is a full sound that shakes his wide shoulders. “Devon, live a little. Please?” That is the second time he’s said my name and the second time he’s said please. The combination plus his intense commitment to eye contact almost has me giving in, but he doesn’t rush me as I roll my options over.

Instead, he tucks his fingers behind one of my knees, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on my skin as he leans forward just enough to have me licking my lips, wondering what kissing him would be like.

It’s one night. What could one little break from reality cost me?I nod. “Yes.”

He’s quick to pay our bill and call a ride-share, maybe afraid I’ll change my mind. The car drops us off on the back side of a country club, nowhere near a hotel or even a house that could be a short-term rental. “You sure this is where you wanted us to go?” I ask.

He smiles, tucking my hand into his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Yeah, security doesn’t patrol this side like they should. Come on.”

“Why do you know that?” I question him, but don’t let go of his hand or protest when he leads me onto the golf course, the grass freshly wet from late-night sprinklers and lit only by the sliver of moon.

“Been golfing here with my friend, Bradley, since we were kids.” The explanation doesn’t bring me any closer to understanding our purpose here. He keeps us on the cart paths and off the greens as we wind through hole after hole of the golf course, never letting go of my hand.

“Where are we going?” I whisper-shout when I realize we’ve almost cut across the entire course.

He squeezes my hand, smiling over his shoulder at me. “Hopefully somewhere I’ll finally get that smile out of you.”

I arch a brow in response. The only reason he hasn’t seen me smile yet is because he made it a challenge for me to keep it to myself. This non-date date is the most fun I’ve had in ages.

Dim headlights precede the high-pitched hum of an electric golf cart heading our direction as we approach the clubhouse. My eyes go wide, and Rhett uses our locked hands to pull me against his chest and press me tightly against a nearby tree. He plants his free hand on the trunk above my head, leaving me completely surrounded by him in a way I can’t bring myself to mind.

“Security doesn’t patrol like they—” I start to tease him, but my whisper is cut off as his muscular chest presses more firmly against mine.

“I got you,” he whispers in my ear before looking over his shoulder, his eyes on something other than me for what feels like the first time all night. Bodies locked together, he inches us around the tree, our steps louder than I’d like against the dirt and tree roots. But the golf cart disappears in the opposite direction without noticing us. Before I have a chance to react, he whispers, “Almost there,” and we’re moving again. We make a wide circle, avoiding the clubhouse and its surrounding courtyard altogether.

“We’ve got to duck for this part, to avoid the cameras,” he says, pointing at the long line of tennis courts hedged in with tall chain link fences and carefully manicured shrubs. We run-duck the entire way down the concrete sidewalk that lines the courts, both breathless by the time we reach the end.

“Hell on the quads, isn’t it?” he laughs as we come up to our full heights again.

“It really is,” I breathe.

“We made it.” He points to a swimming pool, separated from us only by a sidewalk that switchbacks down a steep hill. Late night swim. Should have guessed. We sneak through the trees all the way around to the far end until we reach another chain link fence, this one low enough for me to look over. “You need a hand?” he asks.

“Nope, got it.” I tuck the toe of my thick-strapped espadrille into one diamond shaped opening in the fence. Propping my hands on the top, I swing myself over and land on the other side.

In one smooth motion, he launches his athletic form over the fence and lands next to me. “That was kind of sexy,” he says, walking toward the pool.

Looking around at the darkened corner of the pool deck brings a moment of clarity. What am I doing? Rhett’s on vacation. There aren’t any real consequences to him if we got caught, but half my clients belong to this country club, and the security guard could come back at any minute. I take a step back toward the fence.

“Where you goin’, mama?” Rhett asks, peeling his shirt off with one hand at the back of his collar. “Don’t leave me now. We’re just getting to the good part.” Even in the dark, the cut of his broad shoulders and firm muscular chest snags my attention. Thoughts of leaving disappear. He unbuttons his fly and tucks his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and, I’m assuming, his boxers. “You in?” he asks, his million-dollar smile inviting me to come play just as much as his bare chest and unbuttoned pants are.

Can’t back down now, Blake.I untie my ankle straps and unbuckle my leather watch, setting them carefully on the lounger next to me. My hands go to the hem of my dress, which I take my time drawing over my head until I’m wearing only my black bra and panties.

“Damn, look at you,” he says, a touch of awe lacing his regular jovial tone. Then the thumbs of those tanned hands are pulling down his pants and his boxers in one movement, and he’s standing before me, fully naked, for just a heartbeat before launching into the pool with a loud splash. He surfaces and swims over to fold his tattooed arms on the edge of pool closest to me. “If I’d known that’s all it took to get you to smile, I would have whipped my dick out hours ago.”

I am smiling.He got me so preoccupied with watching him that I forgot I was trying not to. “It wasn’t your dick.”

“No?” He looks down in the water, an exaggerated pout on his lower lip.

“It’s just—” laughter starts to take over my words, “this is absurd.”

“It would be less absurd if you were in the pool too. Am I gonna have to come get you?” He pushes up on the concrete edge, bringing his bare chest above the lip of the pool and revealing a few more tattoos in a similar style to the ones on his arms.

“No, no.” I continue laughing. Why not? I’ve come this far.

Rhett makes no effort to hide his perusal of me as I unhook and discard my bra and slide off my panties. “Goddamn.” He shakes his head slowly side to side, keeping his eyes on me. “I’m lucky that asshole was a terrible date.”

“You really are.” The balmy near-summer air clings to my skin as I make my way to the diving board. Its surface grips the soles of my feet as I walk to the end and try not to focus on what the chlorine will do to my hair as I line my body up for a dive. With a deep breath in, I launch myself into the air, pointed hands breaking the water’s surface a moment later.

When I come up for air, Rhett’s treading water in front of me. Water droplets clump his lashes into thick points while others run down his face and neck to the top of his pecks, before disappearing into the pool. Carefully, he moves a section of my hair off my forehead, letting his hand linger on my face. “The wrong thing feels pretty right, doesn’t it?” he whispers into the charged air between us, one hand going to my waist under the water, drawing me closer to him.

If any of my friends saw me now, they wouldn’t believe it was me. I’m naked, trespassing in a country club pool while wrapped in the arms of a stranger. I hardly believe it. My eyes dart over Rhett’s shoulder, looking for the inevitable return of the security guards.

“No one’s coming,” he reassures me. “We’d hear them, I promise.” The hand at my waist draws me closer, pulling me flush against him again, like we were against the tree trunk. Only now we’re skin against skin, his firm chest rubbing against my hardened nipples just beneath the surface of the water.

His biceps warm my back as he wraps his arms around me, cupping the back of my head and tilting me to look up at him, his hard cock presses into my thigh as our treading legs tangle. “You ever been skinny dipping before?” he asks.

In my backyard.My lips turn up a little on one side, “Not like this.”

“There you go restraining your smile again.” Water droplets splay in every direction as he shakes his head. “Can’t have that.” Holding me steady in the water, he leans in to press our lips together in a powerful kiss.

Now I’m naked in a pool I just broke into, and I’m kissing a stranger. This isn’t me. But the overwhelming presence of him wrapped around me as his lips hold me captive is too hypnotic to allow me to surrender any of the contact.

Rhett’s not in any rush to let me go either. His mouth opens, letting his tongue slip between my lips where the brief taste of chlorine is replaced by whiskey and then the powerful sensation of him. He delves in, wild and curious, licking, sucking, and exploring my mouth in a way that clears every thought from my mind. Turns out the stare-off champ has other skills too.

After long minutes lost in his kiss, he teases his teeth across my bottom lip and pulls back just enough for us to see each other. “Tell me something.”

Breathless and dazed, it takes me a moment to respond. “Just something?”

“Something that matters.” His hand at my waist keeps me locked in close. “You’re naked in my arms.” I arch a brow, and he’s quick to add, “Which I’m not complaining about, but I want something intimate from in here.” He accentuates the last with a tender kiss on my temple.

Something about Rhett, his laughing demeanor, the way he’s taken control of the whole evening and keeps wrapping me in his solid embrace has me feeling safer and more protected I should. He wants me to give him something that matters. What would it hurt if I did? This is a moment in time, one that I’ll keep in my pocket and pull out on tough days. He doesn’t realize it yet, but after tonight, I’ll never see him again.

He doesn’t rush me, doesn’t tell me not to think too hard. I get that one a lot. He just rubs rhythmic circles at my waist, letting our legs intertwine under the water, his dark gray gaze locked on me. Would it kill me to take it deeper than surface level?

These last few hours with Rhett have been a reprieve from reality I didn’t realize I needed. But now, his very real question has it all rushing back. Every spare moment I’ve had lately has been spent trying to solve the issues with my business and seeing Trina’s work at Lemon + Sway tonight reminds me that I’m not the powerful competitor to her that I should be.

She is an icon in the industry, and I’d been following her work in magazines since I was in elementary school. Landing a job with her straight out of college was a dream—but like many dreams, it didn’t turn out to be what I was expecting.

To Trina’s credit, she is capable of creating truly phenomenal designs. There is a reason she’s an icon. I wouldn’t trade the experience I gained working for her even after the unfortunate way it ended, but the admiration I gained for Trina after years of watching her career also led me to trusting her much more deeply than I should have.

She is at the point in her career where she works a few hours a day, shakes hands with clients, and puts her name on the work of the designers she employs. I looked up to her, so when she told me she’d find a way to pay me more, maybe make me partner, give me credit in publications like the ones I grew up reading about her in, advance my own career in a meaningful way—I believed her.

After five years of working early mornings and late nights without Trina making good on any of those promises, I finally saved enough to take the jump to go out on my own and start Friday West Interiors.It’s fairly standard in our industry for designers to eventually leave larger firms and start their own, but Trina took it personally when I left and revealed a vindictiveness I should have seen coming but didn’t. She called me selfish and disloyal and said I’d never be successful on my own. After looking up to her for so long, I had the choice to take that personally or move on and do it better than she ever did.

Some people have a competitive streak. For me, it’s who I am. I know what I’m capable of, and I won’t accept any less. I told myself if Trina believed I couldn’t be successful on my own, then I’d have to become successful in a way she couldn’t ignore. Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. After a year of small to mid-size projects, I was able to get an office space and hire my friend, Bea, as an associate designer. When it comes to the bigger projects, like massive custom homes and jobs where there is a lot more flexibility to push the edge on design, like bars and restaurants, I haven’t been able to win many over Trina. I don’t have proof, but I’m fairly certain she’s stooped to bad-mouthing me to potential clients.

Rhett watches me intently as I bring one of my hands to his shoulder, trying to find balance in the water before answering, “I’ve got something, but I don’t want advice and I won’t answer questions.”

“I can work with that.” His voice is slow and steady, accompanied by a warm smile.

“I own a business, and I have this sort of rival.” He nods along to show he’s listening. “And she’s winning our little war. And I hate that. Hate it.” The drinks have mostly worn off at this point, so I can’t blame them for what I say next. I’ve never given it voice before, not to my mom, not to my best friend and roommate, Allie, and certainly not to Bea, who this would affect the most. But in this moment, I can’t imagine not spilling to Rhett. “She keeps on stealing clients from me, and if I don’t figure something out soon, I could lose everything.” He tilts his head to the side and rubs a soothing hand up and down my spine. Once the words start, there is not stopping. I finish my confession with the most terrifying part. “I don’t know who I am if I lose.” Once the words leave my lips, a wash of relief flows through me. This is followed immediately by a terrifying vulnerability that has my heart uncomfortably racing in my chest.

He opens his mouth to say something but sucks in a deep breath instead, pulling me close for a tender kiss. When he lets go, he speaks quietly, “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything that matters.”

Our confessions hang heavily between us, him continuing to rub soothing circles at my waist, me toying with the hair on his brow. After a long minute, his lips curve up into a sly smile. “But for now, this feels pretty important.” And then he’s kissing me again, holding onto me as he moves us across the pool without breaking our kiss, his bare chest bumping against the pointed peaks of my nipple as our legs brush under the water.

He presses me into the wall of the pool, the cool tiles against my back a contrast to water, still warm from a day in the desert sun, his cupped hand blocking my head from the concrete lip of the pool deck.

My hands run through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Yes,” he says against my lips. “Touch me.” So, I trail my fingers across the tops of his shoulders, delighting in the strength there. “Touch me anywhere. Everywhere.”

His hands travel from my waist, over my hips, hesitating right above my ass, but when I wrap my legs firmly around him, he squeezes, pulling me close and bringing his hardened cock to press firmly against the outside of my sex with the tip pressing against my clit. His eyes lock with mine in a silent question. I nod, inviting him to move, and he slides his cock against me in a smooth thrust.

I’m about to have sex with a stranger in a pool I just broke into. Who I just spilled my deepest secret to. What? No. I don’t sleep with strangers. I don’t break in places. I don’t skinny dip in public. I don’t admit weakness.Suddenly whatever mental fog Rhett McCoy had me wrapped in all night clears, and I drop my legs.

He lets go immediately, lifting his hands in the air and moving back so he is no longer trapping me against the wall. His brow furrows in concern. “You alright?”

This is unacceptable. This isn’t me. I have to get out of here.“I can’t do this.” I turn around, bracing my hands on the edge of the pool.

“Hey. That’s alright.” He mistakenly assumes I need comfort. “We don’t have to—”

“I’m leaving.” My words are firm. He can believe I’m angry. People usually perceive me like that anyway.

Rhett follows close behind, the water splashing wildly as pushes himself out of the pool and comes to standing on the cement surround. “Okay, let’s go,” he agrees, missing my rejection.

Water rolls off my body, leaving a trail of puddles against the concrete as I make for my clothes. If I leave on the opposite side of the golf course from where we came in, I’ll land in my neighborhood. I pass this golf course on my running route, so I know I’m three quarters of a mile from a hot shower and a rushed night of sleep.

“I’m close to home. I’ll walk.” The navy linen of my dress clings to my chest and hips when I pull it over my drenched body. I shove my bra and panties into my handbag and sit down to slide on my sandals.

“I’ll walk with you. I don’t have to come inside.” He has his shirt on but can’t find his boxers and jeans. They’re six feet behind him next to a lounger. Under different circumstances, the sight of a man wearing nothing but a t-shirt might be comical. Currently, I’m just glad he can’t leave without them. He looks up as I’m hopping back over the fence. “Give me a minute to find my pants. You can’t be walking around by yourself, soaking wet in the dark.”

Whirling on him, I say, “I’m not asking permission.”

Rhett calls after me, but I’ve disappeared into the dark by the time I hear him reach the fence. Guilt twists in my stomach as his voice gains a frantic quality. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was frankly wonderful. It’s not his fault I’m being irresponsible. But I have to be at work in six or seven hours. I can’t afford to think about it further.

§

“New shirt?” Bea asks, coming into step with me on the street outside the jobsite.

“Mmhmm,” I nod, “I got it at that new boutique over by the good Indian place.” A trick I learned in college. Wear something new on a day I’m hungover. Between that and an extra layer of concealer, no one notices I’m short on sleep and have a minor, but persistent, headache.

Bea passes me an iced Americano from Turbine Café, the coffee shop my best friend and roommate, Allie, owns. Fortunately, Allie sleeps like the dead, so she didn’t hear me sneak in this morning. By the time I was done washing and drying my hair it was after one in the morning, so I’m running on minimal sleep, which wasn’t a big deal a decade ago, but at twenty-eight—I feel it.

The general contractor and most of his crew have already been here for quite a while. This house is a new build and doesn’t have air conditioning yet, so they get started as early as possible in order to finish before the peak of the stifling desert heat. We find our way to the living room, where the new guy is supposed to start on the built-ins today.

He’s nowhere to be found… just what I need today.“The carpenter’s late,” I tell Bea.

“No, ma’am. The carpenter’s three minutes early,” a low voice with a southern drawl sounds from behind us. A voice belonging to a man I spent hours with last night, who’s kissed me senseless and seen me naked. A man who holds the blame for my current hangover, who knows information that I cannot allow anyone on this jobsite to find out. Ever. I turn around to see Rhett McCoy, mussed sandy blond hair tucked away underneath a backwards cap, mouth spread in a wide, butterfly-inducing smile.