9
Anna
I shook my head as I thought of Nick. So tall, so dark—not just in coloring, but also in mood—and handsome. Cliché? Absolutely. Had he come on to me that night? Not really. He hadn’t given me a cheesy pick-up line; he hadn’t needed one. Pheromones practically dripped off him, which I sucked up like a parched man quenching his thirst. I’d been the one to run into him. In fact, he’d barely touched me at all. But when he held my hand, when his palm had been at my lower back as we walked, I’d felt heat. Sparks. Lust. An ache I’d never known existed. A need I still craved even after a week; the only way to solve it was with my bedside vibrator. It was definitely safer than the real thing. “No. He was a perfect gentleman.”
Well, he wasn’t quite that. But who wanted one, anyway? If the
