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I wait a beat, then I smirk to myself.

OMG. Is he seriously lurking?

Yes. He is. The sexy cowboy is totally standing in the hall.

Like he’s lying in wait for me.

And somehow, that’s hot.

“Just unpacking,” I call out casually, loud enough for lurking ears to hear. “Nothing scandalous. Unless you count this bra, which, honestly, I don’t. It’s cotton. Not sexy.”

Silence.

Then, faintly—so faint I almost miss it—I hear it.

A growl.

Low. Rumbly. Male.

My knees nearly give out.

Yup. I’m in trouble.

Big, beautiful, growly trouble.

I didn’t know real men could make that sound. Thought it was only a booktok thing.

I suck in a deep breath. The bedroom is sunlit and peaceful, and I should feel the same.

But I don’t.

I’m standing in front of my half-unpacked suitcase, holding a bra in one hand and a tank top in the other, trying to focus on something—anything—besides the fact that the sexiest man I’ve ever met in real life just hauled my fluffy ass to my friend’s house, flirting one second and growling the next,

Did I imagine it, or did Zeke stare at me like he wanted to devour me for a second or two?

I mean, we barely spoke. I don’t even think he said my name.

Well, except for Petals.

God, he called me Petals.

I flop the bra onto the bed and sigh.

“Get it together, Casey,” I mumble. “You’re not here to fall in love with a cowboy. You’re here to lie low, not fall into some romcom book plot.”

But my body isn’t listening.

It’s still humming from the time our fingers brushed.

From the way his voice wrapped around me like heat lightning.

From the growl I definitely didn’t imagine when I mentioned my plain cotton bra.

I’m standing there, fanning myself, when the door swings all the way open—hard.

I spin, startled.

“Crap on a cracker! Don’t you people knock?—”