Page 22 of A Real Goode Time

“You never answered the question about masturbating.”

I laughed. “There was a question?”

“Yeah—do you?”

I laughed even harder. “If you’re trying to not offend me, asking me if I masturbate is a bad place to start.”

“True, but I did just admit I like you. And I do. And not just as friends. But I do want to be your friend. Only notjustfriends, because boobs.”

I pushed him toward the door. “Good night, Rhys. Thank you, more than I can say, for rescuing me today.”

He laughed as he walked away. “I’ve never been this talkative or inappropriate in my life. Not sure what’s come over me.”

“Apparently getting stoned seriously loosens your filter.”

I sat on the pull-out as he paused at the door, holding it open, one foot on the first step, looking at me. As if memorizing the way I looked, sitting in his loft.

I held that thought at bay, giving him a level look, hoping he didn’t see the curiosity and attraction pulsating through me. I was leaving tomorrow and didn’t need the complication of liking a really hot, nice, successful guy with huge strong grease-stained hands and stubble that I wanted to run my fingers over and feel scratching against my skin—

GAHH, no. No, Torie. Bad girl.

Don’t sleep with the first hot guy who gives you attention. That was the gist of what Lexie had said one time.

And it was good advice.

But if Lexie were me in this situation—single Lexie, not about to be married Lexie—she’d be all over this guy.

I was tempted to call her.

Maybe she could talk me down from this ledge.

Because I was on a hell of a ledge—and about to slip off. And if I slipped off, it’d be into bed with Rhys. Which, I reminded myself, was a very unwise idea. I did not need a distraction right now. I had to get to Alaska.

I had no business giving my virginity to a man I’d literally just met. No matter how hot, sexy, ripped, funny, successful, or kind he might be.

I mean, sure, a guy that was nice and kind and genuine, as well as gorgeous and sexy, was about as common as unicorns, and Rhys seemed to be all that and more.

And those were perfectly good reasons to have sex with him, right?

Wrong.

The fact that I wanted to climb on his lap and lick his stubble and get his hands on my body…thatwas reason to have sex with him.

But it wouldn’tmeananything. I’d be going to Alaska and he’d be staying here, and it’d be a one-night stand. A hookup. And I’d been promising myself since I was sixteen that my first time would not be a hookup…which is why I’m still a virgin at almost twenty-one.

So far, no one has captured my attention, let alone my physical desire.

But Rhys…

The man had both, and it was a problem, because it was the worst possible timing.

Deep down, I knew Leighton and Jillie were probably right about me not coming back to Connecticut. I wasn’t ready to admit it just yet, but I could feel the truth of it percolating deep down, where you justknowthings that you can’t quite formulate into words, or even coherent thoughts.

I lay back on the pull-out, on top of the blankets, and stared at the ceiling.

My thoughts, dizzied by the smoke, circled and floated and wafted as I drifted toward sleep—and when I did fall asleep, my dreams were all of Rhys.

And they were all…decidedly naughty.