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RIVER

“Hold it!”

I know that voice.

I smash the Close Door elevator button over and over.

It’s no use.

Dean’s arm slides between the doors at the last minute, and he shoves them apart, wiggling inside.

“Hey, man”—he shakes his wet hair out—“I said hold it?—”

His lips part when he sees it’s me, surprised.

He recovers quickly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

I try to forget how good his tongue feels wetting other places.

“You.” His eyes fall to slits as he hitches the soggy grocery sack he’s holding up higher. “You pressed Close Door , didn’t you?”

“Guilty.” I grin. No sense in trying to deny it.

“It’s raining sideways out there.”

I shrug, and he turns toward the front of the elevator with an annoyed huff as the car begins its ascent.

Water droplets plop, plop, plop onto the floor.

Unable to help myself, I steal a glance at him out of the corner of my eye.

Even soaking wet, he looks good.

His black hair is a mess, that ever-present stubble along his jawline still there. Those long, muscular legs of his are clad in a pair of jeans that hug his ass way too well. He’s sporting a Metallica t-shirt that’s just wet enough and tight enough to give the imagination something to cling to.

Only I don’t have to use my imagination.

I know exactly what’s under that shirt.

Know how much he likes it when I pepper kisses down his stomach. How much it makes him squirm and curse when I run my tongue over the muscles he’s worked so hard to build. And how it really drives him wild when I drag my fingernails across his skin when I’m on my knees for him.

His jaw twitches, and I know he’s aware of me looking at him.

All of him.

Including the bulge that’s steadily growing with each passing floor.

Is he thinking about it too?

You can hear the claps of thunder even inside the elevator, and I’m thankful they cover my stuttered breaths.

“How’s Morris?” he asks, breaking the tension.

I know he’s not truly asking about my cat. He abhors Morris.

“Better than he’s ever been,” I lie.

He grunts.

The power in the building surges and the elevator grinds to a sudden stop. I lose my balance, falling right into Dean, who drops his groceries in an effort to catch me.

It goes dark.

“Shit,” he mutters, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me against him.

The power surges again, and we’re rocked the other way.

My back is against the wall, one of Dean’s arms around me, the other pressed against the ceiling above our heads.

The lights flicker back to life, and the elevator continues its ascent, but this time much, much slower.

We don’t move, and we barely breathe.

His fingers flex on my waist as he drops his head, his lips finding a spot on my exposed shoulder. One soft kiss. Then another. And a third. All in a line, tracing up my neck while his fingers go the opposite direction.

He plays with the hem of my short cotton shorts, dipping his fingers dangerously close to places he’s not supposed to be touching as he continues to kiss up my neck. There’s no way he doesn’t feel me clench my thighs together. No way he doesn’t feel the heat coming from between them.

His lips are at my ear when the car dings, announcing its arrival on our floor.

His fingers dig into my thighs, and he curls his other hand into a fist that he taps against the wall once. Twice. Like he’s fighting with himself.

Cold sweeps over me when he pulls away, peering down at me with glassy, lust-filled eyes.

“There,” he says quietly, voice hoarse like he’s the one dying. “Now we’re both wet.”

He grabs his things and disappears.

The doors close, and I take my first real breath in far too long.

If you’d have told me over a month ago I’d be back here in my tub sipping on whiskey and eating pie, I’d have laughed.

But that’s exactly what I’m doing.

I cut off a forkful of cherry pie and take a bite.

Imagine my surprise when it does nothing to satiate the hunger inside of me.

It’s completely Dean’s fault.

His antics in the elevator still have me out of whack hours later .

As soon as I regained my composure and made it into my apartment, I knew I needed to do something to take the edge off. I tried meditation. Yoga. Even tried masturbating, but it just wasn’t the same as what Dean had done to me.

Nothing worked.

It doesn’t help that I was so exhausted this morning when my alarm went off that I called in sick. That’s twice in two weeks.

I blame Dean for that too.

It’s hard to see him. To be around him. I’m trying to go on as we planned, like nothing happened. No making it awkward.

But the truth is, it’s pure torture to have to see him.

The most maddening part of it all is that this suffering was mostly my idea. Sure, Dean was the one to suggest we relieve the building tension, but did I have to be so damn adamant about rules? Why did I ever think we could go back to the way things used to be after all was said and done?

I knew.

Knew there was a chance I’d fall for Dean. Even if it was minuscule at first, it was there.

Yet, I agreed to our arrangement.

I wanted a taste that bad.

Now I have to live with the consequences of falling for him.

Why the hell did I ever think this was a good idea?

Because Maya is right—you never hated him.

I didn’t.

I don’t.

But I wish I truly hated him. It would make all this a whole lot easier.

I abandon my pie and set the to-go container on the ledge, sinking lower into the bubbles, relishing the warmth of the water. I allow my eyes to fall shut, and those damn green orbs haunt me again.

They were there last night too. And the night before. And the one before that.

They’re always there, staring at me in the otherwise dark void.

Dean’s eyes.

Bright, beautiful, and inviting.

I miss them. Miss his warmth. His laugh. That smirk. Even him stealing all my groceries and fighting with Morris.

I miss him .

“STILL LIKE THAT OLD TIME ROCK ’N’ ROLL!”

I yelp, jumping at the sudden sound. Water sloshes all over the bathroom, and I’m instantly annoyed.

I did not miss that.

“Dean!” I shout at the noise, even though he can’t hear me.

I push up out of the tub, yank my towel from the rack, and stomp through the apartment.

Not today, Dean Evans. Not today.

I dry off quickly and this time have enough sense to at least wrap my robe around my form before swinging open my front door and going right over to his. I pound on the wood so hard I can hear stuff in my apartment rattle.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Dean!” I holler again. “Turn it down!”

A few seconds go by…and the volume increases.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” I growl, slapping the door again. “Dean Evans! Open this door right now or I swear I will?—”

I stumble as the door is jerked open but recover quickly, jutting my chin out as he towers over me with playful eyes.

He leans against the doorjamb, crossing his arms. The muscles jump and pulse, and I try not to pay attention to them as I give him a scornful look.

“River. What brings you by?”