I forced that daydream out of my head because that’s exactly what it was … a dream.

This … thing, whatever it was, had no chance of going anywhere special; we were too different.

My relationship with Brody had an expiration date, and I was doing my best not to look at the calendar and just live in the moment.

Right now though, I was supposed to be showering and getting ready for this dinner tonight. I opened the bedroom door and hollered out to him, “Hey, do you by any chance have any extra shampoo and conditioner? I forgot to bring mine.”

“In the linen closet in the bathroom.”

“Thanks!”

“No problem, babe,” he called back nonchalantly like it was just any other Saturday, but those three tiny words sent my heart into a tizzy.

Leaving the bedroom door slightly ajar, I walked into the guest bathroom and slid the linen closet door open and laughed out loud. On the shelf there must have been thirty different shampoos and conditioners—fruity ones, flowery ones, extra-strengthening ones—made by every imaginable salon company. Still snickering, I called out the door again, “Did you rob a beauty supply store or what?”

He chuckled in the living room before yelling back. “No, I had no idea what you used, so I bought every one they had.”

My mouth hung open, shock coursed through my veins as I stared incredulously at the shelf. It was such an innocent, silly gesture on his part, but it meant more to me than he could possibly comprehend.

Freak out about shampoo later, Kacie. Pull yourself together and get your ass in the shower.

Tonight I was meeting several new people; most of whom would know me as nothing more than ‘Brody’s date’, so it was imperative that I didn’t embarrass him or make him look bad. More importantly, one of those people was his best friend since childhood, and his wife, who according to Brody, made a piranha look like a teddy bear. My stress level was at an all-time high; I desperately wanted everything to go perfectly. I wanted them to like me.

Screw that, I wanted them to love me.

When you’ve spent the majority of your adult life in jeans and t-shirts, an event like this was beyond intimidating. Lauren helped me in the style department with the dress and the shoes, but I was on my own with makeup. The last thing I wanted was to look like a cheap hooker he’d picked up on his way over. And don’t even get me started on table manners.

Salad fork, dinner fork, soup spoon, regular spoon … it was all so damn overwhelming.

An hour later, I stood in front of the full-length mirror, inspecting every last detail of my appearance. I’d put my hair up and then taken it back down six different times, changed my eye makeup three times and cursed out loud twice that I hadn’t brought that damn salmon colored dress with me as a backup.

It is what it is. Showtime.

I slipped my feet into Lauren’s not-too-high silver heels, took a deep breath, squeezed every drop of confidence I could muster out of my soul and strode into the living room.

Empty.

“Holy shit,” Brody muttered from behind me where he stood frozen at the kitchen sink.

My heart rocketed into my throat and stuck there as I spun to face him. “Is that a good holy shit, or a bad holy shit?”

He didn’t respond with his mouth, but his eyes spoke volumes as they raked slowly all the way down my body and back up again. “It’s the best holy shit ever.”

Proudly, I looked down at myself and beamed up at him. “I cleaned up okay, huh? On a scale from one to ten-”

“Six hundred fifty-two.” He interrupted as he stalked over, gripped the back of my head and pressed his mouth to mine hard.

That kiss was different from all the other ones he’d given me. His tongue delved deep into my mouth with the delicious promise of things to come for the night. It was getting harder and harder to resist letting him do whatever he wanted to me. He pulled back just enough to press his forehead against mine, still cupping the back of my head.

His tone was rough; if sex ever had a voice, this would be it. “We need to leave because I’m about to blow this thing off, throw you over my shoulder and take you straight to bed.”

Just that sentence alone caused a fire to start between my legs, and I started to wonder if sleeping over was a good idea after all.

A security guard waved us through the gated entrance of an exclusive golf course community. The winding streets were lined with antique lampposts and perfectly shaped hedges, each house bigger and more lavish than the one before.

“What is this? The Stepford subdivision?” I asked in awe as Brody curved his way to the back of the neighborhood, easing his black BMW 740i into a wide stone-paved driveway that curved up into a half circle in front of what could have easily passed for a castle.

“Something like that.” He put his car in park as my mouth fell open, staring incredulously at the two parking attendants heading our way.

“They have valets for dinner parties? At their house?”

Brody looked over at me and rolled his eyes dramatically. “Only the best for Blaire.”

My door swung open and one of the young men took my hand, helping me out of the car. “Thank you,” I said, smiling up at him.

Brody handed the other man his keys and met me at the front of the car. He offered me his arm, which I eagerly accepted before I broke a heel on Lauren’s shoe, or my ankle, on this fancy cobblestone driveway.

“You’re not a big fan of Blaire, huh?” I asked as we slowly walked up to the house.

He looked me dead in the eye. “Not in the slightest. We haven’t really liked each other since college. I’ve always thought she was a gold digger, and she thought I was a bad influence on Andy. I’m only here as a favor to him. Plus I’m excited to see the kids, assuming she hasn’t shipped them off for the night.”

“They have kids?”

“Yep, Logan is 4 and Becca is almost 2.”

Perfect!

That would be my in with Blaire; all moms love talking about their kids and telling those really embarrassing tantrum stories or comparing little tips and products. This would be easier than I thought.

Their house was even more amazing up close than it was from the street. The over-sized, arched front doors were made of dark chestnut wood with wrought iron accents. Waist-high vases sat on either side of the porch with bright, hot pink flowers cascading down the sides. Brody reached over and rang the bell and within seconds, a sunny woman in her early sixties answered the door. Her short, gray bob curled around her plump cheeks as they rose with her cheery smile.

“Welcome, please come in.” She stepped back and nodded politely as we walked through the doorway.

We were barely through the door, when a little boy leapt from the widest staircase I’d ever seen, straight into Brody’s arms. “Uncle Brody!”

The cute little guy with sandy blonde hair and bright blue eyes, dressed in Angry Birds pajamas, wrapped his arms and legs around Brody’s torso like a monkey. Not that I could blame him, I’d wanted to do that to him myself a few times.

“What’s up, my man?” Brody peeled him off and tossed him up high in the air over and over. Logan’s squeals echoed through the cold, stone foyer. A chill passed through me as I looked around. You couldn’t even tell kids lived here.

She probably keeps them locked in the dungeon.