“Jeez, I can’t take you anywhere, Miss Dempsey,” I scolded, holding her by the elbow as we walked down the street.

She giggled again. “You sound like my students. Did I tell you one of them asked me the other day why I wasn’t called Mrs. Dempsey?”

“No. What did you say?”

“I said it was because I’m not married. Then the kid asked why I wasn’t married, and the girl next to him elbowed him and said, ‘You shouldn’t ask her that. It will make her feel old.’ And the kid goes, ‘She is old.’”

“Little shit,” I said.

“Oh, it gets better. The girl tried to defend me.”

“Yeah?” We reached my SUV, and I unlocked the passenger door.

“Yeah.” She hiccupped before going on. “She said, ‘I know she’s old, but she’s still pretty . . . for an old lady.’”

I laughed as I opened the door for her. “Get in, Miss Dempsey. Or should I call you Miss Tipsy?”

She climbed in, but leaned over and poked my chest. “Jerk.”

Grinning, I walked around to the driver’s side and got in. “Well, she was right,” I said, starting the engine and turning up the heat. “You’re very pretty for an old lady.”

She batted her lashes at me and hiccupped. “Why, thank you. And you’re quite attractive for an old man.”

“There are definitely days when I feel like an old man,” I admitted as I started the drive home. “And then there are days I feel exactly like I did at eighteen.”

“Believe me, I hear you.”

I drove in silence for a few minutes, one hand rubbing over the stubble on my jaw, wondering what eighteen-year-old me—or even thirty-three-year-old me—would have done with a tipsy, flirty Cheyenne Dempsey on a night like tonight, if my life had taken a different path.

But immediately I felt guilty for thinking it, so I shut my imagination down. If my life had taken a different path, I wouldn’t have Mariah, and that was unthinkable.

Still, the woman next to me with the perfect lips and snow melting in her hair was right here right now, and something told me if I leaned over at this red light and kissed her, she’d let me.

As my SUV came to a stop, I looked over at her and thought about it. She met my eyes and went still.

But the light changed to green before I could make up my mind, and I focused my attention out the windshield again. Put my foot on the accelerator and left the moment behind.

We didn’t talk the rest of the way home.

Out of habit, I pulled into my own garage. “Oh shit,” I said. “I meant to pull in your driveway and forgot.”

“I can walk,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt. “The cold air will be good for me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” She got out, and I followed suit, meeting up with her outside on the driveway. The snow still fell in thick, heavy flakes.

Once more, she tipped her face to the sky, although this time she just smiled. “I really love snow.”

“I can tell. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

She lowered her chin and opened her eyes. “Cole, you don’t have to.”

“I know,” I said, taking her arm again, “but the driveway is slippery and I feel responsible for making sure you get home safe since I made you drink that last glass of wine.”

“That’s true, you did.”

“See? What kind of monster would I be if I left you to stumble home alone through a foot of snow in the dark?”

“The worst kind,” she agreed as we turned up the front walk to her house. “An inconsiderate cad.”

“Exactly.”

“Instead, as always, you are the perfect gentleman, Officer Mitchell,” she said as we climbed the porch steps. “And I am very grateful.”

“I don’t know that I’m the perfect gentleman, but—”

“I do,” she interrupted, turning to face me. “You’ve always been one of the good guys, Cole. It’s just who you are.”

God, she was beautiful. And warm and sweet and close, and I really just wanted to fucking make out with her right here on the porch. Taste her lips once and for all.

That’s it. I’m doing it.

But just as I made up my mind, she placed a hand on my chest, rose up on her toes, and kissed my cheek. “Thanks again for dinner. I had a great time.”

“No problem.” As the scent from her hair—something lush that reminded me of a summer day—filled my head, I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She pulled her keys from her purse and unlocked the door. After stepping inside, she turned and gave me one last smile. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.” I watched her shut the door, listened to the lock click, and exhaled.

Breathing in gulps of bitter cold air, I walked back home and let myself in the back door. My mother and Mariah had already gone up to bed, but my mom had left a light on for me in the kitchen. I turned it off, made sure the house was locked up, and went upstairs.

Inside my room, I stripped out of my clothes, alternately glad nothing had happened and cursing myself for not making a move when I had the chance.

If only, I thought, stretching out beneath the covers in my boxer briefs. If only she wasn’t my best friend’s little sister. If only I didn’t always have to do the right thing. If only she didn’t think I was such a perfect gentleman. If only I knew what was going on in her head. If only I could be sure that she wanted me like I wanted her, with no strings attached, no promises required, maybe I could forget everything else and just make her feel good—make us both feel good—without worrying about the past or the future or anything but right here, right now.

And I could make her feel good. I knew I could. With my hands and my mouth and my cock.

My hand was already sliding down my abdomen when I heard my phone pulse with a text, and I realized I must have forgotten to silence it.

Grabbing it off my nightstand, I checked the screen, half expecting to see a message from God warning me to stop being such a perv and get my mind out of the gutter.

Instead, I saw a text from Cheyenne.

Cheyenne: Thank you again for a perfect evening. It was exactly what I needed.

Me: You’re welcome.

Cheyenne: Well, I’m already in bed, so goodnight!

Me: Night.

For a few minutes, I lay there with the phone in my hand, picturing her lying in bed, wondering if she ever touched herself and what she thought about when she did. My erection grew even thicker and harder, begging for attention.

Suddenly my phone pulsed again, and I looked at the screen.

It was a long message from Cheyenne—and what I saw made my jaw drop.

Something in me snapped.

Six

Cheyenne

I got ready for bed and slipped beneath the sheets, feeling like my feet still hadn’t touched the ground.

After all this time, he’d finally invited me to dinner, and I’d ridden alone with him in the front seat of his car, and I’d sat across from him at the most romantic restaurant in town, and I’d held his arm as he walked me home in the snow, just like in a movie. Had we kissed passionately on my front porch at the end of the night? No, but I could leave that for my dreams.