“That would be great,” she said. “Then I could help other people too, not just myself.”

I nodded. “There you go.”

She looked down at our clasped hands. “What am I going to teach you? How to speak French?”

“Hmm. Not sure that would come in too handy.”

“You’re right.” Then she giggled. “Remember that episode of Friends where Phoebe tries to teach Joey how to speak French?”

I shook my head. Right then I couldn’t think of anything except the way she was playing with my fingers, threading them through her own. My dick was reacting as if her hands were in my pants, not on the table.

“Anyway, it did not go well. I’ll think of something else. Oh!” She took her hand from mine and held up one finger. “I’ll teach you to cook something! Then you won’t have to order so much takeout.”

“That works,” I said, grabbing my beer and finishing it. “Although I’m not sure I’ll be a very good student.”

“You’ll be at least as good in the kitchen as I am in the garage,” she said. “And I bet you’re great with your hands.”

Our eyes met. Slowly, I set my empty bottle back on the table. The crotch of my jeans was hot and tight.

Her cheeks flamed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like—not that you wouldn’t be—I mean, I wouldn’t know if you’re—” Flustered, she flapped her hands at the wrist in front of her chest. “Help me, I’m talking, and I can’t shut up.”

I laughed. “It’s okay. I knew what you meant.” Lowering my voice, I said, “And just so you know, that’s a safe bet—I’m excellent with my hands.”

She remained flushed in the face as we finished eating, sneaking peeks at my fingers.

I fucking liked it. A lot.

When the bill was paid, we started walking back to my place.

After a couple minutes of silence, she looked over at me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“It’s kind of out there.”

“Now I’m nervous. But go ahead.”

“If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you’re living now?”

I glanced at her with concern. “You okay?”

She laughed. “I’m fine. But it’s a question someone once asked me, and I said no. It was a lie, of course. And it haunted me for a long time.”

“Ah.”

“So what about you? Would you change anything?”

“Nope. My life is exactly the way I want it.”

“That’s amazing. I really admire the way you’ve always known what you wanted, and you just went for it.”

I thought for a moment. “I don’t know about that. I mean, I was an idiot for a lot of years.” We were approaching the door to my apartment, and I pulled the keys from my pocket.

“An idiot how?”

I shrugged. “When I was younger, I thought I knew everything. I didn’t.”

“Everything about what?”

“Life. And when I got an idea in my head, I just ran hard at it, top speed, balls out. I had no self-control whatsoever.”

She was quiet again for a moment. “I get what you mean. Not that I had balls, of course. But I thought I knew everything too.”

I laughed. “Probably everyone does when they’re eighteen or twenty-one, or even twenty-five. It takes maturity to see things more clearly. Learn the right lessons.” I unlocked the door and opened it for her, then followed her up the stairs, inhaling her vanilla-scented wake.

At the top of the stairs, she turned to face me. “What lessons have you learned?”

“Huh?” Moving past her, I switched on a light in the kitchen. I could not be alone with her in the dark.

“About life. What are the most important lessons you’ve learned?”

I walked over to the lamp next to the couch and switched it on. “I’ve learned that inner strength is just as important as outer strength, maybe more. I’ve learned that getting attached to people or things or ideas gives them too much power over you. And I’ve learned that the only person you can truly rely on is yourself.”

She stared at me across the room. “Wow, Griffin. That’s really bleak.”

“No, it isn’t,” I said defensively. “It’s practical. And it’s freeing. When you realize that you don’t need anyone else to be happy, you stop feeling like you’re missing something. You stop looking for it. You realize you’re fine with what you have.”

“But how do you keep yourself so unattached?”

“That’s what the rules are for.”

“I take it you’re not a relationship person.”

“Nope.”

“But don’t you get lonely, relying only on yourself for everything?”

“Being alone is not the same as being lonely,” I told her. “I promise you, I’m fine. But if you keep talking like this, I’m going to start calling you Darlene.”

She laughed and put up her hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

“Good.” I moved toward the back hallway, anxious for the conversation to be over. I was talking way too much. “I’ll get a sheet and make up the couch for you.”

“Thanks. Hey, do you think I might be able to take a quick shower?”

“Sure.” I kept moving, ignoring the blood rushing to my crotch. She was going to get naked in my bathroom. She was going to take off every stitch of clothing, get in my shower, and put her hands all over her body. Right where I stood naked earlier and would stand naked tomorrow, jerking off at the thought of it. “I’ll leave a couple towels on the bed for you,” I said, my voice cracking, my dick getting hard.

“Thank you.”

With my breath coming hard, I pulled my two nicest bath towels, the white ones Cheyenne had gotten me for Christmas that had no frayed edges, down from a shelf. I’d never even used them because pure white towels scared me—I’d ruin them in one shower after a day on the job. Running my hand slowly over the top, I couldn’t help thinking that this material was going to be all over her bare skin. Up and down her legs, all over her back and thighs, back and forth across her stomach and ass and breasts. Then she was going to come out of the bedroom all showered and clean and smelling delicious, probably wearing those tiny little shorts and that T-shirt that showed her nipples poking through.

It was going to take the strength of twenty men to keep my hands off her.

I didn’t have it in me.

Eight

Blair

Not gonna lie, I got a kick out of taking off all my clothes in Griffin’s bedroom. I even stood there naked for a minute—the door closed tight, of course—daring him to walk in on me.

He didn’t.

Grabbing the towels off the bed, I hurried into the bathroom. “Que diable, Bisou,” I whispered to the kitten, who was still hiding in her crate. “Why am I acting so crazy?”

The shower felt incredible—I washed my hair, shaved my legs, soaped up and rinsed off two days’ worth of road trip grime and sticky summer sweat. I used my own vanilla bean body wash, but I admit I picked up Griffin’s bar of Lava soap and sniffed it. The scent was subtle, but it was enough to send a tingle directly between my legs.