“He groped Brenna,” I remind Fitz. “He deserved a fist.”

I can tell from his inflexible expression that he doesn’t agree. In Fitz’s mind, I forced him into a bar fight, end of story.

I turn on my heels. “I’m going back inside.”

“No.”

With an incredulous look, I spin around. “Are you serious right now? I’m doing what you want! You keep telling me to go inside.”

“Changed my mind,” he barks. “I’m taking you home. You’ve caused enough trouble for one night.”

“I caused trouble! What about the maniac who dumped water all over Brenna? Or her sleazy, gropey boyfriend? I cannot believe you’re blaming me for anything that happened in there!”

He takes a step forward and I whip both hands up in a martial arts pose. I took three months of karate when I was twelve. I can take him.

“If you throw me over your shoulder, I will scream my bloody lungs out,” I warn. “It’s not my fault you decided to punch someone tonight. Deal with the consequences of your own actions.”

Dark eyes blaze at me. “I wouldn’t have to deal with these consequences if you hadn’t gotten your panties in a knot over some silly girl who wasn’t worth your anger.”

Just like that, my body reacts as if someone cranked my internal arousal meter up to Danger: Orgasm Imminent. A guy as sexy as this one isn’t allowed to say the word panties. Because now I’m imagining a variation of that sentence. In my head, I hear his deep voice rumbling, “I want to rip your panties off with my teeth, Summer.”

“Don’t you fucking look at me like that.”

My gaze jerks toward his. Okay, the words aren’t the same, but the growly rasp is exactly what I’d heard in my head.

“Like what?” I ask weakly. My pulse has gone from zero to a million in a split second, making my knees wobble.

“You know what I’m talking about.” He hisses out a breath. “And you need to stop it.”

“Stop what?”

He groans. A frustrated, animalistic groan that sends a bolt of heat between my legs before spreading outward to set every square inch of my skin on fire. I’m no longer feeling the cold. I could be buck-naked in the Siberian tundra, and I’d still feel like I was going up in flames. I thought I’d known what lust felt like, but I was wrong.

“Stop playing with my damn mind.” The words are tortured, shaky. “One day you’re flirting with me, the next you’re cuddling with Hunter.”

Guilt pricks into me. Crap. I forgot about the night Hunter and I snuggled. Fitz knows about that?

“One day you’re calling us best friends, the next you’re standing in front of me looking like you want my dick in your mouth.”

My core clenches with an ache so powerful I almost keel over. Oh my God. That is a visual I do not need right now.

He shakes his head before dropping his gaze to his scuffed boots. “I don’t like mind games and I definitely don’t like drama,” he mutters.

“Fitz.” Wariness curls around my throat. “What are you actually mad about right now?”

His jaw clenches tight. For a moment I don’t expect him to answer, but then he mumbles, “You could’ve gotten hurt in there.”

Surprise jolts through me. That’s what this is about? He was worried for my safety?

“But I didn’t,” I assure him. “Trust me, I know how to handle myself. I’m scrappy.”

“I’ve noticed.”

I shake my head irritably. “Why couldn’t you say that from the start? Summer, I don’t like the idea of you getting hurt. There. Easy. Instead, you shout at me like a maniac and then act like there’s something wrong about me thinking you’re hot when you’re angry?”

Slowly, he lifts his head.

I suck in a breath. He levels me with a hot, needy look that has me desperately squeezing my legs together. The throbbing is back, and it’s worse now. Nobody has ever looked at me this way.

“You think I’m hot when I’m angry?”

“Yes, I do. You were sexy-shouting and it got me going. So sue me.” I glare at him. “Just because you’re not attracted to me doesn’t mean I’m—”

“Not attracted to you?” he interrupts incredulously, and the next thing I know he’s snatching my hand and placing it directly on his crotch. “Feel this? This is what you do to me. You make me hard. Constantly.”

He presses my palm tighter to his body, and a moan gets stuck in my throat. I’m mesmerized by the thick ridge beneath my hand. He’s impossibly big. I mean, I guess I expected it. He’s a big guy. Tall, muscular, huge shoulders. Big hands… But that isn’t always a reliable indication of wiener size. I dated a tight end once with bear paws and size fourteen shoes and a teeny little ding dong. The kind of penis that makes you cry real tears because it’s so depressingly disappointing.

Fitz? He doesn’t disappoint. I wish I could wrap my fingers around him, put my mouth on him. But his stupid pants are on, so I settle for rubbing the tantalizing length of him. Just slightly, and yet the fleeting contact is enough to summon a deep, tormented moan from his throat.

“You think it’s fun walking around with this damn thing all day long? You so much as breathe in my direction, and you do this to me. You’re on my mind twenty-four-seven.”

“But…” I swallow. “You think I’m fluff.”

“For fuck’s sake. Are we back to that? I only said that shit to Garrett because I was trying to convince myself not to get involved with you.”

I falter. “Really?” I experience a burst of hope…until the last thing he said registers, bringing a flicker of hurt. My hand drops from his groin. “Why didn’t you want to get involved with me?”

“Because you drive me crazy. Wanting you is exhausting, Summer. Being around you is exhausting.” He throws his hands up before dragging them through his messy hair. “I’m an introvert, and you’re the very definition of social. And exhausting. Did I mention you’re exhausting?”

I frown. “I don’t—”

“Everything okay out here?”

We both whirl around at the sound of Hunter’s voice. Our roommate strides across the lot, my parka slung over one arm. He holds it out for me, and, despite the heat still coursing through my blood, I take the coat and shrug it on.

“Thanks,” I tell Hunter. “And everything’s fine.” I’m dying to look at Fitz, but I’m afraid of what I’ll see.

He solves the dilemma for me by walking to his car. “Make sure Summer gets home safe,” he says.

Not even a backwards glance.

A moment later, his huge body disappears into the driver’s seat, the engine sputters to life, and he peels out of the lot without even waiting five seconds to defrost his windshield.

Tears sting my eyes. I blink hard and fast, but they still manage to break free. The adrenaline from the bar fight (both my fight and Fitz’s) is suddenly sucked out of my body as if someone stuck a vacuum hose on me. It leaves me feeling weary.

Hunter draws me toward him, wrapping one arm around my shoulders. “Hey, don’t cry, Blondie.”