Page 16 of The Accidental Dating Experiment

“Yeah,” I say hoarsely. She’s so fucking close to me, I can smell her vanilla-honey scent.

She shrugs cheerily. “See, aren’t you glad adult-size bunk beds exist? We can share a bed, and it won’t be weird. Do you want to be on the top or the bottom?”

I stare at her, trying to form an answer that won’t give away all my resurrected dirty thoughts. Top, bottom, it’s all good.

I grunt something unintelligible, and she furrows her brow. “What did you say?”

Fuck. Shit. “Hungry,” I say roughly, sounding like a caveman instead of just thinking like one.

She snort-laughs. “Or maybe hangry. You always do get cranky when you’re peckish. Anyway, I’ll take the bottom. You take the top.” Then she tilts her head, tapping her chin. “Come to think of it, I might be headed toward hangry too. But I really want to look through those sequined dresses.”

She breezes off, and I catch her scent as she goes.

I tug on my shirt collar again. Yeah, this won’t be weird at all.

Think fast, Monroe.

“I’m going to grab some dinner for us, okay? I can bring it back here and we can work on a to-do list.”

“Sounds good,” she calls, and I fly out the door.

6

SPICE TOLERANCE

Monroe

My phone trills as soon as I put the car in drive. Yes! A distraction. If it’s a spam call peddling new self-employed insurance, I’ll take it. I might even listen because, hello, healthcare is a buzzkill, and I’ll do anything to murder this buzz right now.

I answer without looking to see who’s calling.

“Blackstone here,” I bark as I head toward the road, the gravel crunching under the tires.

“Oh, I thought I was calling Doctor Blackstone. I’ll hang up and try again.”

It’s Carter, my good friend and next-door neighbor, and he’ll serve as a perfect distraction. “I don’t often answer the phone with Doctor.”

“Yeah, you do,” he says.

“I don’t,” I insist.

“You do. Don’t argue with me, I have recordings.”

I peel out of the driveway and onto the road. “You don’t.”

“Always keep the receipts, man,” he answers, making me chuckle as I cruise the winding road away from the unexpected resurgence of annoying desire.

“Anyhoo,” Carter says. “I’m at your place, and what the hell? How many deliveries do you get?”

I’d asked him to bring in any packages I receive, so they won’t pile up in the lobby while I’m gone. “Not that many,” I say defensively.

“You’ve been gone less than a day, and there’s already a ton of boxes.”

“Wait. It’s Sunday,” I realize with a wince. The pre-season just started and I feel bad for missing a game. “Didn’t you play today?”

“I did. Kicked the New York Leopards ass and thank you very much for not listening on your drive. It is on the radio as well as TV. We are Big Game winners.” He can brag—he has the two rings to back it up.

“Yeah, well, I had to suffer through show tunes all the way to Darling Springs, so this is information that would have been helpful a few hours ago.”