An hour prior to the cat poop incident
I couldn’t get him out of my head.
It was wrong.
Ridiculous.
Pathetic, even.
I thought I was done mooning over this man. This sexy as hell stranger who had more muscles than anyone needed, sexy, tribal tattoos covering his biceps, a killer mouth, and stormy bedroom eyes.
Fuck.
I should never have let him touch me.
Was he the one who touched you? My inner bitch snarked.
Shut up.
But my inner bitch was right. I was the one who jumped him.
My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I recalled that evening with perfect precision.
How good he smelled, like spicy cologne and man. How hot he looked in a pair of gray slacks and a knit polo shirt. His trimmed beard and short hair felt so soft beneath my fingers, and that mouth.
Christ, his mouth.
Swoon.
Had I ever been kissed like that before in my life?
The answer was a loud, resounding no.