But eating dinner with her, cleaning up afterward . . . it’s nice.

I’m not used to having nice in my life. I’m used to shitty. I’m used to disappointment. I’m used to people being let down by me, by the way I act and speak and fucking look. Everyone’s just always so disappointed in me and with me and just—ugh.

But when I look at Star, I don’t see disappointment in her eyes. Not when she looks at me.

She’s standing next to the counter now, drying the last of our dishes from dinner. It was my job to wash since she couldn’t with her injured hand. And she’s just smiling at me, talking about something that she’d seen Bruiser do today when I’d been out taking a load of stuff down to the dump. But I can’t even make out the words she’s saying.

I don’t even hear them.

All I can do is look at her, at how fucking gorgeous she is. How her eyes fucking light up when she smiles at me, when she tells me about her day. And suddenly all I can think of is the way she looks at me, and the chance.

The chance that she feels the same way about me as I do about her. The chance that we could be together. That it could be good.

The chance that I keep letting pass me by every single fucking day that I don’t open my mouth and say something, don’t do something about it.

My heart is racing in my chest, and the thoughts that are racing through my brain must show on my face, because Star’s voice trails off and just looks at me, that same little furrow digging deep between her eyebrows.

“Ah, fuck it,” I say suddenly, striding toward her. I grab the dishtowel from her hand and toss it on the counter beside her as her eyes widen with surprise.

“Ash, what—” But that’s all she gets out before I surge forward and press my mouth to hers.

For a minute, she stands there frozen, and all I can think is that this is the end. I’ve fucked everything up. But just as I’m about to pull away, her hands come up and I feel her fingers against my face. It’s the softest damn thing I’ve ever felt, and I can’t stifle the moan that rises up out of me as I press forward, and slant my mouth against hers. My tongue glances against her lip, and then she’s pressing back against me, her mouth opening beneath mine, her fingers tightening in the fabric of my shirt.

Fuck.

My arms come up around her, my palms flat against her sides, my fingers touching, trailing everywhere I can reach. And she fucking whimpers and starts writhing her hot little body against mine, and what little control I have snaps, and I’m wrapping her up in my arms and leaning her back against the kitchen counter.

Star

Holy crap.

Holy.

Crap.

This is actually happening. God, for weeks I’ve wanted Ash, wanted to press myself against him, touch him all over. Now that it’s actually happening I don’t even know where to start.

So I do the only thing I can. I touch him everywhere. Up his arms, under the hem of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin against mine. I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, tugging him closer. I slide the fingers of my good hand through his hair.

A million years pass; a single second. I can’t tell anymore.

And then all of a sudden, we’re moving.

His hands are rubbing up and down my sides as we kiss, making our way, together, step by step, toward my makeshift bedroom. When we’re just inside the door, Ash spins us so that my back is up against the door jamb, and his hands smooth down my sides to my legs. Then, without warning, his hands clasp behind my thighs and he hauls me up. The jamb digs into my back and I wrap my legs around his waist without thinking, a rush of heat shooting through me. I rake my fingers through his hair and jerk his head closer as he presses against me. His body rubbing against mine. Back and forth. Back and forth. It’s driving me crazy.

Moaning, I lick into his mouth one last time, getting lost in the kiss before I pull away enough to drop my legs back down and push him toward the mattress. He stumbles back a bit, grinning at me all cocky. But I can see the way his chest is heaving, the way the muscles of his chest shift and move beneath his skin.

He wants this as badly as I do.

I reach down and grasp the hem of my tank top, and begin pulling it up over my head. The cool air against my overheated skin is delicious and I shiver a little as I shake my hair free and drop the shirt to the floor.

There’s a whimper, and I freeze.

That sound wasn’t from either of us.

I whirl around and find Bruiser just outside the door, staring at me with big eyes.

Ash lets out a laugh behind me, and I look over my shoulder and glare at him before turning back to the dog.

Bruiser’s tail wags back and forth, his doggie smile widening as he realizes he’s gotten my attention. His tail thumps against the wall beside the door, and he pulls himself up out of his seated position just as I smile down at him.

Then I reach over, grab the door and close it gently in his face.

Ash

I bark out a laugh as Bruiser lets out a tiny whimper of confusion on the other side of the door, and turn to Star, raising my eyebrows.

“What?” she says, leaning back against the door, all long limbs and glistening skin. “I’m not letting your dog watch us, you perv.”

“Hey,” I say, and take a step toward her. I want to touch that skin, run my hands all over it. It’s irresistible. “I’ll have you know that Bruiser is a gentleman and a scholar. He would never—” But Star cuts me off before I can finish bullshitting.

“I caught him trying to hump the blow-up Santa in the backyard yesterday,” she says. She’s rolling her eyes but she’s still reaching for me as I get closer. The second my hands touch her skin, rub against it, she seems to almost melt. I press my lips against her throat and her fingers tangle in my hair, pulling at it. God. Damn. This feels good. But it’s Star, and like hell I’m going to give up a chance to bullshit with her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, kissing my way up her neck, lingering at her jaw. “Bruiser would never do such a thing.”

She tugs harder on my hair, hard enough that I pull back to look at her. She’s smirking at me. “I also caught him humping the stuffed frog you threw out on Tuesday. Your argument is invalid. Now take off your pants.”

Okay. Maybe I’ll let the bullshitting go. Just this once.

I reach for my belt. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

“Wait,” she says, and suddenly my hands aren’t alone, they’re tangled with hers, and her sweet mouth is pressing against my throat. “Let me help.”

I groan and let my head fall back. Fuck. This girl is going to be the death of me. My belt loosens and my jeans drop to the floor next to her shirt. I tilt my head forward and catch her mouth with mine again, tangling my tongue with hers as I reach up and slide my fingers into her hair. It’s thick and silky and it twists between my fingers, almost like it has a mind of its own, like it’s drawing me in. And goddamn, she tastes good. Like the lemonade she was drinking with dinner, and the spearmint gum she chews until it seems like her jaw will crack from it. And something that’s just Star and Star alone. I’ve never tasted anything like it. I’ve always been shit with words, but I’m pretty sure this is what intoxicating means.

It’s rivaling every high I’ve ever fucking had.

Goddamn.

My cock is hard enough to pound nails, and I know she can feel it, the way she’s rubbing her belly against it. I just want to reach down and pick her up, toss her on the mattress behind me and fall down there after her. But she’s two steps ahead of me, and I’ve just barely felt the brush of the mattress against the back of my ankle when I’m suddenly horizontal and she’s standing over me, looking gorgeous and goddamn triumphant.