Is she still the girl next door, sweet as vanilla? Or is she the kind of woman who likes to play?

  I stare at the pic of her and her dog for another minute. Then I spot a reply to my…heart?

  Oh, shit. I guess I hit like on her pic. Her reply is simple and far too tempting.

  Hey, you…

  Fuck screening her.

  I send her a DM.

  6

  VERY BIG BINOCULARS

  Gabe: Hey to you too…I’d say it’s been a while, but I’m pretty sure that was you in the purple halter top and jean shorts walking past me last night.

  Ellie: Oooh, are you spying on me?

  Gabe: Maybe I am. Want to test my spy skills?

  Ellie: Absolutely. Can you tell me what I’m wearing right now?

  Gabe: Pink. Lots of pink.

  Ellie: Those are some very big binoculars, mister.

  Gabe: Huge.

  Ellie: So you saw me last night and didn’t even say hi, Gabe? Way to make a gal feel welcome in her new town.

  Gabe: Should I send you a welcome basket? With fruits and candles and stuff?

  Ellie: Hmm. Tell me more about this stuff.

  Gabe: Decadent dark chocolate? Champagne? A fine wine?

  Ellie: Stuff, please!

  Gabe: Excellent. Now I know how to make you feel welcome.

  Ellie: Well, that’s a start. ;)

  Gabe: Noted. And last night, in my defense, the window at The Happiest Hours got in the way.

  Ellie: Should have broken it down.

  Gabe: Next time. But damn, your dog is cute. Also, those were some nice shorts, Ellie.

  Ellie: Same to you…for the tattoos and stubble, that is. I thought that might have been you. Now I know it was.

  Gabe: Who’s the spy now?

  Ellie: Well, you’re not wearing a shirt at the moment, so I guess I am too.

  Gabe: Are you stationed in the building across from mine, keeping watch on me?

  Ellie: Do you want me to be?

  Gabe: I don’t have much more to take off, so I suppose the answer is yes.

  Ellie: If you were dressed, would the answer be no?

  Gabe: Come to think of it, the answer would still be yes. By the way, I was going to ask if you’re living in Los Angeles now, but your social gave me the answer when I looked you up.

  Ellie: I guess the jean shorts were memorable enough to go searching.

  Gabe: The whole package was unforgettable, Ellie. And welcome to Los Angeles. I hope you and Gigi like it here.

  Ellie: Nice move, remembering my dog’s name. Funny, I was looking you up this morning too.

  Gabe: Oh yeah? Any reason in particular?

  Ellie: I have my reasons. But why don’t you go first and tell me why you looked me up. Just the shorts?

  Gabe: How about I tell you tonight? Any chance you’re free for dinner? Or drinks? Or a dog walk?

  Ellie: Let’s start with a drink.

  Gabe: Meet me at eight. Gin Joint is a new lounge bar in Venice. Great drinks, great vibe.

  Ellie: Are jean shorts a requirement?

  Gabe: Wear anything. Or nothing.

  Ellie: Funny, I was going to say the same to you.

  7

  MY TEENAGE WET DREAM

  Ellie

  This is just drinks. I only want to prove I’m not a bad-boy magnet. And if this date with a certified good guy goes well, perhaps he can be my plus one for Aunt Tilly’s party, complete with apple pies, lemonade, and lawn croquet—in pairs, of course. Mom and her sisters love a good lawn party. If Gabe goes with me, that’ll keep Mom from hounding me about my taste in men.

  Gabe’s like a mom shield. That’s all.

  I check my reflection in the full-length mirror in my bedroom. Cotton-candy pink ribbed tank, a black distressed jean skirt, and zip-up ankle boots.

  Damn, I like the way I look. I bet he will too. The man seems to like pink. No reason not to lean into his color preferences.

  I flip my head over, fluff my hair a final time, then pop back up in a cloud of chestnut waves. Yup, I’m ready to see my teenage wet dream.

  A flare of excitement lights up inside me, but I do my best to keep it in check.

  I don’t want to get too caught up in my girlhood crush.

  This is just drinks.

  I focus on the practical details. Gin Joint is about a mile away, so I’ll ride my scooter. I can have a drink and not worry about driving home. Grabbing my little shoulder bag, I leave the bedroom then find my fave four-legged person in the living room, this time curled up on her red velvet dog chair like a little queen. “Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone,” I tell Gigi.

  She looks like she’s saying: I’m perfect, don’t you know?

  “Yes, I do know that,” I say, then bend over her throne to tap her little wet nose. She licks my face, letting me know she forgives me for even suggesting she’d be less than a lady while I’m gone.

  I head to the garage, tapping a note to Maddox on my phone as I go. Guess what I’m doing tonight? Taking the scooter you got me as I head out on a date!

  His reply is instant. A date with a bad boy?

  I laugh, shaking my head. He’ll be so proud of me. I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m taking a good guy out for a spin. So there.

  Enjoy the ride. And of course I mean the…guy.

  As I sling on my helmet, I write back: Maddox, who’s bad now?

  Then I tuck the phone away and dial into the moment.

  Not the past and my long-ago lust for Gabe Clements. But the present and the challenge. As I ride through the neighborhood streets, I imagine leaving a trail of bad boys in the dust.

  I’m living in a new town where I’m going to be a new woman. A woman who knows how to pick ’em. Not a woman who gets tangled up with cons, jerks, and thieves.

  I turn onto the busy main road, then park on the sidewalk outside Gin Joint, hop off the scooter, and unsnap the helmet. I peer in the window, fluffing my hair.

  But before I push open the door to the too-cool lounge, the butterflies flap wildly in my chest.

  Again.

  I’m about to have a drink with the guy I harbored a wicked, forbidden crush on when I was in high school. Back then, I was fifteen. He was twenty-five. He was all kinds of off-limits, and yet Gabe Clements sleeping on my parents’ couch in all his muscly, bearded glory was my goddamn sexual awakening when I was busy growing boobs.

  Well, I sneaked downstairs, of course and watched him sleep. I had no choice!

  The butterflies race through me, kicking up naughty fantasies again.

  Oh, hell.

  What have I done?

  Gabe might be a sweetheart, but there’s no way I can make it through an evening with the man without blurting: Do you know how many orgasms I imagined you giving me while I was under my polka-dot comforter late at night?

  The answer? Countless.

  But the man wasn’t only my teenage crush. He was my college fantasy too. When I saw him at his aunt’s eggnog-tasting party, I pictured him throwing me over his shoulder and stalking up the stairs, then manhandling me against the door of her guest room.

  Stop, Ellie. Just stop.

  I can’t linger on those dirty dreams.

  I’m simply going to act…cool, casual, and totally unruffled by the filthy forbidden fantasies of my younger years.

  I head into the speakeasy. Sensual lounge music greets me, a tune about how longing can drive you mad. It’s the kind of song you listen to on a hot afternoon as the fan rattles overhead, and you pour a stiff drink while lingering on thoughts of a lover.

  Not helpful, sound system.

  I should have suggested an alternative to Gin Joint. Counter offered with the Surf Shack or Tony’s Beachside Darts and Brew. Something easy with fries and margaritas and sunlight.

  Gin Joint is low lights, pulsing music, and plush velvet couches. It’s foreplay.

  But I’ve got this. I’m Reformed Ellie tonight, and I’m on a good-guy mission.

  I avoid the chaise lounges and head straight for the bar. The bar is safer than the inch-closer-to-me vibe of the couch. As I weave past couples and groups of guys and gals, I’m hunting for the six-foot-three, broad-shouldered, steel-chested football player. But I don’t see Gabe, so I set my helmet on the bar, grabbing a stool at the end of the sleek metal counter. I’ll just take a moment to catch my breath before he comes in.

  As I hop up on a black stool, a big hand spreads across my lower back, right below my tank.

  On my exposed flesh.

  It could be any guy, but instinctively, I know it’s Gabe.

  Big and strong.

  Then, as his fingers tug on the end of my tank, a deep, growly voice floats past my ear. “Better than jean shorts.”

  So much for Cool Ellie. I’m already lava hot.

  8

  EARLY BEDTIME

  Ellie

  I turn to face my good-guy date, breath hitching as I take in his dark, broody eyes, and his lush lips.

  Then, the rest of him.

  And Gabe looks gooooood in well-worn jeans that hug his thighs and a black T-shirt that stretches deliciously over his pecs. Not too tight and saying look at me, but not too loose and saying he doesn’t care.

  The whole casual ensemble is just right for this Goldilocks.

  His T-shirt hits his biceps, showing off the ink on his right arm. His skin is lined with black art, from flames to abstract geometric designs, with stars and sunbursts curving over and under the fine lines.

  A well-designed sleeve makes me murmur oh, yes.

  My curious gaze travels to his face once more. His mouth is sinful, and his dark chocolate brown eyes are already undressing me.

  “You look good, Ellie Snow,” he says, in a sexy rasp that makes the hair on my arms stand on end. “And I knew pink would be just your color.”

  My brain goes haywire with lust.

  I swallow, searching for words, but my libido hid them all. I need to speak soon.

  As in…now.

  “Um, your jeans are nice too,” I blurt out.

  What kind of drivel was that? Your jeans are nice? Am I fifteen again?

  He spreads his fingers across my back, making a statement. Mine. “Glad you like them. Want a drink?”

  A drink. Yes! I can do this. I can order something.

  Except what do I like to drink? I can’t remember.

  Help, universe! Help!

  A Shirley Temple? A Coke?

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, words form, and I grab them, spitting out, “A piña colada would be nice.”

  I cringe. I wouldn’t blame the place for barring me. But the truly mortifying thing isn’t that I had just asked for grandma’s beach cocktail in a place called Gin Joint. It’s the vivid memory of fifteen-year-old me trying to Lolita my way over to him in the kitchen like I did when he offered to make mac and cheese the second time he babysat. Instead, I jokingly asked for a piña colada because it was the only drink I knew of, and somehow, I thought that’d make me sound sexy to him.

  But Gabe simply flashes me a charming, confident smile, then says, “A virgin one, Ellie?”

  Like he’d said that night, calling me on my bluff.

  He’s only going to see me as a little girl. Too young to date.

  Is there a start-over button somewhere, please? “Can you excuse me for a second?” I ask, then I scurry to the ladies’ room. After I shut the door, I press my palms to the counter, then talk back to my reflection.

  Get your act together. He’s not the off-limits, sexy lawn guy from down the street anymore. He’s an NFL receiver, and you’re a successful actress turned writer. You might have once had a filthy crush on this sweetheart of a man, but you don’t need to act like you’re fifteen and he’s forbidden fruit.

  You’re on a date.

  I take another breath, reapply my lip gloss, then return to the bar. When I reach Gabe, I give him a smile and a smidge of the truth. “So, I apologize for my evil twin sister who started this date poorly on my behalf. I’ve kicked her to the curb and it’s just me now. To answer your question, I’d love a chardonnay.”

  Gabe grins, the cocky lopsided kind of grin that makes my stomach flip, then sets a hand on my back again, heating me up once more. “Too bad about your twin sister. But I like both of you,” he says in a dirty whisper.

  Tingles race down my chest. “Good to hear,” I murmur.

  With his free hand, he calls the bartender over. “Hey man,” he says with a charming smile. That must be his PR grin, the one he uses for the sports media. “How’s it going? You having a good night?”

  “I am,” the guy behind the bar says. “What can I do for you?”

  Gabe looks at me, running his hand possessively over my back. “My date would like a chardonnay, and I’ll take a bourbon.”

  I squirm a little bit in my seat, stifling a smile at the claim.

  “Coming right up,” the man says, then spins around to grab glasses.

  Gabe returns his focus to me. “So the piña colada comment, Ellie. Tell me something,” he says, his tone a little demanding.

  “Yes?”

  “Do I make you nervous?”

  More like nervous and hot. But I’m not ready to be that candid.

  I do admit, “You did at first, but then I realized you’re a good guy, and I shouldn’t be nervous around you.”

  I looked him up because he’s the opposite of my ex. He’s good and charming. He’s the boy next door.

  Okay, the guy next door. Or that’s the idea.

  His lips curve upward in intrigue. “Is that so?”

  “You always helped everyone around the neighborhood. Our block was filled with the prettiest lawns. And I seem to remember you made the best mac and cheese,” I say, giving him a flirty smile.

  “Ah, so you like me for my gardening. Duly noted,” he says, and when the bartender returns with our drinks, Gabe thanks him. A couple of guys walk toward us, the mustached one staring at my chest. Gabe glowers at the guy, and he snaps his gaze away.

  With that leer vanquished, Gabe smiles at me, then lifts his glass. “To you,” he says.

  I lift mine. “To you looking me up,” I say, clinking with his tumbler.

  “Or to you looking me up,” he teases.

  Finally. We’re flirting in a way I can handle.

  “Hey, now. You were going to tell me why you looked me up. I’m still waiting,” I say with a smile, then I take a sip of my wine, and he knocks back some bourbon.

  “Ladies first,” he says.

  Fine. If I must. Best to put this out in the open anyway. “My friends challenged me to go on a date with a good guy,” I say, laying out the truth and nothing but. It’s easier than playing games. I don’t have it in me to toy with him. Not after I stumbled out of the gate.

  He inches closer to me. “Of all the men in Los Angeles, you picked me for this experiment?”

  “Did I pick badly?” I counter innocently, fluttering my lashes. Yes, I’m getting my groove back.

  He lifts his glass, saying nothing, then swallows some liquor. “I’ll surprise you by the end of the night, Ellie,” he says in a smoky tone.

  My stomach flutters. “Good. I love surprises.”

  “Me too. But tell me more about this…good guy challenge,” he says, his gaze locking on mine.

  “No, it’s your turn.” I touch his arm and let my fingers settle there. I’m totally copping a feel, and Gabe knows it, judging by the way he glances down at my hand then back up to meet my eyes.

  “You said you’d tell me why you looked me up,” I prompt, reminding him of our texts from earlier. “Don’t leave a gal hanging.”

  He lets out a satisfied breath, like he’s glad I asked. “When I saw you last night, I remembered that Christmas party at my aunt’s house when you were in college. Remembered the mistletoe. Thought about what I’d wanted to do to you that night.”

  This is no longer playful flirting. This is hot, racy, dirty talk, headed only one direction. I grip the edge of the bar so I don’t climb him right here. Trying to keep my cool, I look up at the empty space above our heads. “But there’s no mistletoe here, Gabe.”

  When our eyes meet again, his smile comes at me like a seduction, slow and sensual. “The night is young, Ellie,” he says, in a voice hinting that maybe he’s not so nice.

  Then he shifts his tone to something less incendiary. “So you’re here in Los Angeles.”

  I’m grateful for the change in topic. I was about to melt like a popsicle onto the floor. “I moved here for work. I had a great new opportunity on a show I wrote and am producing.”

  I raise my glass for another sip, and as the wine slides past my lips, I spot a ginger-haired man walking toward us, his gaze lingering on my face as if he recognizes me, maybe from the TV show I acted in?

  The redhead slows as he gets closer to me, and the sound that comes from Gabe’s throat is feral. A low, menacing growl, like a dog.

  Aimed at the man.