“I want you. Bad. Right now. Against the wall. On my bed. The floor and maybe in the bathroom later. I have a shower stall and a Jacuzzi we could put to really good use. I know you'd like it.”

“While the idea of taking you right now, against the wall, is enough to make me lose control, I want you to know that I’m serious. You’re not a hook up. You’re not a friend with benefits. You’re more than that to me.”I closed my eyes, breathing heavily. “Well, that was…really sort of perfect.”“I’m really sort of perfect … Everyone else knows that. You’re just a little slow on the uptake.”

“Fuck, Avery. You think I don’t want you?” His voice came out low, almost a growl. “There’s not a single part of you that I don’t want, you understand? I want to be on you and inside of you. I want you against the wall, on the couch, in your bed, in my bed, and every fucking place I can possibly think of, and trust me, I have a vast imagination when it comes to these kinds of things. Don’t ever doubt that I want you. That is not what this is about.”

“Racing up the wide staircase, I barreled through the double doors and smacked right into a brick wall.Stumbling backward, my arms flailed like a cracked-out crossing guard. My over-packed messenger bag slipped, pulling me to one side. My hairflew it front of my face, a sheet of auburn that obscured everything as I teetered dangerously.Oh dear God, I was going down. There was no stopping it. Visions of broken necks danced in my head. This was going to suck so—Something strong and hard went around my waist, stopping my free fall. My bag hit the floor, spilling overpriced books and pens across the shinyfloor. My pens! My glorious pens rolled everywhere. A second later I was pressed against the wall.The wall was strangely warm.The wall chuckled.“Whoa,” a deep voice said. “You okay, sweetheart?”

“Whoa," Brit breathed, handing my drink back to me. "That was...""Really hot," Jacob finished. "I thought you two were going to rip off each other's clothes and start making babies right here on the dirty, beer covered floor. Like I was going to have to start charging admission for what was about to go down.”

“You’re joking, right?”“No. I’ve been living here for a while—like a couple of years with my roommate. You know, the fucktard who put poor Raphael outside.”“Hey!” the guy yelled from inside their apartment. “I have a name. It’s Señor Fucktard!”

“I would be clapping like a seal right now if I weren't so fucking hungover, just so you know. Inside I am doing happy jumping jacks for you with glittery pom poms.”