“It was official. I really was Senorita Fucktard.”

“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 kind of missed the whole running into each other thing. Provided a lot of excitement.""I don't miss that," I admitted, bending over and rummaging through my bag for my notebook. "That was really embarrassing.""It shouldn't have been.""Easy for you to say. You're the one who got plowed. I was doing the plowing."Cam's mouth opened. Oh my God, did I really just say that? I had.”

“You are really…”“Amazing? Awesome?” He paused, brows raised. “Astonishing?”“I was going to go with bizarre.”“Well, hell, if I had feelings that might actually hurt.”

“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.”

“You don’t have to want to be in a relationship for a little bow-chicka-bow-wow.”Brittany looked at him slowly. “Did you really just say that?”“I did. And I owned it . Gonna make me a shirt that says that.”