Sterling (Carolina Reapers 6)

“None of your business,” I said a little playfully as I thought about how Jansen and I had gone through the same discussion weeks prior.

My heart did a little hiccup at the knowledge that I’d be seeing him in less than an hour. It wasn’t a date, I knew that, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t put a bit more effort into my appearance tonight. With his kiss still searing my thoughts every second of the day, and even worse at night, I figured it couldn’t hurt to play up my features. Sleek black pencil pants that hugged my curves and a breezy white silk blouse that may have shown off more cleavage than I had in…forever. Savannah’s suggestion, and for once, I was taking it. Usually, I stuck to more casual clothing, not even a thought in my mind on gaining a man’s attention.

But Jansen?

That kiss, his smirk, the way he could get under my skin and make me laugh within the same breath? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want him to see me.

“You have a date?” Caz met me halfway to the door, cinnamon scone crumbs trailing behind him. I sighed but ignored the mess.

“Yes,” I said, my tone pure snark.

“With who?”

“Oh, a few guys,” I said. “You wouldn’t know them. They’re all football players.”

Maxim suppressed a grunt, and I think that may have been the first time I’d ever seen him come close to laughing.

Caz, on the other hand, was not amused. “London—”

“Save it, big brother,” I cut him off, patting his chest. “You know I’m joking.” I reached for the door, rolling my eyes at the way his shoulders loosened. “They’re actually hockey players,” I called as I hurried out the door.

Caspian’s grunt of disapproval sounded through the closed door, and I couldn’t help but laugh at how easy he was to rile up. Served him right for always threatening to slaughter any guy I ever dated who didn’t live up to his expectations of who was worthy of me—which landed somewhere between being a Greek God or a sparkly vampire. An impossible hero who could protect and shelter his weak and helpless baby sister.

Quite frankly, I’d prefer a fallen angel who’d shred me apart in the most delicious way, but then again, maybe I’d been reading too much paranormal romance.

With fantasies on the brain, I headed to where Sterling had suggested we meet, my heart racing from just the knowledge that I’d see him soon. I couldn’t deny the excitement or the tiny hint of fear at whatever he had planned.

Not fear of him, of course. But fear itself. Panic. The ice-cold things that took hold of my lungs and my mind whenever I was put in a confined situation.

And right beneath all that, it was…something that quite possibly could be stronger than my fear.

Desire.

Something I never thought I’d have a remote problem with after my horribly awkward and sole sexual encounter. A cold shiver wracked my body just thinking about that ten minutes.

I shook my head, forcing the memory away, and went ahead and let that desire unfurl in the pit of my stomach. I mean, no one could really blame me, right? Jansen Sterling was delectable on his own—those crushing blue eyes that saw through all my defenses, the hard lines of his muscles, the teases of blank ink over his arm, his chest, his neck. God, even without knowing what it felt like to kiss him—who wouldn’t want him?

But I did know what it felt like—fire and sparks and a swirling craving that went beyond my rational reasoning. His kiss had been powerful enough to take the edge off what had been gearing up to be one hell of a panic attack. I’d had enough of them to know the different levels of severity—some I could handle on my own with some tried and true breathing techniques my therapist had taught me. Others, I’d need to pop one of the pills she’d prescribed me for when I could see nothing but black walls closing in around me. The meds took about twenty minutes to calm my mind enough to think through the problem, but it was a hell of a lot better than crumbling into a ball of blind panic, icy whispers in my mind that I’d never get out, never survive. That the panic and terror would never end.

I’d almost gone to that full maximum in the elevator.

But…I hadn’t.

Was that Jansen? Did he have some magical soothing effect that helped me? Or was I simply getting better at managing the fear?

I didn’t have a solid answer, even as I walked up to the movie theater where Jansen stood outside.

Damn, he looked good. Dark jeans hugged his massive, powerful legs, and a tight black t-shirt clung to his chest, leaving very little to the imagination of what lay beneath. Sure, I’d caught glimpses of him before and after practice, those times where he’d leave the arena gym sans shirt, but I didn’t know what his skin felt like. What the muscles beneath it felt like. What his collection of tattoos created or the meaning behind them.