Yes, I've known her the longest. She used to hang around my house all the time when she and Reed were in high school together. I’d consider us friendly. But what if Tessa doesn’t want her best friend’s little sister horning in on her girl’s night? What if she asks me to leave?

I press my hand to my thigh and force my leg to quit bouncing. I can't think about this right now. I'm short on time as it is. I need to focus on getting ready. So I push those worrying thoughts aside and turn the car off, grab my book bag off the passenger seat, hustle out, and hurry up the driveway.

I can hear music playing when I step up onto the porch. A steady beat with a heavy bass. Twisting the doorknob, I push the door open and step inside the house.

The living room and kitchen are empty, but the TV is on. CJ is typically lounging on the couch when I get home, either watching something or getting creative in his boredom. Just the other day, he set up glasses all along the living room floor and flipped quarters into them. And I also caught him building a castle out of a deck of cards on the trunk he uses as a coffee table. It even had a drawbridge and a moat. I was impressed.

This is CJ’s go-to spot. But he’s not here.

What could he be doing?

I pad across the room and down the hallway, heading toward the music and the shower I need to be taking. CJ’s bedroom door is open, and curiosity has me stopping at it to take a look inside.

Just a peek, I think. I'll say hi, then I’ll hurry up and hop in the shower. A peek and a hi. That's it.

I stop at the doorway. My eyes widen as the hand around my book bag strap tightens into a fist.

Holy . . .

No way is this going to be a peek.

CJ is shirtless and facing the far wall, his sculpted back bulging as he hangs from a bar mounted to the ceiling. Knees bent. Arms extended. Body shiny with sweat. Jay Z raps through the speakers come and get me, and the man with more muscles than anyone else on the planet—I’m sure of it—proceeds to knock out a never ending round of pull ups as if they are nothing.

My mouth falls open. I feel my pulse spike as I stand there, staring in awe at his power.

CJ's arms and shoulders and back flex and ripple and swell with tension, but he never slows. Rep after rep. Boom. Boom. Boom. One after the other. This is easy to him. It’s nothing. And it’s killing me. My God.

I may actually drool a little as I stand here. I can't help it though. This is better than porn.

Come and get me.

The song keeps playing. Goosebumps break out all over my body. I listen to the lyrics and to CJ’s skin tingling grunts, which reminds me of the sounds he makes when he’s having sex. And those memories paired with the visual I’m getting, plus Jay Z’s goading permission, are a little too much to take right now. I know if CJ sees me or hears me getting ready in the next room, I’ll have to face him, and honestly, I don’t think I can handle that.

What if I touch him? What if I can’t resist anymore and run my hands over his shiny skin? I’ll curl my fingers around his muscles. I know I will, and CJ doesn’t want me to do that. He said he fucked up yesterday—after touching me more than he has since we agreed to be friends. I can still feel his hands on my hips and his strong pressure above my heartbeat. But he got weird and quiet on me afterward. He got different. He didn’t like it. Why else would he have acted the way he did?

I don’t want that to happen again. But I won’t be able to not touch him. Not today. Not anymore.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

CJ keeps going, rep after rep, and I can feel myself breathing heavier. I’ve never seen a man workout like this before. Honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man before period. CJ Tully might be my first.

You won’t be able to fight this, desire whispers in my ear. I bite my lip.

Decision made—I need to sacrifice my appearance tonight.

After getting one last lingering look, I step back and move swiftly down the hallway, leaving the house as quickly as I arrived.

McGill’s is crowded when I get there, which isn’t surprising. It’s Friday night. And as I scan the room for the faces I’m expecting to see, a sharp, whistling sound draws my attention through the crowd.

I spot the girls at a table near the bar. Beth and Mia are waving and smiling at me, all warm and welcoming, while Tessa side-eyes some girl twerking close by. I want to laugh because that’s Tessa for you. She’s not a girl’s girl at all, but I’m also mildly terrified she might side-eye me next.

Please don’t ask me to leave. I really want to be here.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late,” I say, stopping behind the vacant chair between Beth and Mia.

Both of them are dressed in cute summer dresses, have their hair pulled up in messy buns and are wearing light makeup—bronzer, lip gloss, maybe some highlighter. They look like they’re glowing. Tessa is wearing a white tank top with the word No written in bold, black letters across her chest. Her red hair is down and straightened, and her eyes are lined heavy. All three of them look girl’s-night ready.

I’m wearing mascara. That’s it.

I really need to start carrying makeup in my book bag.

“You’re not late. We all just got here,” Beth informs me, head tilting in curiosity when she looks at my top. “I thought you were going home to change after clinical?”

I was, but CJ was shirtless and making sex noises.

I clear my throat. “Um, yeah, I got held up at the hospital, so I figured I would just come straight here,” I lie, shrugging. “Sorry.”