Lissa Lynn Thomas writes flawed individuals living in stories that mix humor with the darker side of life and love. With Helena Novak, she’s one half of A.L. Shea.

I look up and find Chloe standing in front of me, her full mouth turned down on one side as she studies my face.

“What is it?” I ask, reaching out to catch a stray curl that’s escaped her ponytail, rubbing the silky strands through my fingers and forcing her to take a step closer. I like her closer. I’m not supposed to, and I try to hide it usually because she’s too fine, too good for me to sully. I let my other hand move to her hip and pull her so she’s standing between my knees, my back to the bar now. She smells like summer to me, always has.

Her green eyes are huge and hooked on mine, looking like she thinks I might be crazy.

“What are you doing, Raif?” She asks softly, her voice practically a whisper. Her small hands are on my chest, just resting there and I want them on my skin.

I want her.

It’s a fact I try hard to hide most of the time. From Pippa, from myself, from the whole world. No more Pippa, though. And I’m so tired of wanting her and denying myself.

“I’m just touching your hair, it’s soft,” I say, trying to downplay how badly I want to pull her even closer, taste her mouth, claim some of that sweetness for myself.