Most days, I can’t decide if you like me or can’t stand me.” Her lips turn into a pouty frown. I rest my hands next to hers on the edge of the counter. “I like you too much.” “I’m not having sex with you, Fitz,” she whispers when my gaze drifts to her neck and lower to the outline of her nipples beneath her tight shirt. “If I had a dime for every time I heard that”—I lean in until my nose touches her neck, inhaling her floral scent while my lips skate along her collarbone—“I’d have zero dimes.”
