“It puts you in a tough situation, I know,” Clay says, “everything with this building being up in the air. But I promise I’m going to treat the place right while it’s mine. Fix up what I can, leave it as good as possible for you.”

“You’re going to sell it,” I tell him. “I understand that. And I hope you’ll sell to an owner who cares about the building as much as you do.”

He leans forward just slightly, moving toward my space. Clay is probably six feet tall, a few inches taller than me, and even sitting on the couch, I can feel the difference.

“I’m not going to make any promises I can’t keep,” he says. “And you don’t know me enough to trust me, anyway. But I don’t intend to start my dream by ruining someone else’s. Not if I can help it.”

Although I’d prefer a total assurance that he’s not going to ruin my business, I’m increasingly appreciating Clay’s blunt style, and the honesty matters to me.

Offering a smile, I lean forward, too.

“No promises,” I agree, and something shifts, the tension heightening as the words seem to take on a loaded meaning.

Clay doesn’t pull away from me. His eyes search mine, and wordless questions pass between us.

“You don’t have much time left in Allentown,” I venture.

Clay pushes a hand through his hair. “You going to encourage me to hit up the gay bar again?”

I laugh. “Maybe not the gay bar. That doesn’t quite seem your style. But since you bring it up…”

Clay scoffs. “Even if I wanted to,” he says, eyes now toward the distance, “I wouldn’t know the first place to start. And I definitely don’t have time to figure shit like that out.”

He’s leaving the door open to the possibility. Everything feels charged, delicate and risky.

His gray eyes turn back to me.

I’m certain that if Clay didn’t want this, he’d say so definitively.

“I suppose where you start depends on where you’re trying to go,” I tell him. “What specifically you’re looking for.” I swallow. “Who.”

His gaze roams over my face, tracing across my lips before he draws them back, capturing my eyes directly. Clay’s expression stays steady, and his voice rumbles.

“Didn’t say I was looking for anyone,” he offers, but his eyes stay fixed there.

“I know you’re not. But maybe you don’t have to go looking.”

Clay swallows, and I gather together the rest of my courage.

“If I’m totally off-base here,” I say, “just tell me, and I won’t bring it up again. But if you do want to experiment while you’re in town, I think you and I could have fun.” I let out a satisfied sigh, glad to have managed to spit it out. “What do you think?”

Clay swallows again.

“You want to fuck?” he asks slowly.

I laugh. “I mean, not exactly. At least not at first.”

He shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. I mean, I didn’t know you were interested in me.”

“Only if you’re interested, too,” I say brightly. “And I’d be trusting you to not turn around and hold something against me as my landlord, so we’d have to progress carefully.”

His brow furrows, and I can tell he hates the idea that he would do something like that. “I wouldn’t,” he says simply.

I arch an eyebrow, but don’t say anything, giving Clay a chance to think.

“Us,” he grumbles.

“I get that you don’t have any experience,” I tell him. “Even more reason to go slow. But it’s not often I have a chance for some casual fun, and I certainly wouldn’t mind taking our time. Learning what feels right together.”

Something simmers in his eyes.

“You can think about it,” I continue, but my voice falters as Clay keeps staring at me, devouring me. Something works through his expression, desire forming hard lines across his features.

“Oh,” I say softly.

Before I can form another thought, Clay moves forward. His hand goes to my side, and he kisses me, his lips closing over mine. Pleasure washes over me at the sudden surprise, the sensation of his touch everywhere.

Recovering, I manage to join him, kissing back. His scruff scrapes my skin, and our tongues meet once, twice. Clay explores me, careful but not tentative, and I can feel him claiming his pleasure as he deepens the kiss.