I twist my head back to see his face. "What?" Hundreds—no thousands—of horrible things a man could say after that phrase compete for space in my brain. I'd rather not hear any of them. A ball of dread grows in my stomach, and I bite my lip with worry.
"I swear I'm not feeding you a line, but I don't have any condoms in the apartment." He raises my hand from his hip, placing it on the bed. "I'll pick some up in the morning, and we can do this all over again tomorrow."
"Really?" If his next line is some attempt to get me to have s*x without a condom, I'm out of here.
Or worse, maybe he doesn't want to have s*x with me at all.
"I wasn't prepared for this."
"You don't keep condoms in the house?" I ask, my eyes narrowing on his ridiculously handsome face.
He laughs, but it's a nervous sou
