She broke him.

Josh cast such a profound effect on me. First, his family being such a priority made my heart crumble. His money went to them, and he lived with the Hightowers to make it happen. He was a good man, so good, if I didn't know him, I'd struggle to believe it.

Every sliver of dirt they provided sucked me into wanting to know him deeper.

Hiding my shock at him protecting a broken heart simultaneously rebroke mine and made me want to claw out the ovaries of this Ava who'd hurt him.

Who could ever hurt him?

The perfect example buzzed my door the morning before his photoshoot.

"Thank you," I accepted a delivery bag of breakfast and my favorite drink.

Dante probably didn't know I changed my drink because the airport coffee shop was out of chai tea and the iced caramel macchiato won me over on the first sip. From the shop a block down from the condo building, I hadn't been there yet but was an instant fan.

Me: Thank you!

Almost drooling, I unwrapped an everything bagel with extra cream cheese. The first bite was heavenly. Such a sweet gesture.

Surprising him was a gamble, but their chaotic reactions were worth the last-minute effort to secure their tickets from the owner's box. Indulging Brittany one box over took every ounce of patience because she was all Josh-Josh-Josh mode.

I wasn't ready to address the flutters rippling through me when we hugged. Absolutely gutted by them leaving, his devotion struck me with a different pain—envy.

Enough that I'd almost called them. Almost

While I had myself to blame for the family silence, I wasn't ready to reach out to their closed minds.

"Hey."

The interior of Jay's car became a sardine can with Josh's frame wedged into the passenger's seat. Despite moving it back, his knees folded into his chest and bounced.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Nope." He clasped and unclasped his hands. The urge to hold his hand and assure him he didn't have to do this rose with every knee bounce. I gripped the wheel instead.

"It's for Jess and Jenn," he murmured.

The photography studio was an industrial warehouse converted into an amazing space. A rigged set of lighting spotlights hung giant green screens and white and black cloth backdrops from thirty-foot ceilings behind staged areas.

A small table housed a bunch of bananas and bottles of something. My heels clicked on the gleaming cement floors, swirled with highlights. I picked up a bottle. Protein shake.

Josh's elbow nudged my arm. "Ellie's idea."

"You must be Josh." A bird-thin woman with gray hair in a bun, black turtleneck and pants, and thick, black-framed glasses approached. "Malina. I'll be making you look your best today for UCC. Have you gone through the cleanse? Manscaping? We're ready if you are."

UCC. Ultimate Crotch Comfort was the brand name. I sucked in my stomach, not at the closeness of Malina's name to one of the traitors in my life, but at her insinuation of the contract clauses I refused. "Josh is not—"

"It's okay." Those warm browns on me, one closed in a wink. "I did it."

"What?" I didn't know much about modeling, but Josh fasting for 36 hours, including minimal liquids, seemed like the fastest way to pass out. A professional athlete needed nourishment and calories. That was my argument when striking out the fasting clause. "Josh, I don't think—"

Long, thick fingers interlocked with mine, followed by a squeeze. "I'm fine."

Malina took a visual tour of his body, covered with a light gray compression shirt and baggy athletic pants. A tongue click, whether in approval or disapproval, I had no idea, followed but clearly, her eyes were broken if she couldn't see Josh's commercial appeal.

"Very boy next door face." She waved at a younger pair huddled by a privacy screen. "We will need a lot of body oil for this one."

"No headshots," I reminded.

She waved me off and pointed to the green screen. "Strong jaw will work. I will set the lighting. Mister Allen, please start with the black option. Cade and Esther will assist you."

"Pretty sure I can put on underwear myself," Josh whispered.

"Hang on." I scowled and separated our linked hands. "Are you telling me you've fasted?"

"Shh." A huge palm clamped over my mouth. Warm, callous fingers pressed into my cheek. "Of course not. Ellie's smoothies shot straight through me this morning. I'm cleaned out."

I could've lived without that detail, but the teasing gleam in his eyes earned him my finger pointed at the tip of his nose. He pretended to bite at it, his teeth snapping mid-air and making my mouth twitch behind his hold. I flicked my tongue into his palm, which worked and he withdrew it.

"I mean it. You feel light-headed, you tell me. Got it?"

He wiped his palm on his shirt. "Got it."

Five minutes later, someone wasn't capable of putting on his underwear. And he wasn't laughing or experiencing Ultimate Crotch Comfort.

"Maya!" A hoarse whisper sounded from behind the screen. "I need your, uhh, help."

I lifted my attention from Josh's contract terms, where I was positive there wasn't a baby oil requirement, to a sight stuttering my internal organs to a standstill.

"I—" My brain popped like a blown circuit breaker.

Tight muscles, so tight they were capable of shredding clothing. Two pale pink discs set in molded pecs and bracketed a broad chest. From his workout clothes, I knew he had no fat on him, but the bare-skin version of deep cuts was a fucking work of art.

Sculptors dreamed of capturing those corded arms, ridges of obliques, lumpy, inverted Y's on rippled thighs, and–Oh, fuck.

Josh's enormous hand cupped a sliver of black fabric some designer decided was an appropriate hammock size. It wasn't thick enough material to hide the shadow outline of his crown and everything south. If anything, it magnified every ridge and curve with unnecessary highlights and shadows.

Was that its sleeping state?

The designer-someone needed to be thanked. With a fruit basket. And a raise.

I blinked through the inappropriateness blurring my senses.

This was Josh. Heart-wounded, pro-bono PR client, Josh.

Sure is. And he's big. Very big.

Too much time had passed since I saw a live, male-attached penis up close, but my pulse threatened to split open my veins. The strained dental floss sides cut into his hips with enough pressure to snap. If he wasn't holding himself, his dick would slip out and rest against his thigh.

Inches down his thigh. Long, thick inches. A dizzying sensation swayed me where I stood.

Those muscles strained because of nerves, and his chest pitched with erratic breaths, clenching his...eight? Oh, Lord. Each exhale stacked them into edible blocks.

He also cupped himself like a kid who walked naked onto an assembly stage in front of the entire school. Red splotches flushed over his broad chest, up his neck, and flamed his face. My heart pinched at the panic screaming from those big, brown eyes, and I brought my hand to his wrist.

Big mistake.

The back of my knuckles brushed along a sinfully dangerous hip curve. Heated, smooth skin covered the sharp, hard bone. Stop, grabby hands. I almost touched him intimately. I snapped my hand back and pressed my lips together, but not before a small gasp escaped.

Friend, Maya.

A friend who's incredibly hot—uncomfortable. Fix it.

I squeezed his rock-hard tricep. The muscles were as tight as steel cables. "Hey. You don't have to wear the banana hammock if it's uncomfortable. I'm sure there's a lot of other..." Behind him stood a rack of identical designs, triangle swaths of fabric held between a string. "Options?"

His mouth twitched into an effortlessly sexy smile. Smoldering. And those sparkles in his eyes? Panty-soaking. "Did you just call it a banana hammock?"

"I did." I needed to talk to the designer who I'd sent Josh's size measurements per his uniform. This was ridiculous.

Josh dipped his head, making me suck in a breath. "It's not the underwear." His words were warm in my ear, but panic dropped his murmur to a choked whisper. "It's, uhh, my banana."

Fuck, this was the hardest test of my professional life. I pretended to examine his underwear, pretending we hadn't just called his dick a banana. With drool collecting under my tongue from the fabric concealing nothing, my smile was as pained as the ache between my legs.

The pads of my fingers burned when I touched the strap on his hip and tested its tightness, frowning at the red mark imprinted on his skin. "Is it pinching? I can ask them for another size."

He shook his head, a few brown strands falling over his forehead. "No. It's, uhh, my dick keeps falling out."

As much as the filth polluting my mind wanted a demonstration, mortification filled his eyes. Discomfort was beyond unacceptable. Just because he was a man, ridiculously attractive or not, he wasn't contracted to work with faulty, umm, equipment.

I turned my chin over my shoulder. "Malfunction!" Something malfunctioned alright, my common sense. "I need wardrobe help this second, or my client is walking!"

Two pairs of feet scurried closer. Cade and Esther appeared with identical worried expressions.

Cade, a young, thin guy, blinked at Josh. "You look hot," he said in a confused tone.

For fuck's sake. I didn't disagree but waved a hand at the problem area. "It doesn't fit him, which won't photograph well. I suggest you fix this now because my client is very uncomfortable."

"He's missing the insert." Esther rummaged through a box under the clothing rack, emerging with a triangular cotton form and a gigantic tan bottle. "And oil."

She handed the foam to Josh, and we gave him privacy. His quiet sigh signaled a more appropriate fit. No amount of money was worth sacrificing his comfort, happiness, and integrity.

The brief flash of integrity jumped out of the window when Josh stepped out in the adjusted underwear. The insert smoothed his package into a rounded form with the same skin exposure. Clenched thighs stiffened his walk, but his shoulders were more relaxed.

Uneasiness returned to his eyes when Esther approached with the oil bottle and grabby hands. "Baby oil time."

"Hold up." I caught her arm and showed her Josh's contract on my phone. "Nothing in here says my client has to apply products to his skin. It's not a skincare line."

"It's baby oil," she mumbled, panic rounding her eyes. "The photographer said it helps create highlights."

The bottle's ingredients included multisyllabic words I'd never heard of. I wrinkled my nose at the strong plastic scent. Josh probably didn't have skin allergies, but who knew what it contained? "Do you have anything water-based?"

"We do." She retrieved a second bottle, smaller but full.

Organic. Mostly water. Odorless. I raised my eyebrows at Josh. "Is this okay with you?"

He sucked in a slow breath, his chest bouncing with a slight hitch. "Uhh, if it's necessary. Can I put it on myself?"

He caught my tossed bottle with a snap and lubed up his feet and legs, painting his bow-legged thighs with a glossy sheen. They looked strong enough to crush a watermelon. When his large hand palmed his chest, I shifted my eyes to the mesmerized assistants.

"Give him a few minutes." I shooed them off and steered Josh back behind the privacy screen. "Sorry, I realize this is for visual enhancement, but you shouldn't be ogled at like a piece of meat."

Including me, so I stepped out. Oily fingers encircled my wrist. Up a shimmering arm of tensed muscles led my gaze to Josh's red cheeks. "Uhh, could you rub it on my back?"

Not without my vagina crying. "Of course." I took the bottle and stepped behind him. "It's—it's—f-fine."

Oh, boy. The back. Not the beautiful collection of broad, undulating muscular forms in Josh's back, but the underwear had almost no back. His cheeks hung out, two sculpted globes with arcs of muscles clenched so tight. The man's ass looked waterproof.

"Please tell me you can reach your ass."

"I don't know," a teasing glimmer peered over his shoulder, and his low laugh wiggled his butt. "Can I?"

"Stop." I released a shaky breath.

This was fine. Fine. We were adults. Friends. Nothing special except the perfect human body specimen cut from the cloth of professional athletics. A body built for performance.

Plpppt. A large glob exploded onto his shoulder, which made him shudder. A small area of goosebumps raised around the splat. Must've squeezed the bottle too tightly.

I rubbed up his neck. Build-wise, he was similar to Dante, larger and light-skinned, but his muscles were locked with tension. "Anytime you want to stop," I whispered to his broad back. "You tell me."

On one stroke up, the tips of my nails scratched the edge of his hairline and wiped a glob on a clump of brown strands. I rubbed out the oil, working the pads of my fingers into the tight cord straining his skin. He slacked his neck, driving my fingers higher into his scalp. I think he liked it, by the low hum he released, but the sound stole my breath.

I squeezed a reasonable amount of goo onto my palms and rubbed it warm before working the other side of his neck and shoulder. His shoulder blades were insanely sharp, as was the valley cutting his spine. His skin was warm and smooth, dotted with a few adorable random freckles and a lot of muscular real estate to cover.

My heart pounded harder the more I rubbed, using handful after handful of oil until he was a slippery seal. Two adorable dimples sat above the teeny-tiny strap these designers called a waistband. By the time I reached them, my wrists and palms tingled. The glossier slick on them was much sexier on him.

Since I ended with an extra blob, I wiped it on his right side. He flinched and sucked his elbow in where I poked, jamming my finger into his rib. "Ahh," he gasped and jolted.

"Are you ticklish?" I poked again. He twisted and laughed, smashing my nose with his hard chest. Pain kissed the tip of my nose, shooting up its bridge and snapping my head back. I lifted my hands, which landed dead center on his chest. The bottle of oil landed with a smack near my right foot.

Warm, wild beats pounded into my palms, the sensitivity magnified by this liquid mess. Breathing wasn't happening, and I couldn't lift my eyes higher than where my fingers rested on his heart space.

A gentle touch on my chin lifted my gaze to Josh's. Gone was the teasing warmth when I tickled him, replaced by a deeper emotion I couldn't place. So intense, it drew me in and spurned shivers of awareness through me. Warmth stirred in my belly, and the studio blurred into incoherent shapes and hums of background fuzz. The pain in my nose no longer registered.

Neither of us laughed, only exchanged breaths. Per the gig's request not to wear cologne, he smelled like the water-based oil wiped over a fresh deodorant and masculine scent. Like warm comfort, it was deliriously alluring.

"Right." I pretended to wipe my hands on his chest.

With a quick drop, I knelt past those muscular thighs and picked up the bottle, freezing at Josh's crotch inches from my nose. Concealed, I couldn't not look at it, or draw in his natural scent.

His manscaping was immaculate. Not a single bump of razor rash along the crease where his thighs met his—oh boy. I needed to stop looking at his dick, pretending there wasn't saliva pooling under my tongue and a southern heartbeat throbbing between my legs.

In one move, the large hand at his side could wrap around my ponytail, and—

"You okay down there?"

Josh's face came into view, hovering over me and furrowed in concern.

"Yes! Fine. I am fine." I shot up like I'd sat in a floor cannon, wobbling on my heels. "You, though? I mean, you're fine. Not okay–fine. Fine fine. You look great. Super sexy. But you need more lube–oil. You know, for your dicktures–pictures. Which I will–I'll be over there if you need my services. Ahh, professional services. Okay, leaving now to hide under the cement."

I pointed to absolutely nothing and removed myself from the changing area with my cheeks burning at the least professional reaction I could've had.

Stupid, neglected vagina invaded my thoughts. It wasn't neglected, but I wasn't very good at self-servicing it. Lack of inspiration imagery seemed a distant memory.

A glance back at Josh was dangerous. He glistened with each long step. The rush of ache and desire returned in an internal whoosh like a pilot light was ignited.

Nothing had changed in terms of what I knew about Josh. He was the same warm, friendly guy who asked me for professional help. Stripped down, he turned my mind into a mush pile of filth.

I rubbed my forehead. What the hell was wrong with me?