“You were imagining it.” He waved the DVDs. “So which Rambo do you want?”

“Neither. You choose, and I’ll just go into the bathroom and slit my wrists.”

As usual, her sarcasm never failed to make him burst into laughter. They’d spent an entire week together, and each time she unleashed one of her biting remarks, he liked her even more. He was used to women treating him like he was some sort of god, especially when they found out he was in the Navy, but Annabelle remained completely indifferent to what he did. She didn’t take any crap, from him, or anyone, he suspected, and he loved that. His friends loved her too, even Shelby, who’d given birth to an eight-pound girl bound to be the apple of her daddy’s eye. Annabelle and Ryan had gone in to see the baby, and when they were leaving, Shelby, looking sleepy and relaxed, had pulled him aside and said, “She’s a keeper.”

Shelby might be right. Ryan had never felt this way about anyone, except maybe Jane, but he was trying very hard to banish those inappropriate thoughts. He and Jane would never be together. He knew that. But his heart simply needed to get the memo.

Annabelle was helping, though. He loved being with her, and Jane was never on his mind when Annabelle was around.

He smiled as he watched her stretch her legs out. She looked so cute sprawled there on the couch, wearing a pair of tiny black shorts and a yellow halter top. Her long brown hair was tied up in a high ponytail, which made her look like a little girl. Except there was nothing girlish about her body. All curves, all sex appeal.

His c**k stirred in his loose shorts, and just as he was about to toss the movies aside and suggest they have hot sex instead, the door to the apartment swung open and Matt walked in.

“Thank the Lord that’s over,” Matt said with a groan. He dropped the blue duffel bag he was holding and it landed on the floor with a thud. “I swear, I love my sweet mother to death but sometimes I could just strangle—oh, hello there,” Matt drawled, noticing Annabelle on the couch.

She sat up awkwardly. “Um. Hi.”

Ryan wasn’t surprised to see her eyes widen at the sight of his roommate. O’Connor usually evoked that wide-eyed response from females. Probably the shaved head. It made him look all tough and lethal. Most chicks totally dug it, and it looked like Annabelle wasn’t the exception. Ryan noticed her checking Matt out, her brown eyes moving up and down Matt’s tall, muscular body. He didn’t mind, though. He’d never been the jealous type, and he and Matt had indulged in enough threesomes that he was used to sharing the attention.

“Annabelle, Matt, Matt, Annabelle,” Ryan introduced.

Matt flashed Annabelle a grin. “It’s nice to meet you, darlin’.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. “Oh no, he darlin’ed you. That means he likes you.”

“Where are you from?” Annabelle asked curiously. “The South, I assume.”

“Nashville,” Matt confirmed. He looked from her to Ryan. “Mind if I hang out with you guys for a while? I need to be around people my own age.”

Ryan laughed. “I take it Nana O’Connor drove you nuts.”

“As usual.” Matt drifted toward the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Anyone want a beer?”

“Me,” Ryan called back. He glanced at Annabelle. “You?”

She sighed. “What the hell.”

Matt came back with three bottles, gave two away, and flopped down on one of the comfortable leather recliners flanking the couch. Ryan took the other chair, while Annabelle stayed sprawled on the couch, leaning forward a little to take a sip of the beer Matt handed her.

It didn’t take long for Matt and Annabelle to hit it off, though Ryan wasn’t surprised. Matt was the most laidback guy Ryan had ever met, and Annabelle, well, she was thoroughly entertaining. By the time the next round of beers was polished off, the three of them were laughing like old friends. Matt regaled them with stories about his trip home, and Annabelle told them about one of the worst weddings her company had ever planned, something involving feathers and swans and a very drunk uncle.

Annabelle’s cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, but Ryan knew she wasn’t drunk. Tipsy, maybe, but not drunk. Neither was he, and he’d noticed Annabelle admiring Matt several times in the past hour. Again, he wasn’t concerned. He was, however, curious to see how far she was willing to go. He’d meant what he said in the hospital—he was having fun acting out all the fantasies on her list. And he knew she was having fun too. Except that she kept insisting the list didn’t mean anything.

Which he knew was a total lie.

When Matt left the room to take a quick shower, claiming he was grimy from his trip and now sweaty from the three beers he’d consumed, Ryan joined Annabelle on the sofa and said, “Do you think he’s attractive?”

She set down her beer bottle, furrowing her eyebrows. “Matt? Well, sure. Why are you asking?”

Ryan slid closer and placed his hand on her thigh. “I thought maybe he’d be a good candidate for number three.”

His remark got him a pair of wide brown eyes. “Are you crazy? That’s…just wrong.”

He offered a wry look. “And why is that wrong?”

Annabelle squirmed a little, and he wondered if she was squirming from discomfort or arousal. Probably the latter, though she probably wouldn’t admit it. “Threesomes are…sleazy. No?”

“Technically, what you wrote isn’t a threesome.” He bent close to her ear and said, “You said you wanted to get f**ked by another man while I watch.”