Friday afternoon.
Lara stood in front of Reagan’s door, her heart pounding so loud it echoed in her own ears.
She hadn’t texted him. Hadn’t warned him she was coming. She hadn’t trusted herself not to chicken out or send some awkward half-explanation via text. It had to be in person.
Even if every fiber of her stomach twisted in knots.
Taking a deep breath, she reached out and pressed the doorbell.
A few seconds passed before the door swung open.
Reagan stood there, casually dressed in a black sleeveless shirt and gray sweatpants, hair slightly tousled as though he’d just gotten out of bed or finished a workout. For a brief second, her eyes—traitorous as ever—fell to his bare arms, catching the defined muscles flexing as he leaned against the door frame.
She blinked, internally scol
