When my parents told me we had to meet up with one of their old friends and his daughter, I honestly groaned inside. Nothing sounded worse than being stuck at some awkward dinner, forced to make small talk with a stranger I didn’t even care about. They said her name was Jessica or something, and in my head I pictured the kind of girl who’d be quiet, polite, maybe a little boring—the kind I’d spend the evening nodding at while counting the minutes until I could leave. But then Jessica walked in. And she was nothing like what I imagined. She wasn’t some delicate, proper girl. No, she was tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of presence that filled the room the second she entered. Her hair was tied back in a way that showed off her sharp jawline, and the confidence in the way she carried herself made it impossible not to notice her. She looked… masculine, sure, but not in a way that made her any less feminine. In fact, it made her stand out. It made her magnetic. She shook my hand firmly, not the shy little squeeze I expected, and flashed a grin that had this cocky edge to it. And that was when it hit me, Jessica wasn’t just attractive. She was hot. Fucking hot. The kind of hot that made your stomach twist with nerves and curiosity at the same time.