"I know it looks big, but I promise it won't hurt."

The Great Dane whimpers as I approach him with the syringe. He's a big boy, the same one who nearly pulled my arm out of my socket a couple of weeks ago. I love dogs—they're one of my favorite animals—but even I'm wary when approaching one that's as big as I am and at least as heavy. We manage with no one getting injured, and I can finally breathe out. Because of the flu knocking out several of my colleagues, I've done little but work lately and I'm happy that my shift is finally over.

Another Friday night spent at work rather than making out with Eros. I glance at the clock as I switch out of my work clothes into my jeans and a jumper. It's nearly midnight. The disadvantage of working at a 24/7 vet clinic. If I remember correctly, Eros was going out with a friend tonight so he either won't be back or might be asleep already. In either case, it seems a little too desperate to be knocking on his door this late at night and calling him would just scream booty call. Not doing that. Even if I'd love a booty call.

Maybe I am desperate. I ponder this as I wave good night to my colleagues stuck working the night shift. Eros asked if we could take it slow and I agreed. Considering he seems to have been quite the player before, I think it's sweet he wants things to be different with me. That said... I didn't realize quite how slow he meant. It's been two weeks since our first kiss and we're still basically making out like teenagers, never going further than second base. Maybe snail pace wasn't quite what I had in mind. We could at least increase to—I don't know... Sloth pace?

Who am I kidding? I want him. I don't want to take it slow. But even my blabbermouth isn't quite forward enough to say that aloud.

I hurry home in the cold winter night, my breath fogging in the freezing air. At least I don't live far away, so I push into the foyer of my apartment building a short while later, stomping my feet on the tiled floor to rid my boots of snow. Fishing the keys out of my pocket, I mount the stairs to the third floor quickly, counting them as I go. It's the same amount of steps as yesterday. And the day before. And, well, every day.

When I walk down the hallway toward my apartment, I hesitate as I see a tall form leaning against the wall next to my door. Who could be waiting for me this late? Or is it a coincidence that they're at my door? It's not Eros since the man is dark-haired. As he catches sight of me, he pushes away from the wall and takes an unsteady step towards me.

"Trevor?" I put my keys back in my pocket. "What are you doing here?"

He stares at me, his eyes bloodshot, and as I get closer, I can smell the alcohol on his breath. "You," he says accusingly. "You've bewitched me."

"I what now?" I shake my head. "Bewitched? I'm not frigging Harry Potter."

Swaying lightly, he frowns. "Wouldn't you be Hermione?"

I'll admit, I'm impressed that he knows the character names. Maybe he's actually read the books, or at least watched the movies. But he's still not making any sense.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, debating whether to invite him in to sober him up, but he's drunk enough that I don't think that'd be a good idea.

"I can't stop thinking about you." The sullen look on his face is anything but flattering.

"I'm sorry?" I try to stay neutral, but the sarcasm is unmistakable in my voice. Even a drunk like him will be hard-pressed not to hear it.

"It's never happened to me before. I don't like it." He scratches his head, making his dark hair stand on end. "So you're obviously a witch."

"Obviously. Because witches exist." Placing my fists on my hips, I look up at him, trying to decide how to handle this situation. We've been seeing each other for lunch twice a week to plan for the impending wedding, and while he's been flirty, he's mostly acted friendly, so I'm not entirely sure where this is coming from.

He groans. "You know what I mean."

"I really don't."

Taking the steps separating us, he puts his hands on my shoulders, staring down at me with a wild look in his brown eyes.

"Do you feel nothing at all?" he asks fervently. "I can't be the only one feeling this inexplicable pull. Like we're meant to be together."

I smile wryly. "Trevor, I'm sorry, but I don't. We're friends and I'd love for us to stay friends."

"I want that too." He sighs but doesn't take his hands off me. "I really want that. But I can't shake this feeling."

"Did you try drinking it away?" I scrunch my nose as another whiff of whatever alcohol he's been dousing himself in assaults my nostrils.

"Didn't work," he mutters.

"Obviously."

His hands on me are getting heavier, as if he's about to fall asleep, and I roll my shoulders to remind him he's still holding on to me. Frustratingly, he's still not moving.

"Maybe you should go home and sober up?" I suggest helpfully.

"Maybe," he agrees. Then, before I have time to react, he swoops down and locks his lips with mine. The sheer shock makes me gasp, and he immediately plunges his tongue in. Whatever alcohol he's been drinking tastes bitter, and I pull away. He continues kissing my cheek when I angle my head away, and as I try to pull away, he clamps his arms around me, keeping me close.

"Trevor," I say sharply. "Stop it! You're drunk and you need to go home."

"You must feel it too," he mumbles against my skin. "I can't be the only one."

I'm just about to say he really is alone in this when he's roughly pulled away from me and slammed against the wall. It takes me a moment to comprehend what just happened. Eros has Trevor braced against the wall with his lower arm against his chest, his face contorted in anger in a way I've never seen before.

"The fuck are you doing, Trevor?" he growls.

Trevor looks as if he's about to wet himself, and I almost feel sorry for him. Looking behind me, I realize there's another man with him. A dark angel if ever I saw one, and I try not to stare. Are they both models? When he said he was a contractor in acquisitions, did he mean he acquires photographs of himself from modeling agencies?

"He's drunk," I say, turning back from the fallen angel. "Obviously doesn't know what he's doing."

"Terrible excuse." Eros lets go of Trevor and takes a few steps back, still glaring at the other man. "Go home. Sober up."

"Hey! That's what I said!" The dark scowl from Eros tells me he's not appreciating my humor at the moment, and I fall silent.

Trevor looks down at his feet, his ears red. At least he still has enough presence of mind to feel embarrassed. As he walks past me, he stops and opens his mouth.

"Don't talk to her," Eros snaps. "Not tonight. You can apologize when you're sober."

Nodding, Trevor disappears down the hallway. I hope he's taking the elevator because I don't trust his equilibrium on the stairs right now. Turning back to Eros, I try a smile but he's not having it, obviously still unnerved about the whole situation. Coming close, I expect him to yell at me for not being more careful, but he only fishes the keys out of my pocket and unlocks my door.

I walk over and look up at him in the doorway. His face is drawn, but he places a gentle kiss on the top of my head.

"I'll be in with you soon," he promises, and I nod as he closes the door to talk to his friend.

Their muffled voices on the other side are tempting, but I force myself to walk away. I'm better than eavesdropping. Sadly.