Take Me Down. Lauren Hawkeye

the more I liked. He was tall and well muscled, and the muscles weren’t all that hard to see, since all that he wore—in deference to the heat, I supposed—was a pair of cutoff sweats.

      “D-d-don’t w-worry about it.” He smelled male, not like cologne but rather that musky odor that the males of the species seem to emanate from their every pore. A nagging familiarity tugged at me—I felt that I should recognize him—and yet I didn’t, and that made me still a little wary, even though my house had been turned upside down with guests.