“Mmm. Cisco,” Buffy repeated, then stabbed Hilly with a pointed look only a good friend could get away with. “Wait. Speaking of TV. This isn’t the guy who took down the bad dude at the bank, is it? The blood-soaked white-shirt guy?”

“One in the same,” Hilly admitted.

“OMG, Hilly. That man… Does this mean you’re ready to end your self-imposed dry-spell?”

Hilly sighed. “It’s…complicated.”

“Seriously?” Buffy snorted. “How tough is it to remember that when you’re with a guy who does it for you, the big sausage goes in the snug little bun?”

Hilly broke up laughing. “Please! I’ll never get rid of that picture, now. You are so bad, Buff.” She somehow managed to catch her breath. “Now cut it out. I’ll give you the tour and introduce you to our counselors before I head into town and feed Cisco. Then I’ll come back and dish you the entire sad story about why me and Mr. Kielbasa can’t be a thing.”

“Deal,” Buffy agreed. “But, just saying, I might try to talk you into it anyway.”

They walked out into the bright sunshine with Hilly feeling more optimistic about, well, everything.

An hour later, Hilly stood in the deli section of the supermarket where they sold a variety of foods to go, and impishly ordered a sausage sub for Cisco. So what if she’d have to choke back her snorts while they ate. It would be highly worth it to be able to reveal her irreverent purchase to Buffy later.

She also grabbed a salmon salad that looked appealing. If Cisco didn’t invite her in to eat with him, she could always go to the park and sit at the river while she polished off her food. Which would be just fine. It would be no big deal if Cisco didn’t want her hanging around at his house. After all, starting Tuesday, she’d be seeing him on the regular for a bunch of hours each week, and that would be enough.

Or so she told herself.

Ten minutes later, pulling up to the address he’d given her, Hilly ogled Cisco’s home. It was lovely. And not even close to what she’d imagined. She’d kind of seen him in a white-on-white split ranch with an unkept yard, or someplace equally nondescript since he was a single guy. Maybe she’d even pictured a bunch of junker cars in his driveway.

What she hadn’t expected was the exceptionally well-kept bungalow, with its neatly trimmed lawn and lush flower beds on the periphery. Nor had she imagined he’d have the warm, yet moody color scheme on the clapboards that made her immediately want to go in and check out the rest of the place to see what hues graced his walls.

As she walked up the cleanly swept wooden steps, Hilly’s eyes went to the pair of antique, cane rockers on the porch. She blinked, wondering if Cisco ever used them. There wasn’t so much as a scuff on the floorboards beneath them, nor an errant dish or personal item to be seen nearby that would say he’d recently placed his fine ass on the seat.

Before she could explore and be nosy any further, the door opened and⁠—

Holy hell.

Cisco in his uniform had been a sight to see, but Cisco in sweats, paired with an open shirt that showed off a stark white bandage across his dark, drool-worthy chest? It almost had her clenching her thighs together to hold back an impending flood.

“Hilly!” His grin was huge and bright as he greeted her. “Right on time.”

“Yeah, I…” She managed to find her tongue, and stupidly held up the bag. “I got you a sub.”

He leaned forward and took it from her. “That’s great. Aren’t you coming in?”

He looked hopeful, which gave Hilly some courage.

“Your lunch is in here, too, right?” He tipped his head to her now empty hands.

“I, uh, it’s in the car.” She hitched a thumb over her shoulder. “I wasn’t going to assume you were up for company.”

“You’re not company,” he grinned. “You’re my boss. Why don’t you go get it and we can sit on the back deck, eat together, and talk business. It’s so nice outside.”

“Okay, but aren’t you supposed to be lying down?” she asked, suddenly remembering the man had recently been shot, gathering her courage to step over his threshold and into his masculine, gravitational pull. What if she couldn’t control herself, and ended up grabbing some part of him? Any part of him.

“Nope. Not at all. As a matter of fact, the doctor who saw me said that moving around, although not energetically, will help with blood flow and healing.”

“Okay,” she said, not sure whether to believe him. But the bit about non-energetic let her know there’d be no horizontal exercises for them, even if they had a chance of becoming non-imaginary.

Still, she stood static, undecided until…

“Uh, Hilly? Your food?” The smile on his face woke her up to the fact that she was probably doing what ninety-nine percent of the female population did when confronted with his gorgeousness. Space out and stare. She wanted to smack herself.

“Right.” She shook her head to wake up her brain before turning on her heel and hoofing it back to her car.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, she chastised herself. This was no more than a business meeting to find out how Cisco’s agenda might be affected by his injury. She wasn’t here to ogle him. She wasn’t here to kiss anything all better—although that picture had popped into her head when she’d glimpsed his bare chest—so she damned well needed to act like the professional, grown-up woman she was.

Having read herself the riot act, Hilly squared her shoulders, snagged her food, and walked back up the walkway.

Then…

Her resolve…dissolved.

How was she going to act normal while continually trying to catch peeks of his luscious skin? Her tongue refused to work again as she approached, but this time she didn’t need to speak as Cisco opened his mouth, first.

“Come on in. If you follow me into the kitchen, you can tell me what you’d like to drink.”

“Oh. Duh,” Hilly responded, wanting to smack her forehead. “I don’t know where my brain is this afternoon.”

Isn’t that a lie.

“I have chips and beverages in my car, along with your prescription.” She thrust her bag into his hands and turned around once more, if just to get away from his knowing smirk.

Dammit.

That’s when it hit her. Cisco knew the effect he had on her, and had done the open-shirt thing on purpose. It was probably a move he made all the time, having honed his muscles; the half-naked, mind-blinding thing he rocked for any and all women visitors.

Hilly hissed to herself. Knowing Cisco wanted to get a rise out of her hardened her resolve to keep things strictly business-like.

She’d damn well make sure there were no more cracks in her armor where Cisco was concerned. Not until she’d talked over all the possibilities, positive and negative, with Buffy, who’d never steer her wrong. If Buff thought she should go for it; dive in for a no-strings attached, physical romp with Cisco, Hilly would consider it.

But if, after telling Buffy that Cisco was one of the kids she’d known in middle school—even though he hadn’t done any of the rampant bullying—she thought Hilly should ditch the whole idea of taking Cisco for a tumble, Hilly would heed that advice.

It's what friends did for each other; helped them keep their priorities straight, and their panties on if the situation looked questionable.

Hilly grabbed the rest of the stuff she’d picked up for Cisco, then turned with a new determination.

From now on, she’d only look at his face…or maybe just his left ear, and she’d blur her eyes.

That should do the trick.