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I fucked it up. He’s done with me, I lamented.

Right before turning my phone off so that I wouldn’t stare at the screen all night waiting for him, it buzzed.

The text message contained an address across town, nothing more.

My heart raced.

A million questions went through my mind as I rushed to my bedroom to pick out something to wear. I wanted to look sensual, not slutty. I told myself I was only going over to his apartment to talk and explain my actions the other night, but I wore my special red panties just in case things got heated.

As I got dressed and freshened up, I thought about what to tell him and decided the truth was best, even if he wanted nothing to do with me afterwards.

But what was the truth?

In the cab on the way over, I sat with my legs pressed firmly together, wondering if the skirt I’d chosen was too short since he probably already thought I was just using him for sex.

Did he think that was why I wanted to come over?

Was it?

Or was part of it because I was still seeking the answers I had never been able to obtain in Afghanistan?

When the cab arrived at his apartment, I paid the driver and got out, the wind whipping my hair in every direction.

I rushed to his front door where a man in a nice blue uniform opened it, holding a tablet in his left hand.

“Welcome to Rosary Tower,” he said. “Are you here to see someone?”

“Yes. I’m here to see Mr. Lewis. He’s expecting me.”

“Hold on a minute,” the man said, scanning the tablet screen. “I don’t see your name…”

“Can you call him? I just talked to him half-an-hour ago.”

“Sure. Hold on.”

I watched nervously as he walked over to a desk and picked up a phone, debating whether I should just leave. Like that night in Afghanistan and the other night, this suddenly felt like a bad idea.

He walked back over and smiled. “Sorry about that, ma’am. I’ll walk you to the elevators.”

“Thank you,” I said. “What room is he in?”

“He’s got the entire top floor. Mr. Lewis is the king of the tenants here.” He smiled politely, stopping as we reached the elevator doors. “Here you go, ma’am. Have a wonderful evening.”

“Thanks again,” I said, and then walked into the elevator. I took a deep breath once the door closed, knowing it was too late to turn back.

Or was it?

Mixed emotions made me dizzy as the elevator rose toward the top of the three-story building. When the door reopened, I stepped into a small foyer.

A door opened and Warren walked out, a smile on his face and a robe covering his body. “I stayed in the hot tub too long,” he said. “Come on in.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Hot tub, huh?”

He nodded, leading me inside his opulent apartment.

“Nice place,” I said, glancing around.

“Thanks. After I came back from Afghanistan, I treated myself.”