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The loud sound of a truck entering the parking lot directs my attention out the window, and I see the sign installers have arrived. I stand outside as they use a lift to attach the sign to the outside of the building, and I’m so damn excited about it. I snap a picture and send it to Viola with the message: It’s really happening.

V: That’s amazing! I’m so proud of you :)

Her words mean the world to me.

T: Thank you, princess. I hope you’ll still be in town for the scissor-cutting ceremony. I’d love to have you there.

She doesn’t respond, and I know I’ve pushed too far. If we weren’t three thousand miles apart, I know our relationship—or whatever the hell you want to call it— would be in a completely different place. I try to be cautious when telling her how much I miss her, but sometimes I slip up, which throws a wrecking ball into the conversation. My feelings haven’t changed, regardless of the time that’s passed, and I’m pretty sure I’ve made that clear.

Once the sign is installed, I decide to lock up for the night and head home. It’s been a long-ass day, and the next two weeks are going to be even more hectic with interviews and pre-booking appointments with potential clients.

As soon as I walk into the house, Gryff is at my feet, barking and jumping all over me. He’s so fucking happy to see me every day that it puts a huge smile on my face. I open the front door and allow him to run outside. We have a daily routine now. Every night after I come home, I let him out, and he runs around the yard. Then he chases the neighbor’s cat, and I hope he never catches it. Once he’s done, he rushes inside, and I feed him his treats and stock his water and food dishes. He’s a spoiled little shit, and I’m pretty sure I’m the trained one instead of him.

After taking a shower, I relax on the couch, and Gryff lies down next to me. He places his head on my lap as I watch the news and suddenly remember I forgot to text Courtney.

T: Hey. It’s Travis King.

How original. I roll my eyes at myself. I don’t know why I’m nervous.

C: THE Travis King? To what do I owe this honor?

She doesn’t even ask how I got her number or she doesn’t care. Either way, I’m ready to make a deal with her.

T: I have a business proposition for you.

C: Depends what it is. I might be too busy getting my nails and hair done.

T: Way to live up to the cliché.

C: Way to be an asshole.

T: Well, it is my specialty.

C: All right, King. Get to the point.

T: I heard you’re good at tech shit, and I need help with setting up the new computers at my office with our network and installing the firewall and all of that stuff. I pay well.

It takes her a long time to respond, and I start wondering if asking her was a bad idea.

C: That depends. Can you get me a date with your stud best friend?

T: I’d try but I have a feeling he’s against prostitution.

C: You don’t know until you ask!

I’m not even sure what to say back. Whoring out Drew would be the cheapest way to get this done, but maybe not the most ethical. I laugh because she doesn’t seem to have any filters about this. Before I can respond, she sends another text.

C: Geez. I’m just kidding! You’re no fun to mess with if you don’t take the bait. So what time and where?

T: Tomorrow around 11? I’ll text you the address.

C: You got it, boss!

I groan.

T: Don’t make me regret this.

C: I already do.

I laugh and shake my head. I really hope she knows what she’s doing. If I didn’t witness her graduating with honors, I’m not sure I would’ve ever believed she was a little genius because she doesn’t put off that nerdy, smart girl vibe. Her accent, blonde hair, and blue eyes give her a Southern belle vibe but mixed with sorority girl gone wild. She’s completely opposite from Viola in almost every way, but maybe that’s why they get along so well.

At least now, I’m able to relax a little, knowing that part of the business will be taken care of—hopefully.

Hours later, Drew comes home in his gym clothes with his uniform thrown over his shoulder. He looks like he’s had a day from hell and when he cracks open a beer before he does anything else, it’s confirmed.

“Wanna talk about it?” I ask him as he sits down on the couch and starts mindlessly flipping through the channels.

“I’m pretty sure I’m never going to get over Mia.”

I hate hearing her name on his lips, and I hate seeing him so distraught. It’s been months since the big blowout, and she still manages to string him along like a plaything. He’s addicted to her, and regardless of what we all tell him, he can’t let her go.