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Her words hit me hard. The idea of running away from my problems is tempting, but what would I leave behind?

My heart races, torn between friendship and the potential for something more with Brody.

The idea of banking on anything with my hot boss who I have been having a fling with feels childish and stupid. Still, that glimmer of hope shines brightly, despite how hard I am working to put it out of mind.

“I just…I don’t know,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.

Gemma nods and smiles at me gently. “Big decisions. Think about it. There’s no rush on our end.”

“Thanks,” I say quietly, my head spinning.

Do I stay here and build a new life for myself, or do I go with my best friend to a city I’ve never been to without a job or any idea of what I want to do with myself?

Chapter Seven

Brody

It’s late and the cool autumn air is flowing through the house. My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, the loud rumble against the marble top pulling me from my thoughts.

Tasha has been texting me on and off all night, asking for my advice on whether she should go to Vegas with Jasmine.

I’ve been reminding her that it’s a decision she has to make for herself, but I can’t help the worry that knots my stomach.

Then my phone rings.

“Tasha?” I answer immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have anywhere to stay starting tomorrow,” she admits in a shaky voice. “Jasmine is leaving and following her for a place to crash is literally the only reason I would go to Vegas with her. I don’t know what to do.”

A wave of relief washes over me, but I quickly temper it with caution.

I want her to stay, but the last thing I can do is say that outright.

Also, I don’t want to influence her selfishly. I want her to pursue what she wants.

“Tasha, you need to think about what’s best for you. I can’t make that decision.”

“I just wish I had a solid place to go,” she says, and I can hear the uncertainty in her voice. “When my ex…well, without going into all of that, let’s just say I wasn’t prepared to move out when I did.”

After a moment of contemplation, I blurt out, “You can stay in the other wing of my house for now. It’ll give you time to save up and figure things out.”

The silence stretches between us, and I wonder if I’ve taken a step too far.

Then she breathes out a soft, “Really? Thank you! I…”

“Just get your things sorted. We’ll talk more tomorrow,” I say, cutting her off before I let myself get too caught up in the excitement of having her close.

After hanging up, I lean against the counter, rubbing my eyes with my hands. My mind races. I can’t believe I just offered her a place to stay.

What have I gotten myself into?

Sure, I’m relieved she’s not running off to Vegas, but now what? I’m responsible for her well-being now.

The thought of coming home to Tasha every night makes me smile despite my reservations. I picture her here, sitting across from me, brightening up my space with her energy and laughter.

The idea is intoxicating.

But then, reality hits me.