Page 27

I want to tell him about my father’s health issues.

That aside from struggling to find a job as an ex-con, Dad’s diabetes makes him uninsurable.

Every penny not spent on living costs goes towards his medical debt.

With the raise Ramona promised, I might put a dent in his bills while keeping a roof over my head.

Hell, maybe even get him better care, or a more compassionate doctor at least. But these are my problems. Not Dalton’s.

I need this… thing between us to be the one easy thing in my life, not another distraction.

“Okay. This is your date, forty-eight.” Dalton sweeps a thumb up my cheek before standing with an extended hand. “May I walk you to the door?”

We don’t speak, fingers intertwined as he pushes the call button and picks up my bag.

The elevator whirrs, the door dinging with a ping far too soft for the finality it holds.

Wrenching a deep breath, I take the bag, backing into the elevator.

He pauses at the threshold, hands shoved in his pockets, toeing the line of the elevator as if he cannot cross.

There’s a thumping in my chest, the sensation of losing something that wasn’t ever mine to begin with.

The elevator pings its distaste at being held.

“Dalton, I?—”

“Fuck it,” he growls. In one fluid motion, Dalton’s hand slams the stop button as he strides into the small space, pressing me against the back wall as he catches the base of my neck.

His lips are on mine, teeth clashing and nipping as his tongue explores every inch it can.

There’s a plop as my bag hits the floor, then my legs are wrapped around him, hands tangled in his dark hair, ass cupped in his hands.

For one reckless moment, I almost agree to stay.

Tell him to take me back upstairs. Then, with one last sweep of lips, he pulls back, lowering me and stepping away to put what feels like miles between us.

I fucking cling to the rail, pressing my ass against it to keep from leaping back into those toned arms.

“Thank you for the perfect date, Miss Grant.” He taps the stop button again, releasing the elevator. Chest heaving as he grips the door frame.

“I think that’s my line,” I say, biting my swollen bottom lip.

“Definitely my line.” He corrects with that devious smile that falls just short of the one I’ve grown to love. “Charles is downstairs to take you wherever you want.”

“Thank you, Dalton. For everything.” I shove every ounce of gratitude I can into the words, trying to make him understand how much the last twenty-four hours mean to me. The words are hopelessly inadequate. The smile I muster feels forced. “Stay outta trouble.”

“Where’s the fun in that, forty-eight?” He lands a more genuine grin, leaning in and tapping the button for the garage.

“See you around, Ward.” I give a perfunctory nod.

“See you around, forty-eight,” Dalton says with a wink. The doors shut with a swish and I slump against the wall for support, head bumping against the paneled wall.

Did I just walk out on one of the most amazing men I have ever met?

Pretty sure, yup.

Granted, I’m a woman with plans. With goals and baggage and hard timelines, and bills to pay— big bills.

I’m also a fucking relationship idiot.

I have Charles drop me at the market down the street from my apartment. Though I’m not sure if it’s to prevent Dalton from knowing where I live or if it’s because I’m being strategic about the desperate state of my bare pantry. I tell myself it’s the latter. A half lie.

Food put away, I toss my overnight bag on the bed and call my cousin.

Lacey is the only connection to my mother I didn’t sever.

Aunt Dee, Lacey’s mother, is cool, but she looks so much like my mom, just seeing her raven hair sends me down an emotional spiral.

Lacey took after her father, all pale skin, freckles, and strawberry-blonde hair.

She looks sweet as pie but shoots straighter than an arrow when it comes to our bullshit family drama, making me love her all the more. She picks up on the third ring.

“I told you, I don’t need that dress back until next week.” She says in greeting. “And you better have that shit dry-cleaned, especially if you got some much needed ass while wearing it.”

“Hey, Lacey.”

“Don’t ‘hey, Lacey’ me. I want deets. How was the sexy man auction? Did you break off a piece of the night’s wares like I suggested? Or do we need to have another talk about how your game plan doesn’t have to include celibacy? I thought you were going to call me yesterday after the event was over.”

Crap. I completely spaced the promise to fill her in on the night’s events right away. “I uh, sorry. I was just busy?—”

“What, too busy hooking up with a guy to call your favorite cousin?” She teases, but my pause brings her up short. “Oh shit, you really were hooking up with a guy! Wait, switch to FaceTime.”

Before I can protest, my phone chirps a notification and Lacey’s expectant face is staring back. I take a deep breath, schooling my expression before turning on the camera.

“Holy crap, you were totally with a guy! You look all glowy and shit. It looks good on you, cuz. Kudos to the man that put a little color in your cheeks. It was my dress, wasn’t it? I told you your boobs looked amazing in it.”

“It was a dress,” I mutter under my breath.

“Please tell me this one finally got you off? If you found another man who doesn’t know how to pleasure a woman, I’m going to open a can of vagina-awareness-whoop-ass on someone.”

“No whoop-ass needed. The man should teach classes on pleasing a woman.” I hold up seven fingers, and Lacey’s jaw drops before she starts a slow clap.

“When are you going to see him next?” Lacey’s face smashes to the screen as she analyzes my every reaction. All I can see is a brown eye and a skewed nose.

“I’m not.”

She jerks back from the camera. “What do you mean, ‘you’re not?’”

“We agreed a one-night stand was a good idea. Less pressure, no strings. I don’t even have his number.”

“You didn’t get his number?! OMG Jenna, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Good question.

“You’re the one who made me promise no bros before goals this year!”

“Yeah, but that was when you were dating cheating ass-hats like Steve or dudes who didn’t know their way around an orgasm. You were the one who didn’t want a relationship. I was the one who said you could use a fuck buddy.”

“Fuck buddies get complicated. Or worse, you get attached. You know that better than anyone, Lace. How long have you and Reg been together now, two years? When did you change his name in your phone from Reg Bootycall to Reg Boyfriend?”

“Oh, it still says Bootycall—keeps things spicy.”

I roll my eyes.

“So, who is this mystery man?”

“Can’t say.” I shake my head.

“Can’t say or won’t?”

“Both.” If Lacey has any inclination of who I spent the last two days with, she will be all over her socials stalking Dalton like a sniper.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Boo…” she flashes a thumbs down. “Fine, well, then tell me this—do you want to see him again?”

Of course I did. I’m not a cold-hearted zombie.

Yet. But that’s the issue. Dalton stirs way too many feels.

The man’s a wild card I did not plan for, and who has the potential to disrupt everything if I get in too deep.

Work my ass off, pay dad’s bills, get him better treatment and start a Chicago branch to be closer so I can take care of him.

Nowhere in there is fall in love, get distracted from work and stay in New York for a guy.

Lacey reads my face like a gossip magazine, sussing out truth behind the bullshit. “He’s got to be on socials. You should reach out.”

“The plan—” I cling to the words like they’re a life raft, because last year when Steve broke me, they were.

“Fuck the plan—you’re already crushing it! The plan can make room to include a guy, especially one who sexes you up in all the right ways. Plus, your dad has a new lady friend now, right? She’s been taking him to appointments.”

“They’ve only been together a few months.

I can’t rely on her panning out to take care of Dad.

” I sigh. “Plus, I promised you I wouldn’t date any more jackasses and focus on my career this year.

Remember, you’re the one who wanted a blood oath.

And I’m only going to be here for another year.

It would be irresponsible to start something. Selfish even.”

“Then you have a year of good sex!” She holds up a hand, silencing me before I can interrupt.

“I pushed you to make the no bros clause, so I—as the enforcer of that rule—can choose to revoke it. Call the sex god. Enjoy yourself, and if he turns out to be more trouble than he’s worth, pull the plug.

You deserve a little happiness, Jenna. Especially in the pants region.

Put yourself first for a hot minute for once! Sex, job, and happiness. Okay?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You better!” Her head swivels at a sound on her end. “I gotta go. Reg just showed up with lunch. When you drop off the dress next weekend, I want more details.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Bite me with that ma’am shit. I’m way too young and gorgeous. It’s ‘Yes, Boss Ass Bitch.’ Love you!” Lacey shouts, and then she’s gone.

I smack myself in the face with the phone.

Damn it. Lacy is supposed to be my holdout.

The pillar who confirms walking away this morning is the right decision.

I debate taking a cold shower, but land on unpacking my overnight bag, as if putting the clothing away will somehow make my decision easier, like the best date of my life never happened.

I unzip the bag, then yank away as if burned.

No fucking way.

The dress Dalton picked for me is folded at the top, an envelope nesting in the black and tan fabric.

Just in case. Stares up at me in a messy scrawl. I snatch up the letter, ripping it open like a dreaded Band-Aid. A folded piece of printer paper wraps around a stack of thicker paper. No, not paper. Pictures. I shift them into one hand while glancing at the handwritten message.

48 - In case you didn’t want to forget everything about our date.

I’m sorry I lied, because despite my best effort, that date is not something I can forget.

Printed these directly from my phone while you were in the shower.

I’m assuming you deleted the others when I offered.

You now hold the only proofs. They are yours to do with as you please.

I drop the note on my bed and begin shuffling through the stack of photos.

Some are the ones I approved for Ramona, but the majority aren’t.

These are the photos meant just for us. No, for me .

Me on the tower, shouting with joy as I lean out over the skyline.

Me stepping into the helicopter, cheeks pink with excitement, looking like a model.

Me astride Dalton’s lap, our heads turned in that moment just before we kissed, eyes locking in a way that puts romance covers to shame.

People search their entire lives to find a person who looks at them that way and I walked out on mine this morning.

“What the hell is wrong with me?” I yell to the empty room, throwing up my hands. The photo of us slips loose, fluttering down to the teal duvet face down. There’s writing on the back. The script is small, tucked in the corner, as if there was a sense of hesitation in writing it.

If you’re ever ready for strings. Followed by his phone number.