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Chapter 15

Carina

I barely make it into Horace’s bathroom before I’m whipping out my phone like some kind of giddy, lovestruck teenager.

I text my sisters the moment my butt hits the counter.

Me:

Guys, it’s him!

MJ:

Who?

I take a deep breath, fingers flying across the screen.

Me:

Horace.

My date. It’s with Horace!

And we went to a restaurant. It was divine! And now I am back at his place. OMG!

I know I’m being insane, but I can’t help it.

I need them to know where I am just in case Horace the Hottie turns out to be Horace the Serial Unaliver.

He won’t , but you know. Better safe than Dateline.

Please don’t get all murdery with me.

My phone beeps. Dina has entered the chat.

Dina:

Okay, let’s all calm down.

Carina, do you have condoms?

My mouth drops open in horror.

Me:

What?! I am NOT talking about that with my baby sister!

MJ:

OMG, why? You’re the one who taught us about them. Remember the banana?

Dina:

Yeah! Remember we named him Bonzo? That was fun.

Oh, and the BJ lessons!

I choke on my own spit.

Me:

WHAT?! I NEVER GAVE YOU—OMG! MJ!

MJ:

What? It’s better to know what you’re doing.

Oh, absolutely not.

I slam my phone down on the counter, my face burning, my life flashing before my eyes.

Okay. That’s it.

I need to leave this chat.

And more importantly?

I need to leave this bathroom before Horace starts thinking my dinner is actively trying to kill me.

Me:

I am going now. You two just sit there and think about what you’ve done!

Dina:

Fine. But we won’t wait up for you.

MJ:

Go get some big D, sis! Ride that man like a runaway subway!

I click end and vow to never open that chat again.

Oh my gah .

I am going to kill them both.

I wash my hands and do a quick check in the mirror, smoothing a stray wisp of hair back into place. My lipstick has officially disappeared—probably somewhere between the first glass of wine and the last bite of beef—but I don’t mind.

I never wear much makeup anyway.

My cheeks have that telltale pink flush, whether from the wine or from the way he looked at me over dinner, I’m not sure. Either way, my skin is glowing, so I’ll take the win.

Dinner was delicious, but it was a lot .

I press a cautious hand to my stomach.

Yep. Food baby confirmed.

I exhale and smooth the front of my dress.

Thankfully, the material is ruched around my waist is a modern miracle, and any evidence of overindulgence is safely camouflaged.

Thank you, fashion gods.

Taking a final breath, I step out of the hallway and into the open living room—and immediately stop in my tracks.

“Oh my gah.”

The entire far wall is made of glass, stretching from floor to ceiling, framing the cityscape in all its twinkling, cinematic glory.

“Hey,” Horace greets me. His voice is warm and hushed.

“Pretty incredible view,” I say in response, because yeah, I am that amazing at conversation.

I turn to find him watching me, hands tucked casually into his pockets, that familiar half-smile playing on his lips.

His shirt is loosened now, top button undone, and something about that small shift makes my stomach do a little flip—completely unrelated to the food baby.

“Yeah,” he agrees, exhaling softly. “It really is.”

But he’s looking at me . And somehow, I don’t think we’re talking about the view anymore.

This part of Newark has undergone some major transformations, thanks to the Beautify New Jersey Project —and the results? Amazing.

It’s a bustling hub of modern city living, where high-rise apartments— like this one —have trendy cafés, coffee shops, and even pizzerias in their lobbies.

The streets are tree-lined, and the lights are bright enough to offer a feeling of safety in a city that is known for its past high crime rates.

“It is, uh, really great,” I say, and Horace’s heated gaze rakes over me from my head to my toes.

“Is it?” he asks.

“Oh yeah. I always liked the city. All that gleaming glass and steel. It’s like something out of a fantasy. Crazy, right? The things humans can make,” I say, and I know I am speaking nonsense.

He nods and holds something out to me. I walk and take the proffered cup and sip.

“Espresso? With Sambuca?”

“Anisette. Is that alright?”

I nod again and take another sip of the delicious coffee laced with licorice-flavored liquor.

“It’s delicious.”

“Carina, there is something I’ve been meaning to say?—”

“Actually, if you don’t mind,” I tell him, going for broke, “I think I’d like to talk later.”

“Later?”

“Yeah, after.”

“After what?” he asks, and his face is adorable scrunched up like he really doesn’t know.

“After this,” I tell him as I take hold of his collar and pull him down so I can seal my lips to his.