Page 2 of The Year of Us: July

“I’m moving for myself. I’m not happy here, Kale. I don’t think I’ve ever been happy here. Maybe in certain moments, but not in a way that I can hold on to and say yes, I like it here.”

“And you found that on the other side of the country?” He sounded almost offended.

“I found it in Los Angeles. Even when I’m not with him, I feel different there. It’s like I can breathe. And he’s there. I’m not going to say that my decision isn’t influenced a lot by him, but I’m okay with that.”

“You’ll still come back for drinks, though. And you’ll have to bring your boyfriend.”

“Still as bossy as ever, I see.”

Kale shrugged. “Not sorry.”

“I’ll be back. It’s not like I was here a lot anyway.” Hearing that come out of my mouth made me realize how deeply unhappy I’d been here. Even now, it wasn’t like I was actively miserable, but the city felt like an ill-fitting coat.

“When are you headed back?” Kale asked.

“I wasn’t due back in California for a couple more weeks, but I offloaded a client and made some room in my schedule. I’m headed back right after we eat.”

“Well, I’m happy for you,” Kale said.

“Wow, that’s it? No sage advice. No Kale going off and telling me all the things I’m doing wrong? Christian has been good for you.”

Kale rolled his eyes. “Just for that, lunch is on you.”

“My pleasure.”

CHAPTER 2

Reese

Work wasslow and Cory wasn’t answering any of my text messages. I tried to convince myself he was working late, even though I knew with the time difference that wasn’t the case. And when that idea failed, I tried to tell myself he was out with his friends, maybe his phone died…none of it felt right.

Cory was my boyfriend. We were in love. He wouldn’t just disappear.

By the time I got off work, I was close to panicking, debating who I could ask to borrow money from to get a plane ticket for New York. Maybe I could pawn the stupid watch of his, even though I’d gotten very used to wearing it…the weight around my wrist offering me a calm sort of reassurance that I was cared for. When I shoved my key into the door at home and stepped into the entryway, all the worry rolled itself up into something much more manageable, even if it made me want to throw the watch across the room.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, words barely loud enough for me to hear myself.

Cory wasn’t answering my messages because Cory was here.

He wasn’t just in LA. He was here, in my apartment, and he was in my bed, eyes drunk with lust and his hand moving lazily between his legs.

And…

“Is that my hoodie?” I asked, kicking off my shoes and closing the door behind me.

He plucked it away from his body, giving me a view of his thick erection beneath.

“It’s my hoodie now,” he said, reclining against the wall to give me a better view.

There was something absolutely indecent about a man as rich and dominant and put together as Cory Callahan sprawled out on my bed in a stolen hoodie with his dick out.

“How did you get in?”

“Morgan gave me a key,” he said.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I closed the space between the door and the bed, crawling up onto the mattress and finding room for myself between his legs.

“I’m not coming yet,” he whispered, mouth quirking up into one of his familiar—and missed—smirks.