The Soulmates Collection - S.L. Scott

THE SOULMATES COLLECTION

S.L. SCOTT S.L. Scott

CONTENTS Copyright Foreword Lost in Translation Introduction Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 English to French Reference Key Sleeping with Mr. Sexy Introduction Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Morning Glory Introduction Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 All I Want - A Tryst with a Twist Introduction Chapter 1 Chapter 2 About the Author Also by S.L. Scott

Copyright © 2017 by S.L. Scott All rights reserved. eBook Edition Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Published in the United States of America Cover Design: Monark Designs ISBN: 978-1-940071-46-6

FOREWORD

his collection of novellas and short stories are meant for pleasure with sweet, T sassy, and sexy storylines to entertain. I hope you enjoy the journey. Thank you for reading.

Part One

LOST IN TRANSLATION

INTRODUCTION

K

andace Miller is a star student who stays on the straight and narrow path of her perfectly planned life. Olivier DuMarche always chooses the shortcut in life, wanting the easy way in and out of every situation. One room. One beautiful American. One sexy Frenchman. Five days in Paris. That’s all it takes to ignite a spark into a flame. But when two opposites attract, can the language of love keep them together or will they be Lost in Translation?

© 2014 S.L. Scott

PROLOGUE

in Paris for less than a week, but it was the beginning of everything, I was everything that mattered.

We lived in the here. We lived in the now. Everything in between was fire and passion. The beginning of our romance was not that long ago. It was how I always hoped I would meet my soul mate, how all great love affairs happen, or at least how they did in my favorite old movies. I booked the trip wanting to see the city I daydreamed about my entire life. I just didn’t actually expect to meet Olivier. We didn’t know each other long, but it was long enough to change the course of my life forever… Yet, like a flame that flickers, fighting against the wind, would the end of summer bring an end to us?

CHAPTER 1

id-November M The travel guides failed to capture the emotion I felt as the cab driver swerved

through traffic, taking me to the hostel. The lines on the roads that kept the lanes separated at home didn’t seem to exist here, so I snapped my seatbelt across my body. Happiness bordered on nausea due to the wild ride. It doesn’t matter that he had Spanish music playing and no French accent. The only thing that matters is that I’m in Paris, making the year and a half of scrimping and saving worth it. My head hits the window when the driver takes a sharp corner, then raises his voice as if I’ve done something wrong while shaking his hand in the air. With a nod of disapproval, his eyes go back to the road instead of reprimanding me in the reflection of the rearview mirror. I do a double take down a cobblestone street, thinking I just got a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower for the first time, but we’re driving too fast for me to be sure, the street long gone. I sigh, a heavy disappointment coming over me. A poster of the Eiffel Tower has hung on my wall for the last six years. I’m ready to see the real thing. Four days. I have four days in the City of Lights, so I know I’ll see it. I’m lurched forward as the taxi comes to an abrupt halt before I can worry anymore about French monuments. “Your hotel,” the driver points toward a building across the street. Nodding, I smile. “Merci.” After paying and stepping up onto the sidewalk, I straighten my yellow cotton sundress, adjust my wool coat, and flip the tortoise shell framed sunglasses down over my eyes. The driver mumbles something that sounds as though I’ve angered him in some way as he lugs my suitcase to the curb. He walks away waving his arm in the air before getting into his car and speeding off, his music blaring even with the windows closed. Looking across the street, another disappointment sets in as I stare at the front of the hostel. The photographer definitely captured it in its best light from the online photos. But it was the cost that sold me. It’s a hostel, so I didn’t expect the

Four Seasons, but… With a heavy sigh, I grab the handle of my suitcase and pull it toward the soot covered building highlighting the worst of 1980’s design. I was hoping for historical French architecture, but I guess for twelve Euros a night, I get the eighties. When I walk into the lobby, I stop, sliding my sunglasses back to the top of my head. The room is tiny with a dingy, stained green loveseat against the wall and a beat up metal desk in the corner. Nobody is here to greet me or anywhere to be found until a door leading to a hallway opens, slamming against the wall, startling me. I lean my head to the side and see a guy press a girl against the back of it. His hands are roaming her body and her arms are around his neck. Their lips are fused and I look away, so I don’t get caught staring. Okay, I peek one more time, then clear my throat. With his tongue still in her mouth, his eyes open and he looks at me. Pushing her back just a bit, she protests in a series of frustrated moans. Something is said in French, too fast for me to understand. But when the girl glares at me, I realize it must have been along the lines of ‘We have company’ or something like that. She whispers and then kisses him quickly before heading out the door. He watches her with a fixed smirk on his face until the door closes and just the two of us are left standing here. “Bonjour,” I say awkwardly. “Américain?” Even after one word, his accent is thick… and kind of dreamy. It’s his attitude that sucks. “Yes. Do you speak English?” “Do you?” he replies sarcastically. I roll my eyes. “I’m here to check in. Do you know if I need to wait here or call someone?” He walks to the computer on the desk and begins typing. Leaning over the keyboard he hunts and pecks while muttering something in French, but I hear ‘Americans’ mixed in. Again, not in a good way. Looking up, he eyes me from head to toe, then asks, “Kandeese?” “Kandace. Kandace Miller.” “That’s what I said.” More mumbling is heard as I approach. “Sorry.” “We have one bed left—” “One bed? I reserved a room.” He flips through a notebook and drags his finger down a page with today’s date on it. After two hard taps, he says, “We overbooked. Veronique put a couple in that room just this morning, but we have the bed. C’est Oui?” With exhaustion weighing my shoulders down, I nod. “Oui.” Holding a key in the palm of his hand, he says, “Quatre. Room quarante-deux.” I pull out my pocket guide and flip through it, but he interrupts me and says, “Forty-two. Fourth floor. Room forty-two.” “Merci.”

“Pas de probleme.” I must look confused because he clarifies, “No problem.” “Ah. Oui.” That French night class I took has not helped in real world situations at all. Taking my suitcase, I walk toward the stairs, looking for the elevator, but don’t see one. “Is there an elevator?” “Non.” I was afraid he’d say that. Picking my suitcase up by the handle, I open the door and start up the four flights. I have to stop on the first level to rest. The case is heavy and my flat shoes do not provide stair-climbing support. One of the doors above opens and then I hear footsteps coming down quickly. The stairs are not wide, smaller than we have in the States, so when the footsteps get closer, I move to the side. It’s one of those moments… like the ones in movies. He rounds the corner and I see him, my breath catching, my gaze fixed on him. His broad shoulders draw me in while his six plus foot build leaves a lot of body to cover in the mere seconds I have before it’s considered rude. Medium brown hair, olive skin, strong arms. His coloring is not entirely different from mine. I’m paler though with a few freckles left over from summer. I have a lighter version of his hair. When his eyes meet mine, a smile appears. “Bonjour.” “Bonjour,” I manage to reply like a native, though my heart is racing. “Américain?” Frustrated my attempt failed, I say, “Yes. Bad attempt at French is always a dead giveaway.” With a grin that stops somewhere between fully amused and just slightly, he looks down at my case and offers, “Would you like help?” This is a surprise. Not wanting to drag it up three more flights by myself, I anxiously nod before I even reply. “Yes, thank you. Merci.” He comes down the remaining five steps and takes the case in hand before turning around quickly and heading back up. “Floor?” “Fourth floor.” Without hesitation, he’s off carrying a fifty-seven pound suitcase like it weighs nothing, which I find quite impressive. And watching him from behind isn’t bad either. He looks almost as good from this angle as he does from the front. When we reach the fourth floor, he asks, “What’s your name?” “Kandace.” “Kandeese,” he repeats with no inflection that doesn’t tip me off to how he feels about it or me. “What’s your name?” There are four doors on this floor. He looks back to me, waiting. “Forty-two. Quarante-deux,” I say, breaking out my French again. I’ve always heard the French appreciate the effort. Yet no one seems to here. “Quarante-deux,” he says with a big smile on his face. A little section of hair flops down in front of his eyes and he puffs twice, trying to blow it away.

That’s when I notice his eyes, really notice them—a blue that can’t seem to decide if it wants to be cornflower or steel. I bet the color changes depending on what he’s wearing. Walking with purpose down the slim hallway, he heads straight for the second to last door on the left. He pulls a key from his pocket and opens the door. I stop a few steps back, and question, “Why do you have a key to my room?” I follow him inside, cautiously waiting by the open door as he drags my suitcase into the room and props it against the only closest. “Because I checked in two days ago. You take the top because I’m sleeping on the bottom.” “What? We’re sharing a room? But you’re a guy.” With a wry grin and a wink, he says, “Oui, all man, my Américain Rayon de Soleil.” While he looks down at his watch, I stare at him in disbelief. I have a sister, no brothers, and my mom’s been single most of my life. I have never shared a space with a man before. I purposely chose the women’s dormitories freshman and sophomore year, so I could lounge around without makeup. Fears of snoring, his or mine, or both come to mind. Or worse… what if he brings a girl back here to have sex and I have to listen to it. “Surely there has to be another available room.” Remembering what the guy at the desk said, ‘We have one bed left.’ I sigh. This is not how my trip was supposed to go. After years of dreaming of the perfect Parisian adventure, it’s falling apart before I’ve even had a chance to see the Eiffel Tower. “I think they’re full, but I can check for you.” With his hand forward, I take it to shake. His touch is warm and strong, his grip gentle but unrelenting. My eyes travel from where we’re bonded up over the fitted, vintage rock tee that covers his chest past the two, or maybe three days of scruff covering his defined jaw to his full lips that hold a slight tinge of pink. His tongue slips out to wet them and my gaze darts to his eyes. He leans forward and kisses me on both cheeks, lingering longer on the right, then says, “Bonjour, je me presente. Je m’appelle Olivier DuMarche.” I don’t understand most of what he just said, but I do know that Olivier DuMarche is gonna be trouble of the best kind if I’m not careful.

CHAPTER 2

high school I was salutatorian, and I’m still a little bitter about it. My I nposition on that graduation stage had come down to one paper. I earned a

perfect score. I thought I had the top title in the bag until I found out the valedictorian got a 103 by doing extra credit I wasn’t aware we could do. That first major loss shaped my college career and my outlook on life. I refuse to come in second place again. So this dream trip is my last break before school starts in three weeks, my last time to let loose before the intensity of senior year kicks in. Olivier had grabbed his leather jacket and left me alone to unpack or settle in or whatever it was I supposed to do upon arriving. But after a few minutes of freshening up, my adrenaline was overcoming any jet lag I was supposed to be having. I’m too anxious to explore to sit here any longer. My dream of being in France is too powerful to let a tired body hold me back. After adding a pair of tights under my dress and putting my coat back on for warmth, I wander down to the street not sure which way to go and today, I don’t mind. I have no schedule and no aim. It is all about living life like the French. Living the phrase ‘Joie de vivre’ for the first time in my life. With all the pre-planning I’ve done, the carefree feeling I felt didn’t seem to weigh down on me now that I was actually here despite the sensation being new. Walking down the cobblestone street, I absorb everything—the architecture, the smells, the sounds, and the soul of Paris, breathing it in. When I turn the corner I pass a florist with buckets of colorful flowers filling the sidewalk. My mind has already committed me to daydreaming of living in Paris one day. If I lived here, I would always have fresh flowers, ones that I bought from the neighborhood florist like this. A café sprawls out ahead, patrons filling the tables despite the chill. “Kandace?” I turn toward the sound of my name and see Olivier sitting at a table near the door. He waves me over and I go with a bigger smile on my face than I want. I’m still undecided if he has earned this grin, so I try to contain it. “Hi.” “Bonjour.” “Bonjour,” I say. “Join me?”

“Merci.” I sit down, then cross my ankles. “You are sightseeing, oui?” I nod. “I just left the hostel. Any recommendations of places I should visit in the area?” “Kandace, you must learn to slow down and enjoy. It’s a beautiful day made for enjoying, not rushing around. Have a drink with me. We can celebrate your arrival.” The way he says my name and the excitement in his eyes makes me want to stay exactly where we are. “You’re right. I have days.” “And tonight.” I catch his eyes on me, intense with a spark of something more. With all the possibility that resides in the blues of his irises, it’s easy to be attracted to him. Sidetracked might be a better word though, so I turn away. Looking out over the quiet street, the sun hits. Just as I reach into my purse to pull out my sunglasses, he says, “You have beautiful green eyes. Tis a shame you must cover them, my Américain Rayon de Soleil.” Self talk is a standard for me, but in this moment, all advice I’d normally give myself silently, leaves me under his compliment. “You blush so easily, like a rose,” he says. “I’m not used to compliments.” “Non? But you’re so delicate and…” he waves his hand as if the gesture is all that is needed. “Enchanting.” “You’re too kind.” “I only speak the truth. There is no reason to hide behind pretenses. We are friends. Oui?” “Oui,” I reply. “Très bien.” The waiter arrives and as Olivier speaks I’m drawn to the sound of his tongue as it slides over the words so provocatively. I find myself staring at his mouth until words end and a cocky grin appears. When I look up, he asks, “Distracted?” “Very much so.” I clear my throat and try to do the same for the dirty thoughts crossing my mind. “I just remembered I forgot to turn off my iron,” I lie. “I should probably call my roommate and make sure the apartment is still there.” I start to stand, so embarrassed, but stop when his warm hand lands on mine. “Stay. I just ordered for us.” “You did?” He nods once while his eyes stay directed on me, seeming to see through my lie. I ease down again, relaxing back into the chair again. “I want to see the Eiffel Tower.” “Ahhh, the elusive Tour Eiffel.” I laugh. “You’re being sarcastic.” “Just a wee bit.” “Don’t mock me. I’ve waited my whole life to be here. I plan to do the touristy thing. I need to see it all.” “I could show you a few sites.”

The waiter arrives with wine, a baguette and butter before I think too deep into the offer. He fills our glasses then leaves again. “Wine? Are you trying to get me drunk in the afternoon?” He laughs. “Will a few glasses of wine get you drunk?” “Probably.” “Bottoms up.” Holding up his glass, he says, “À la vôtre.” Tapping mine against his, I say, “À la vôtre.”

One bottle leads to two and I’m toast. All the bread in Paris can’t stop the world from spinning. With Olivier’s arm around my waist and my arm over his shoulder, together we stumble back to the hostel before the sun sets. It’s innocent enough, though I find my body leaning on him more than I probably needed to. The redhead waiting in the lobby for him is not as amused by our laughter or that we’re touching, much less draped on each other…even if platonically. She yells at Olivier in French as he smiles, dropping his arm from me to go to her. As he speaks, his voice is calm and I can just make out that he’s telling her we are only friends. Even with a cloudy mind, it sounds more like placating if I’m judging, which I am. The redhead slaps Olivier across the face and pushes between us to exit. When the door slams closed, I turn to him, wide-eyed and in shock as he rubs his cheek. His lids grow heavy again as if that was merely a disruption and he offers his hand out to me. When I take it, he starts walking and says, “We must sleep together.” Stopping instantly, I shake my head. “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. No.” “Whoa?” he questions, confusion coloring his expression. “We can’t sleep together.” My voice gets pitchy and my words come out faster. “I’m not going to sleep with you.” His words slur, the wine winning. “Kanndeeese, sleep,” he says, closing his eyes, but not releasing my hand in a half-attempt to show me what he means. When he opens them again, a big smile appears. “Sleep. Comprendre?” Nodding, I reply, “Sleep. Oui.” My heartbeat picks up speeding past our pace as we take each step of the four flights. His hand remains warm as I feel my body begin to freeze up from nerves. It’s been months since I had a date much less held hands or ‘slept’ with someone. With a quick glance over his shoulder, our eyes meeting in the moment, he smiles —confident, but comforting. The door is opened and our hands fall apart. I walk past him and go to my case to dig out my toothbrush, paste, and pajamas as he silently takes his jacket off. Holding the brush and toothpaste in the air, I say, “I’ll be back,” as if I need to explain to him why I’m leaving. I hurry out of the room and into the hallway while rolling my eyes at myself. The awkwardness I was dreading when we came up here takes over my body. Walking

down the hall, I go inside the bathroom and lock the door behind me. Leaning against the hollow wood door, I look in the mirror. Maybe it’s the drunk goggles I’m looking through, but I don’t look as bad as I thought I would. After brushing my teeth and finishing up in the bathroom, I enter the room again. Closing the door softly behind me, I wait in the dimly lit room, unsure if Olivier is still awake. When my eyes adjust to the low light, I tiptoe forward. His body is still as he lays on the lower bunk bed. With just the little nightstand lamp on, I see him turn. The energy we had earlier alters into something else causing my breath to slow like my pace. My gulp is hard, but I hope he doesn’t hear. I tuck my toiletries back into the bag on top of my suitcase. “Come here,” he says, watching my every move. Going against all my typical instincts, I walk closer and sit down on the bed near his feet. He takes my hand and says, “Trust me. Sleep. That’s all.” There’s a saying that you shouldn’t trust people who say trust me. As my mind runs over all the reasons I shouldn’t climb into bed next to him, my body is already going against the rationale. He lifts the covers as I lift my legs and slip under the sheet. I try not to think about how many people have slept in this bed or used this pillow or the thin, scratchy blanket, and I definitely don’t want to think about the redhead who slapped him. Instead I lay here, the top of my head leaning against the side of his. His fingers intertwine with mine. His skin is a little rough, something I hadn’t noticed on our walk home, but I like it. He clears his throat, then whispers, “Are you tired?” “No,” I whisper back. While staring up at the bottom of the top bed, I feel his breath before I feel his forehead against my cheek. I stay still. His lips press lightly to my skin, alighting every nerve in my body. Closing my eyes, I enjoy the subtle touch right before it disappears. I keep my eyes closed a moment longer so I don’t seem desperate. “Bon soir, my Américain Rayon de Soleil.” I exhale a shaky breath as quietly as I can, and reply, “Bon soir.” The lamp is turned off and we lay there in the dark, wide awake, trying to regulate our breathing to sound normal. Judging by my racing heart, I’m anything but normal right now. Every sound in the room and noise from the street below is magnified until he squeezes my hand. The gesture is reassuring and I settle down, closing my eyes again. My first day in Paris and I’m falling asleep next to one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen and he’s French. I swoony-sigh, then eventually fall asleep next to Olivier.

CHAPTER 3

he bed dips and I feel cold. Reluctantly, I open my eyes. TI was wide awake at three in the morning. Just after five I fell asleep again. I

never moved from my spot. It felt too good in the nook of Olivier’s arm, pressed against his body, so I stayed. The door shuts and I stare at the back of it. While he’s gone down the hall, I quickly cup my hand in front of my mouth and huff, smelling my breath. Fortunately it’s not bad. Phew! I pull my t-shirt down to cover my waist just as the door reopens, startling me. “You’re awake,” Olivier says. He stops just inside the room and looks past me toward the window. “I need to go. I have work. D’accord? Sorry,” he says, running his hands through his shaggy morning hair. “Okay?” I look at him, but remain lying down and pull the covers up to my neck, suddenly feeling too exposed and vulnerable in the light of the new day. “Okay.” He walks to a chair and grabs the shirt he wore last night. As he pulls it over his head, I admire his body. His stomach is more defined than any of the guys I’ve dated before. I can tell he’s more into how he looks, and puts effort into it, staying in shape more than my last boyfriend who was a bio-chem major. As he tugs at the long sleeves of the blue Henley, I ask, “What do you do? For work?” “Odd jobs for cash. Today, I’m working down at a flower shop on La Rive Gauche.” With socks and shoes in hand, he sits on the end of the bed and asks, “What about you, Kandace?” “I’m in school. University.” With a nod, he looks back down and finishes getting dressed. He stands up. “What university?” “Barnard College.” “Ahhh, New York City.” “Yes, how did you know that?” He laughs, but I’m not in on the inside joke. Grabbing his jacket that hangs from the corner of the bed frame, he says, “I hope you get to see le Tour Eiffel. Au revoir.” Leaving the room before I have a chance to say goodbye, I’m left totally

confused by him. But confusion over men is nothing new. I’ve spent time on my future. Men have always come secondary or even third or fourth. Most days they don’t make my list of priorities at all if I’m completely honest. I’m looking for love that sweeps me off my feet. Tired of analyzing my dating situation, I flip the covers from my body and get out of bed. I lay my suitcase on the floor and open it, getting my stuff for the day out of it because Paris awaits.

I stop into a bakery for a croissant, feeling more like a local just having the French pastry in my hands. Walking along the narrow street, I turn a corner and look in all directions. I’m not sure where I am exactly, but I know where I want to go. Sitting down on a nearby bench, I pull my small map out of my purse and try to get my bearings without being obvious that I’m using a map to do so. I wish my phone worked over here. I could GPS it so easily, but I don’t have it, so old school it is. When I figure out which direction I want to go, I walk with purpose.

The Louvre is even more beautiful than I ever imagined. I take the long route and wander the halls, losing hours to the beauty of art and design. Extra time is spent with the Venus de Milo statue—the Greek Goddess of Love and Beauty, admiring her beauty and seeking her strength. I leave the museum when the sun is low in the sky. I’m not sure how I’m getting back to the hostel, but considering it took me so long to walk here, I can’t do the same walk back. Tucking my camera into my bag, I head to the nearest side street away from the chaos of the Louvre crowds and hail a cab. The cabbie looks at me in the mirror as I slide inside, “Where you going?” “You speak English,” I ask, surprised. The cab driver rests his arm on the back of his seat, turning toward me. “Here’s a little tip for you. Most French speak English. They just choose not to let you in on their secret.” He turns back and laughs. Looking at me in the rearview mirror, he asks again, “Where to?” I show him the piece of paper with the address written on it. He doesn’t say anything, but takes off so fast that I fall back in my seat. Fifteen minutes later, I exhale loudly, relieved we’re alive. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the driving here. After paying, I enter the hostel. “Kandeese,” the guy who checked me in greets me with a wide smile. A different girl from yesterday sits on his lap on the green sofa. He physically picks the girl up and sets her down next to him before standing. “We did not officially meet yesterday.” With his hand out, he says, “I’m Stefan.” When I take his hand to shake, he immediately turns it, bringing it to his lips. If I’m

not mistaken, I feel his tongue touch my skin… and I’m totally grossed out. “Enchante,” he adds. “Bonjour,” I manage to say just as the door to my right opens. We turn and see Olivier enter. He looks tired. His eyes go from Stefan’s and my adjoined hands, then we make eye contact but he doesn’t say anything. He walks past us, the door hitting the wall after he opens it, and he goes upstairs. Pulling my hand and wiping it down my skirt, the girl on the couch says something. It sounds a lot like she’s upset with Stefan. She stands and walks to the door, Stefan immediately following with his hands in the air in frustration as he gripes back at her. Not wanting to stay for the rest of their show, I head upstairs. I stop on the third flight, my feet still throbbing from dressing for style instead of comfort while walking the large museum today. The door is cracked open. The room is lit by the lamp instead of the overhead light. Feeling like I’m interrupting the silence, I walk in slowly, then shut the door behind me. “Hi,” I whisper. “Bonjour,” Olivier responds quietly. He lies on the bed, his legs sprawled out, his shoes still on. Not sure what to do—check on him, go to dinner and give him some time alone, ignore it all and go to bed, I go to my suitcase and pretend to busy myself. Considering I just got here yesterday, this is already feeling too heavy. I get my sneakers out, then slip them on. Grabbing my purse and a sweater, I’m about to head for the door to leave, when he calls me. “Kandace?” Standing at the end of the bunk beds, I look over my shoulder. “Yeah?” The springs of the mattress protest as he gets up, coming closer. He stops right in front of me. He leans in so close, his lips almost to mine. I stop breathing and close my eyes. I hear shuffling as he reaches past me. I open my eyes. He’s holding his jacket that was hanging behind me and he asks, “Do you have plans tonight?” I exhale louder than I mean, my breath coming out as a sigh. “No. I’m hungry, so I thought I’d go out and find a restaurant nearby.” With a firm smirk in place, he asks, “Can I come with you?” His sexy ways are gonna be the death of me, but he’s totally irresistible, so I reply, “Yes.” With my heart still racing with a million and one different emotions, I grip my sweater and purse tighter as he slips his jacket on and we walk out the door together. The small lobby is empty and we leave, silence holding us together. Once outside, I put my sweater on and let him lead since he knows Paris. With my hands tucked in my sweater pockets, I ask, “Why are you here?” “I like you. I wanted to spend more time with you. It’s easy to be with you.” “I’ll take the compliment, but I meant Paris staying in a hostel. Are you not from Paris,” I say, nudging him with my elbow playfully. “Why does anyone end up in Paris—debt, a girl, bad guys, parent problems, the draw of the big city.” “That’s a lot of reasons.”

He replies with a laugh, but it’s tethered to deeper emotions. “Do you have a boyfriend?” I stop walking and gasp, shocked by the question. With my hands on my hips, I ask, “Do you think I would have slept with you if I had a boyfriend?” This time his laugh is hardy and loud, causing me to look around to verify we’re not making a scene on the street. Stepping closer, Olivier takes my hands from my hips fighting the resistance on my part. When my body finally slacks, he holds my hands in his and smiles at me. “I don’t think anything bad about you. I do think you’re ehhh, how do you say, virginal, not deflowered.” My mouth drops open. “Oh my God, we can just stop with this conversation right now.” He’s even more charming than usual when he seems so concerned about me. “I make you uncomfortable?” “You make me uncomfortable. Yes.” I pull my sweater tight as I cross my arms over my chest and begin walking again. Jogging to catch up, he bumps into me. “Kandace, I’m sorry.” His accent seems to thicken through the sincerity of his words. “I do not mean to make you feel this way. I only meant, I do not think you are slutty.” “Ugh. Just stop already. It’s getting worse, not better. I think there’s a language barrier or this whole conversation is lost in translation. It’s best if we just end it and get some food.” I walk away hoping he joins me though I’m still a little frustrated being called a virgin by him. How would he know anything about my sexual history? I’ve had sex and I don’t have to prove otherwise to him. If I don’t come off easy, that’s not a bad thing in my book. This time he moves in front of me, forcing me to stop and face him. His eyes roam my heated face and I involuntarily lick my lips when his blues focus on them. There’s no assured smile that follows. Instead, he looks me in the eyes and says, “I meant no offense.” His accent is so light that I don’t notice it at all. I realize in twenty-four hours I’m already getting used to him. He’s become a part of my Paris world so much so that no matter how out of sorts I momentarily feel, being around him also brings me comfort. “I’m sorry.” “Merci,” I reply, trying to get us back on track and get myself back in the spirit of the country I’m visiting. After eyeing the bistro up ahead, I smile, feeling better already. “How about this place?” “Très bien.” And like that, the captivating Frenchman has wooed me back into his good graces.

CHAPTER 4

“V ous êtes vingt et un?” he asks. Bizarrely, this is one of the phrases I

remember from the class for some reason. “I’ll be twenty-two in two days.” “Birthday in Paris. Sounds planned.” “Very much so.” We paid our check already, but have half the bottle left to finish. He leans forward, the bottle of sparkling wine and two plates with no food left on them remain on the table between us. Resting his head on his hand, he looks me over again. I blush, still not used to how intensely he stares at me. “Why are you alone in Paris on your birthday?” I turn the champagne glass around on top of the small wooden table. “Because I couldn’t find anyone to come with me.” Sitting back, he scans the bistro. When I look around, I notice it’s crowded, more so now than when we arrived. Couples surround us, their love evident by how they speak to each other in whispers and body language. I ask, “Who was that girl yesterday?” By how his eyes stay focused on his lap, I determine this might be a touchy subject, but the slap is a bigger indicator than that. Topping off my glass, he says, “An ex-girlfriend.” “When did you break it off with the ex?” Waving his finger, affirming my point, he replies, “I might have forgotten that step.” With a laugh, I pick up my glass, and say, “It’s an important step.” I take a couple of sips and set the glass back down. Olivier rubs his cheek as if he can still feel the burn. “I have learned that lesson.” “The hard way.” When he looks at me curiously, I quickly add, “That’s just a phrase. You got slapped. That’s the hard way to learn a lesson.” “The more painful way.” “Yes.” “And you? Are there exes in your past?”

Shyly, I look back at the bubbles in my glass. “One or two.” “No more than that?” “I study. A lot.” “For what?” After taking another sip, I reply, “For me. I have to be the best.” “Why?” “Because coming in second sucks.” He chuckles. “You are tight, Kandace.” “Tight?” I try to figure out what that means. “Ohhh, you mean uptight?” “Yes, this uptight. That is you. Have you ever not planned and just acted before?” “Sure,” I say, shrugging and hoping I believe my own answers. “What about love? Have you loved? Deeply?” “I’ve loved,” I reply a little on the snarky side and with a half eye-roll. “I don’t know if I believe you.” “I don’t care what you believe.” I direct my attention outside to the sidewalk and the people passing by. “I think you do, but that’s neither here nor there.” He waves his hand dismissively. “I can show you what it means to be free from the shackle you’ve placed around your heart and then, only then, will you discover how to really live life.” “I don’t have a shackle around my heart. Just because I like to work hard and for that hard work to pay off doesn’t mean I’m not living.” “That’s the shackle speaking.” “Shackles don’t speak.” Defensively, I snap, “And I do not have a shackle around my heart.” Leaning forward and with an irritated, hushed tone, I add, “So kindly refrain from talking about my heart or me when you really know nothing about either.” Running his hand through his hair, his expression warns me I’ve hit a nerve as his aggravation takes over. “Américaine typiquement têtue. Même si elle a les yeux verts les plus sexy qui soient et un corps à faire rêver, elle est frustrante! ” Spoken too fast for me to interpret, he then stands abruptly holding his hand out and says, “We shall leave now.” “All of that meant you want to leave?” “No, it meant… never mind. Let’s go.” With the acceptance of his hand I know I’m agreeing to more than leaving the restaurant. Maybe it’s the champagne taking over my brain, but I’m okay with that. This passionate man has stirred all kinds of new sensations within me and if I’m not careful, I just might end up in his bed for more than sleeping tonight. “C’est la vie.” Hand in hand, we walk out the door. Outside, we walk down the street in the opposite direction of the hostel. “Where are we going?” I ask. “C’est la vie, Kandace.”

And like that, I let Olivier lead.

The last place I expected to end up was in a loud, extremely crowded neon light flashing nightclub in the bowels of some dirty part of Paris. This is what I get for trusting a stranger… practical stranger. Whatever Olivier is to me now. I stand against the wall where he left me to retrieve drinks. The couple next to me are so up on each other that I’m not sure laws aren’t being broken. But maybe French law is looser… like them. I shake my shoulders hoping to loosen up a bit myself. When I look toward the bar again, I’ve lost sight of Olivier. Panicky, I scan the entire length of the metal bar, but don’t find him. Lifting up on my toes, I search the club for his head above the crowd. When I still don’t see him, I work my way through the club in the direction of the last place I saw him. My heart is racing as I hurry around, thinking he might have left me here. I stop at the edge of the dance floor, wondering if he decided to dance with someone… someone other than me. I’m grabbed by the waist suddenly and his voice is at my ear. “Miss me?” Calm washes over me as I turn in his arms. “Might have.” “Good.” He holds me tightly, our faces close, our lips even closer. “I ran into friends. Our drinks are at their table. C’mon.” I follow him until we’re standing in front of a grouping of modern leather white benches. Olivier slips around the coffee table and three people part letting him sit down. He scoots to the side and pats the bench while looking at me. “Pardonnezmoi,” I say, stepping over their feet and squeeze in next to him. After introductions they start talking, but it’s loud, too loud to really hear what they’re saying and I don’t think I would understand anyway. And here I thought a quick semester of basic French would get me by. I didn’t realize how submerged I’d be in the culture. I feel fortunate to see the ‘real’ lives of the French people and a little embarrassed of what I imagined their lives to be. I pictured everyone leading glamorous lives. They are just like my friends back home. I giggle to myself and Olivier bumps me. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing really.” “I like seeing your smile.” I turn to look at him. “Really?” “Yes. Really.” His eyelids dip closed before slowly reopening. “I think you’re—” He’s grabbed by the girl next to him before he finishes his sentence. Her hand remains holding his arm as I wait patiently. I watch as he leans in and she presses her mouth to his ear. He nods and smiles. She laughs with a head toss of her hair. I touch my own hair wondering what it looks like and hoping it’s not gone frizzy. Olivier laughs, his attention still on the other girl, but then his hand lands on my leg, giving me a little squeeze. He says something to her, then sits up bringing his body closer to mine again. “My apologies,” he starts. “As I was saying, I think

you’re very beautiful, but you know this, Kandace.” He may have said that before, but it will never get old. When I look down, my face heating from his sweet attention, the side of my head rubs against his cheek. I stay, momentarily, liking this too much, liking him too much. When my eyes meet his again, I see the devil. Trouble never looked so tempting. My breath weighs down on my chest and I lick my lips in preparation… His gaze lands on my mouth and I can almost feel the sweet pressure of his lips kissing mine. “Drink?” he asks, holding his empty glass. “Olivier?” the guy on the other side of me calls him, shaking his empty beer bottle. They chat a moment and he stands. The moment is lost, so when he looks to me again with questioning eyes, I reply, “Oui.” Meaning yes to anything and everything with him, but I’ll take a drink for starters. As soon as Olivier is gone, the guy next to me leans closer. “Only English?” “Juste un peu de français.” I smile and use my hands to show just a little French. “My name is Savi.” His own smile is big, but a little on the smarmy side. “I’ve been to LA and Las Vegas.” “I’ve never been to either. I’m an East Coast girl. Are they nice?” “They are fun. Pretty women.” He holds his hands in front of his chest to signal big boobs. Fortunately, he doesn’t say it. Feeling uneasy, I shift. “I should help Olivier carry the drinks.” His words are rushed, but I hear him say, “Do you like sex?” Shocked, I ask, “What? “Make love. Have you let a Frenchman make love to you?” I stand. “I’ve gotta go.” Working my way out of the group, I head toward the bar. I find Olivier just as he turns. His expression coats my insides, making me wonder if it’s possible to fall in love with someone in less than forty-eight hours. Maybe anything is possible in Paris. It is the most romantic city in the world, after all. With the drinks between us, he leans in and whispers, “One more drink, then we go.” “Yes, that will be good.” Dropping the beer off to Savi, Olivier takes me back to the bench to sit. The next thirty minutes is like a sexercise in patience… I mean exercise. The sparkling wine makes me feel lighter than I’ve felt in ages. Looser too, but I blame that on Paris, not the alcohol. The group is friendly. Savi is more friendly than most. I giggle when he flirts with me and Olivier possessively wraps his arm around my shoulders. Leaning back against his chest, I say, “J’adore Paris.” His warm breath hits the shell of my ear, and he replies, “Paris vous adore.” Awww. Paris adores me. “What about you?” “I find you utterly irresistible.” His arm tightens. “Ready?” “To go? Yes.” “I meant for another drink since yours is almost gone, but I like your idea

better.” I laugh, completely embarrassed. “I’m not always so forward.” I finish my drink and find myself gravitating toward him as if there was space that still existed between us. The close confines of the crowded bench only heighten our connection. Olivier’s hand rubs gently down my thigh and back up. It slides again, taking the skirt of my dress with him. My breath catches in my throat but I like it, so I roll with it. He stops and stands abruptly. With a wave, he speaks loudly to the group, “Au revoir.” Reaching down he takes my hand, helping me up. The music seems louder as the hour has gotten later. We don’t talk on our way out of the club. Our words will just be lost in the beat anyway. But as soon as we reach the sidewalk, he looks at me, no smile at all. Instead, it’s a look that makes me want to do dirty things that will make me burn with regret in the morning. What has come over me? A hand with bad intentions rubs my lower back reminding me exactly what has come over me. He flags down a taxi and we get in quickly. Both of us on the same determined heat wave, leading us straight back to the hostel. Listening to him direct the driver makes me feel safe and taken care of. His hand slides over and takes hold of mine again as he eases back and looks out the window. There’s a confidence that appears to come easy for him and I find it so sexy. “Top bunk or bottom bunk?” I ask, wanting to break the silence as my nerves start to kick in. “What do you mean, Américain Rayon de Soleil?” “Bad joke.” “Joke?” he asks. I smile, squeezing his hand, then shake my head. “Never mind. I was being silly.” The cab comes to a stop out front and I pay this time. “I’ve got this.” After paying we slip out and walk inside. The lobby is empty and I’m glad for the reprieve from Stefan and his crazy antics tonight. We sneak upstairs… or it feels like we’re sneaking upstairs though I’m pretty sure that no one cares what we’re doing or about to do. Olivier unlocks the door and pulls me in quickly behind him. The door is shut and I’m pushed against it. With eyes closed, his hands settle on my waist as he rubs his cheek against mine. With our bodies pressed together, I take a deep breath, inhaling him into my system before releasing all my inhibitions.

CHAPTER 5

livier’s hands were so sure a moment earlier have become tentative as he slides O my sweater down from my shoulders. My purse is already off and the two items are

hung on a hook nearby. My neck is taken by his lips as he kisses my skin, working his way up to my mouth. Our breaths intermingle and his words are calculated for me to understand, “Tu as si bon goût.” My knees weaken knowing he’s ‘tasting’ me. I take his face in my hands and lock eyes with him. “My turn,” I say. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I close my eyes and lean in, pressing my lips to his. The sound of us making a song that fills the air and my ears as I get lost in him. Our lips part and our tongues meet for the first time. I love that the meeting feels natural and is filled with need. I’m spun around and led backward to the bed. He backs away suddenly, breathless like me, and stares at me. The open blinds send a slanted, lined pattern across his body and face. He asks, “If we do this… er, ummm…. Like they say ‘there’s no going back.’ ” With my chest heaving from the intensity, I say, “I don’t want to go back. I just want to move forwar—” He takes me hard, his hands holding me to him, peppering me with kisses and phrases that sound more like swearing. I hold his shoulders, then slide his jacket down. The jacket is dropped as my hands reach his stomach. The hem of his shirt is lifted and I find the soft skin of his body over the hard muscles of his abs. He reaches down, grabs his shirt, and takes it off over his head in one smooth move. Reaching for his belt, he undoes it as I turn around for him. With his jeans hanging open, the belt buckle weighing down one side bumps against my backside. My zipper is pulled down the length of my back by assured fingers. My bra is undone in the process. With his fingers, he traces down my spine and follows with his mouth. The dress falls to the ground landing with a poof around my ankles. I step out holding onto my bra while turning to face him again. Kicking off his shoes, he slides his jeans down and stands in his fitted boxer shorts before me. “Lay down,” he demands. I sit on the edge of the bed before maneuvering my legs onto it. He leans down and takes my shoes off one by one with care. Getting onto the bed, he moves

between my legs and so uncharacteristically like me, I let him. I feel his hardness as he moves higher until he’s hovering over me. With a finger, he pulls down the loose bra and begins rubbing his hand over my breast. Bending down, he takes my nipple into his mouth and sucks gently, then bites just enough to make my back arch up. Wanting more, I moan ever so softly. There’s more sucking before he moves over to the other breast and repeats the sweet torturous process. My straps are taken down slowly, leaving me bare underneath him. His chest presses down on mine, our skin heating from the contact. With his mouth on my skin, he says, “Je vais te faire l’amour et ensuite te baiser de telle sorte que tu te souviennes de moi longtemps après avoir quitté Paris.” Words coated in sexual prowess cover the nook of my neck. I react with uncontrolled heavy breaths, my mind swirling, not able to latch onto the meaning of what he said. In English this time, he says, “I'm going to make love to you, then fuck you so you’ll remember me long after you leave Paris.” And with that, I grip my thighs to his sides, and rub against his erection, the few inhibitions I was holding onto annihilated by his promise. A promise I hope he keeps. My panties are soaked as the feel of the cotton between us adds to the sensations, making me feel wanton and equally sexy. One of my breasts is squeezed, then kneaded as our lips find purchase against each other again. Our tongues are even deeper until his mouth owns mine and I have a feeling he already owns more when it comes to me. But my mind goes numb, my thoughts silencing as our bodies speak their own inviting language of love… and fuck. The twin bed doesn’t offer a lot of room, but there’s enough for him to flip me suddenly on top of him. “Remove these,” he says, tugging at the side of my panties. Staring down at him, I grab the waistband of his boxers and say, “Remove these.” The cockiest grin I’ve ever witnessed crosses his lips and he nods. “I like this you.” I roll to the side and strip the rest of the way. The panties were just an obstacle at this stage anyway. I may not have had sex with many guys, only two notches on my invisible bedpost, but this time is different. I’m different. I want this—not because I’m somebody’s girlfriend or because it’s that time in a relationship. I want this. I want him because he makes my body crave him in ways I’ve never craved someone before. “Not the normal me?” He’s naked next to me and I’m fascinated by his hardened length. I run my fingers over him, causing his body to react. I love the control. He covers my hand with his and closes my fingers around his cock. As we rub up and down slowly, him squeezing me, me squeezing him, he says, “I like the other you too, but you’re relaxed.” “I’ve been drinking.” “You’re not drunk.” Our hands quicken.

My thighs tighten together. I’m wet in anticipation. I look up until our eyes meet. “No, I’m not drunk.” He reaches to his toiletry bag on the nightstand and pulls a condom out of it. Moaning from pleasure as we jerk him off, he says, “Stop.” The word comes out harsher, almost chaotic. Our hands release before he has a chance to finish and he rips open the packet, slides the condom on, and then adds, “I want you on top.” Maybe he can see the fear in my eyes or can sense it because his expression softens. “Have you ever been on top?” I shake my head shyly, suddenly feeling like he’ll judge me for my lack of experience. “But I make amazing chocolate chunk brownies.” Laughing, he makes me giggle too. He pauses, staring at me. Then he says, “I will make you feel good.” His hand moves between my legs and his fingers slip between my lower lips, not hurried, but with purpose. When he begins to massage my clit, my head drops to the mattress and I adjust to give him more access, easier access. He sits up on his elbow, facing me. Dragging his fingertips upward, he brings them to his mouth and ‘tastes’ me again. Lying back, he says, “Come here.” Directing me on top of him, I stop when I see he wants me above his mouth. I look down at him, my body flaming in desire and some new shame that he’ll not like what he sees or eats or tastes or whatever he plans to do to me in this position. “You taste so good. I want to do this for you and for me.” Swallowing my humiliation down, I try to clear my head and go with the sensations again and position myself above him. He grips my hips lowering me down. Reaching forward I grab a hold of the bed in front of me. When his tongue touches me for the first time, I jump a little and my knees tighten around his head. “Relax, Sunshine.” Taking a deep breath, I try to calm down and enjoy this. He kisses my inner thigh softly and I look down to watch him. His eyes are on mine as his head shifts and he kisses my clit this time, lingering there a moment before opening his mouth and sucking gently. My eyelids flutter closed as I feel him taking care of me in ways that no one has ever done. I move. My body is caught between pleasure and pain as he draws out parts of me I’ve never felt. As his tongue enters me, I realize how dirty, scandalous, and absolutely fucking amazing this feels. My grip tightens on the wood that suddenly feels fragile under my fingers, my nails scraping against it, leaving notches of my own. My legs start to quiver as my body begins to quake, tremoring to life. Then he stops… “What are you doing?” My voice goes up an octave with desperation. Grabbing my hips tighter, he moves me lower. “I want inside of you.” One of his hands leaves my skin and I slide down. I see him pumping, then holding himself up for me. I rise up just enough until the tip of his cock is touching me, my body already aching for him to fill me. Lowering my palms to his chest, I lower my body. My heart races as I take him in slowly until I’m fully seated. “Hey,” his voice drawing

my attention. “You feel incroyable.” I love how he starts in English and ends in French. Smiling, I rise back up, feeling my own confidence. Every time I move down, the fullness makes my entire soul feel complete. Emotions running rampant should scare me, but I let go of the worries and enjoy instead. Olivier sits up and I angle my legs around, moving against him. We kiss and kiss and make love and fuck. Our room is filled with moans of pleasure, groans of beautiful sexual pain, and slick bodies coming together. I feel the sweat in his hair against my temple and treasure it. I brought this man to his knees and he’s now bringing me to mine. The tightening begins deep from where our bodies are linked, spreading as an inner explosion drowns the color from the back of my eyelids, brightening my world. His movements become erratic. I love his drive as he uses my body to chase his own release. Then he holds me tightly, stilling me as he moves beneath, his hot breath coming out in curses and ‘Sunshine’ being uttered. Two kisses are given just behind my ear, then he sighs. His arms are around me and with my eyes closed, I can imagine staying like this forever.

CHAPTER 6

ound two is the ‘fucking’ he promised. Hard. Fast. Uncompromising. R Unrelenting. I came twice. Sex has never been that rough or that fulfilling before

and I loved every second of it. Two hours after having sex with Olivier, I’m still wide awake. He fell asleep more than an hour ago. My head rests in the nook of his arm and his steady heartbeat hasn’t lulled me to sleep yet. I’m too happy, too sated, feeling too much of everything to shut down my rapidly growing feelings for him. I’ve never had casual sex before and there is something so liberating about it. In it to win it, looking out for number one, and all those clichés have run around my head and long since left. The reality is that I have a bad pattern of falling in love with people I have sex with. The making love is actually true for me. Olivier and I made love tonight and that will be hard to let go of in a few days, no matter how much I try to convince myself it was only one time. Nope, not even knowing I’ll be leaving him in 3 days has fazed my heart. It’s my most stubborn organ by far and refuses to acknowledge the facts. Instead, my heart focuses on the man next to me and how he felt when he was inside of me, how peaceful he looks while sleeping, and how cute his hair looks hanging over one eye. My brain won’t shut down and rest despite reminding myself that when I leave Paris, I’ll be leaving Olivier behind as well. It doesn’t seem to matter how intelligent I am or how logical I believe myself to be. The bottom line is that this is a onetime thing. That’s it. We didn’t make any promises or commitments to each other, but the unwritten rule of no strings attached was definitely in play tonight. Closing my eyes, I try to shut off the noise that’s keeping me awake and focus on how I felt just two hours ago after having my first real orgasm. Snuggling closer, I take a deep breath, giving into the exhaustion that is taking over.

When I open my eyes, Olivier is sitting in the chair across from me with a coffee in his hand, staring at me. “Bonjour. Prendrais-tu un café?”

“Oui,” I reply. He gets up taking the other coffee I hadn’t noticed from the nightstand and hands it to me before sitting back down in the chair. His gaze leaves me and drops to the ground as he leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. My stomach turns from the negative vibe of his body language, so I brace myself before he even has a chance to speak. Running his free hand through his hair, he stands suddenly and says, “I have to work today. Maybe I’ll see you tonight.” There’s no sincerity in his tone, his French even slacking off as he glances toward his only escape—the door. “Okay.” I reply and quickly take a sip to end the morning after awkwardness that is leading to regrets. I redirect my eyes to the underneath of the top bunk as he says his goodbye, “Au revoir, Rayon de Soleil.” “Yeah, au revoir.” The door closes and the expected tears don’t come. A numbness to it all rushes through my veins instead. Trying to hold back my disappointment, I sit up and set the coffee down before standing. Maybe I should see if they have other rooms available. The door swings open and Olivier stands there out of breath, which momentarily takes my breath away. “Did you run back up here?” I ask, hoping the answer is yes. “Yes.” He closes the distance in three steps. Staring into my eyes, he cups my face and says, “Last night… last night was amazing.” Then he’s kissing me with a fiery passion, his hands groping as his body presses against mine in ways that stirs up the frenzy from last night all over again. Backing up abruptly, he has a huge grin on his face. “I’ll see you later.” With my own goofy grin in place, I laugh. “Yes, later for sure.” He turns and runs out again. Standing at the door, I watch as he takes to the stairs, leaping to touch the ceiling and hollering excitedly right before he descends. Shutting the door, I lean against the back of it, smiling without reservation and stupidly happy. I slide down the door until I land on the floor. All of a sudden, the world seems to offer unparalleled opportunities. Too giddy to wait any longer to conquer Paris, I jump up and get ready for the day, the grin never leaving my face.

I stroll up the Avenue des Champs-Élysées with Icona Pop playing in my ear buds. The Arc de Triomphe is straight ahead. The trees are blowing in the breeze. The sky is cloudless and blue reminding me of Olivier’s eyes. I pick up the pace to match the beat of the music until I find the pedestrian tunnel. When I arrive ready to climb up, I mentally prepare myself for the two hundred and eighty steps. At the top, I see huge monuments sprinkled around the city. In one direction is tomorrow’s scheduled adventure—the Sacre-Coeur. Back down Champs-Élysées, Place de la Concorde. The city is breathtaking and more than I could have hoped for in other ways.

When I leave, I head for the Notre-Dame Cathedral. I pass a small bistro along the way that looks busy enough to think it’s good and not so busy I can’t get a table. I order white wine wanting to blend in and adopt the locals’ perspective and slow down to enjoy life. Notre-Dame has been open for almost seven hundred years. I think it’ll be fine if it takes an extra hour to get there so I can appreciate the day. A very attractive older man in a very expensive looking suit sitting nearby sends a small smile in my direction along with another glass of wine. The waiter informs me of the gesture. Not sure what to do other than kindly accept, I raise the glass to him. He stands and walks to me. While he speaks, he offers small hand gestures that don’t clue me into what he’s saying at all. I only catch, “J’ampelle Jacques.” “Non parlez vous Francais.” “Ahh, you’re Américain.” “Yes.” “May I join you?” I look at the empty seat next to me suddenly feeling like I’d be betraying Olivier. Let’s face it, this guy isn’t here for casual chitchat. I set the glass on the table along with some money to cover my check and say, “I have to leave actually. There’s a cathedral waiting. Merci and excuse moi.” He nods kindly as I pass. “Too bad. Maybe our paths will cross again one day.” Looking back over my shoulder, I smile. “Maybe.” I feel lighter, my feet rested, and I’m ready to walk again. It doesn’t take as long as I thought it would to get to Notre-Dame. I go inside after lining up, but don’t stay long. It’s beautiful and historical but I’m missing Olivier. I wish I knew where he was working. I’d surprise him. But since I don’t, I start back for the hostel, not sure how long it will take me to walk. I stop and pull out my map. When I discover it’s too far to walk without developing blisters, I decide to take the subway. I’m used to the New York subway system, so this should be a breeze. I’m wrong. I get off at the wrong stop but am too intimidated and frustrated to go back, so I walk the rest of the way. I make it back to the hostel just before dark. Unfortunately, I’m greeted by Stefan. This time with no woman in sight, so that’s a relief. I’m kind of over the tongue show already. “Bonjour, Kandeeeeessse.” My name slurs from his lips. I walk steady. “Bonjour.” He runs to the door, cutting me off. “Let me get the door for you.” Standing there, looking at me, I give a tight smile. “Merci.” “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. No hurry for you.” “Pardon me, Stefan. I need to go.” I step forward. His arms go wide, blocking my way. “Play with me.” My head jerks back. “What?” “You know, how do you Américains say, play with me.” His hand is circling in front of his crotch. I’m so offended I’m not sure what to say. Olivier does though. “Éloigne-toi d’elle.” His deep voice resonates around the

room, penetrating my chest and I jump. So does Stefan, but I’m not sure if it’s from whatever Olivier just said to him or from the interruption. “Détendez-vous, l'homme. Je suis juste en tenant la porte ouverte pour elle.” I look between the two, caught in the middle until Olivier is at my side. Stefan opens the door wide with a fake smile plastered on his face. “Con casse-toi,” Olivier mutters under his breath as we pass. Stefan laughs, then says, “Ta Gueule, Américain.” The pressure of Olivier’s hand on my lower back keeps me moving forward until we reach the stairs. He steps around me, takes my hand, then books it up the steps. I’m quick to follow but tire after the second flight. I stop, yanking him to a halt. “Slow down.” He nods. I can see the stress of the situation written in the lines of his face, lines that shouldn’t be there at such a young age. He leans against the wall and I take a final step up and lean against him. “I missed you today. Is it too soon to say that?” A perfect smile appears and he takes me by the waist, bringing me in for a kiss. “Non. Not too soon. I missed you, Sunshine.” I smile and kiss him again. This time more on the R rated side, hoping to move to an X-rating soon. “Hungry?” I ask. “Hungry for you.” Laughing, I say, “I meant for food. I haven’t eaten much and I’m starved.” “After.” He starts up the steps again, taking me up with him. “After?” “After sex. I really missed you today.” His cocky smile wins me over and I pass him on the last flight. Running after me, he practically tackles me on the last few steps. I fall back, turning just in time to land on my ass on the hard wood. Olivier drops his arms on either side of me, his lips just a few inches away. I push up and he comes down and we kiss in the middle. As I wrap my arms around his neck, he lowers us back just as our tongues meet again. His pelvis presses between my legs and I respond with a moan. “Morrrreee.” I squeal when he scoops me up and hurries down the hall toward our room. He stops just outside the door and says, “Pocket. Keys.” I go fishing in his pocket, then the other and pull out the key. Holding it in the air, I celebrate. “Success!” “Success. Open the door.” Unlocking the door, I turn the knob, then Olivier kicks it until it slams against the wall. He moves us to the bed, drops me down on the mattress before rushing back to close the door and lock it. Reaching over, I turn on the lamp as he stops to lean against the wall. “This is crazy, right?” “Totally.” “But you’re into it?”

Getting up, I go to him and lean against the wall right in front of him. “I’m into you.” “I’m into you too.” This time I take his hand and lead him to the bed, taking charge. “Now get naked and make love to me.” “With much pleasure.”

CHAPTER 7

“D o you work today?”

Olivier brings me even closer, his body wrapped around the back of mine. His chin rests on my shoulder and he whispers, “Yes, most of the day. I’ll be stuck behind the bar. What are you doing today?” Still tired, jet lag has finally set in. I guess I’ve been living off adrenaline and giddiness. My limbs feel heavy, my eyelids even heavier. I don’t bother opening them, not worried about the time or schedule or anything else. Everything feels too good right now to ruin it with reality, time, or morning afters. “If I leave bed today, I want to go to the Sacre-Coeur and maybe hit the flea market.” “Every tour guide tells you those are must-sees.” He laughs. “I will take you somewhere tonight. Somewhere the guidebooks don’t send you.” That opens my eyes. Turning in his arms, I ask, “Really?” He pushes some strands of my messy hair out of my eyes. The act so kind and caring, a lot like the way he’s looking at me now. He says, “Oui.” Just as I begin to smile, he kisses me, making me forget all about heavy limbs and exhaustion. Our bodies begin to move, the closeness encouraging urges and longings that feel unsatisfied. Within minutes he’s filling me—body and soul. His hand slips between us and his fingers find that spot that confirms my body belongs to Olivier DuMarche and I don’t seem to have a say in the matter. He knows just how to make me beg for more and love harder. My ecstasy drives his and he comes with me.

Olivier leaves me with a warning of staying away from Stefan and a reminder that he’ll meet me on the steps of the Sacre-Coeur at six this evening. I go back to sleep, needing it. I wake up around one in the afternoon. Feeling lethargic, it takes me an hour to bathe and style my hair. Feeling fresher and ready for my date… I mean day, I dress with care and put on makeup. Feeling pretty in Paris is so not underrated. This vacation is the best ever. But I only have two days left, so I need to make the most

of them. Stefan is not around when I leave, though he doesn’t scare me as much as he probably should. I can take care of myself when needed. My build may be slight, but I’m strong. All of those P.E. credits have paid off. But I’m still glad I don’t see him. His lecherous ways are gross to witness when I’m just passing through the lobby. With my museum pass in hand, I try the subway again. I find the right station to exit and end up exactly where I wanted to be. Two hours is spent at the Pompidou enjoying everything from an oversized pencil to literature. Immersing myself in this museum as much as possible has been fun, but I don’t relate to the art as much. I think I’m more the classical kind of gal. It’s always good to expand the horizons though. Knowing I have to go from the 4th arrondissemont to the 18th to meet Olivier means I need to get moving. I arrive at the Sacre-Coeur just before six, finding a place halfway up the stairs to sit and wait. Pulling my purse from my shoulder I set it on my lap and look out over the city. This is the highest point in Paris and my heart begins to race at the reality that I’m here, in this place that I’ve dreamed about for what feels like my entire life. I hope my feet never touch the ground. I love living a dream. It feels cooler today, so I tighten my coat at the waist and lean back. Glancing at my watch often, I see the minutes ticking by too slowly. I’m anxious and want to see Olivier again. The top of the hour comes and goes and the next time I look at my watch it’s fifteen after… thirty after… forty-five minutes after… At seven, I sigh, then stand up and stretch while scanning the staircase and then the other one across the grass. I don’t see anyone who even remotely looks like Olivier. I’m sure he just got hung up at work, though I’m starting to feel abandoned. I change spots, moving lower, closer to the main sidewalk at the base of the hill and wait. By eight, I get up, pull my purse over my head, adjusting it across my body before walking down the steps and heading toward the street of shops ahead. Disappointment fills my chest. Tears well, but don’t fall. I search the street as I walk hoping to see him, hear my name being called, or find the answer that will explain why I was just stood up. None of those happen and I’m left to return to the hostel alone. Trying to hold my head up, the hurt I’m feeling sits squarely on my shoulders and I struggle to move past the negative thoughts that fill my head. Instead of going back to that depressing room, I stop into a restaurant, getting a table inside for one. I’m placed in the back corner and given a view of a bistro full of couples— young and old—in love. The French are definitely not shy about showing their affection in public. Is everyone in this city in love? I drop the cloth napkin to my lap, annoyed. When the waiter comes to my table, I order a Nicoise salad and a glass of wine. The wine is delivered promptly. It must be obvious that I need a drink. There is no small talk with the waiter. He’s just as anxious to move to the next table as I am to forget about how I wasted my time

today. Up ahead, an attractive man sitting alone at the bar catches my eye just as I catch his. He smiles. But I look down, not wanting the attention tonight. Maybe everything went wrong in Paris when I started being more concerned about Olivier than the reason I came here in the first place. I never expected to meet someone. But with the romantic movies of the past and the legends of how romantic this city is, I might have been gullible to the first charming guy with an accent. I’m a fool. My salad is delivered with no words and I’m left alone to eat. I don’t hurry, but I kind of want to. I should enjoy these moments, pretend I never met Olivier, like he never stood me up, like I never started to fall for him. Like the redhead from the other night, I now understand her anger and her pain. It makes me wonder if he stood her up as well. With two glasses of wine and a large salad filling my belly, I leave the bistro and all the lovebirds behind and go back to my room. Surprisingly, I’m back quicker than expected. When I walk through the door, Stefan is there…naturally, and with a new girl. A blonde who looks to be much older than him is sitting on the couch and I begin to think about all the action that couch has seen. I’m also very glad I’ve never sat down on it. I’m too tired… or deflated to converse with anyone. I let out a sigh of relief when the door closes behind me. Four flights up, I hear music coming from our room as I approach. I take a deep breath, trying to push down my hurt as I open the door. Olivier jumps to his feet. “Kandace, where have you been?” Worry punctuates each word. “Where have I been?” I ask rhetorically, shutting the door behind me. “I sat at the Sacre-Coeur for two hours by myself. Did you think about checking there?” “Je suis désolé,” he says, tentatively stepping closer. “I’m sorry.” I set my purse on top of my suitcase and turn my back to him, not really wanting to hear his apologies. “It doesn’t matter now. What’s done is done.” Warm hands cover my shoulders and his body presses to my back. Whispering this time, he repeats, “Je suis désolé, soleil Américain.” Pushing my hair to the side, he places a soft kiss on my neck. I turn back around. “You left me. You left me sitting there by myself for hours, Olivier.” “I tried to explain to my manager, but we were short waiters. I went as soon as I left work, but you were nowhere to be found. I searched the nearby streets, then caught a taxi back here hoping to find you.” “You found me too late.” “Non!” he speaks with authority, taking my cheeks between his hands. “Don’t speak of such things. Je te adore.” I drop my gaze away, absorbing his words and the need he seems to feel for me. “I adore you, but you hurt me, so I shouldn’t.” Covering his heart with his hand, he says, “Let me make it up to you.” Back to being a sucker for an accent and blue eyes, I’m weak so I give him another chance. “Okay.”

He kisses me. The kiss is full of the need his words expressed only a minute earlier. But then he stops. “We should go. It’s started.” “What’s started?” “You’ll see. Are you ready to see something that the guides can’t tell you about?” “Are you sure? That’s so… crazy veering off the beaten path.” “Step out of your box and live a little. Don’t just exist. Live.” Excitement surges, and I say, “More than ready.”

The moped is parked and I slip off the back. “I didn’t even know you had a scooter.” “I don’t use it much because I have a lot of tickets.” “I didn’t know they cared here by all the crazy driving.” “Mine are more parking tickets. They won’t ticket me next time. They’ll just put a boot on my tire, so I keep it parked in a friend’s garage nearby. Tonight is different. It’s a beautiful night and I’m with an even more beautiful woman.” Taking my helmet off, I stand on the curb with him still on the scooter and kiss him. Wanting to forget about the past and live in the present. “So where are we?” “Avenue d’Richolet. It’s an artist’s squat. France has a long history of squats, but this one is my friends. He shares it with twenty other artists and tonight they’re having an exhibit.” I might be swooning. “You brought me to see art?” Taking his helmet off, he smiles and it’s slightly crooked, but completely adorable. “Oui.” We start walking and he says, “Some of the people from the club will be here.” I’m not sure how I feel about seeing some of them again. I just hope things will be different since I’m with Olivier as more than a friend. The area doesn’t look safe and I stand nervously by his side as he knocks on a rusted door. The knock has a rhythm that he repeats twice. It’s catchy and unique. The door opens and a man pokes his head out. When he sees Olivier, he laughs. “Entrez. Entrez.” He opens the door wide for us. Olivier says, “Comment ça va?” “Bien, mon ami Américain.” Taking that as my cue, I walk in and through an opening in some large, dark blue velvet curtains. My mouth drops open. The space is huge, the size of a warehouse. The walls are bright white with graffiti all over. Paintings, photographs, and sculptures are throughout and people fill the space. When I look up, I see rusted beams and air ducts of the warehouse is exposed. It’s a juxtaposition of modern art versus old reality, and I love it. Olivier passes me, and turns to walk backwards. Summoning me with a sexy grin and hands that call me to him, I quickly catch up, taking him by the arm. We cut through a group of very serious looking people. Maybe they’re the critics for the

exhibition tonight. Maybe they’re just guests. My attention is drawn away when I see a huge photograph of a penis on the wall. I gasp just as Olivier turns me around. “Bonjour ma toute belle.” His lips crash into mine and my lips part just for him. My arm weaves around his neck as the other holds his body to mine. His fingers tickle through my hair, keeping me in place, wanting me just as much as I want him. When we part, my breath is jagged, my lips tingling, and my body and mind worked up and turned on. He leans his forehead against mine and says, “You will be the death of me if I’m not careful.” “I’m only here one more day, so I think you’ll survive,” I tease. “That’s what’s going to kill me.” He’s not teasing. Standing back to look into his eyes, I see how serious he is. “But you barely know me.” “I know you enough. You’re different and I’m already wishing you could stay longer. Is there a chance?” I shake my head, a sadness coming over me. “I have to get back. This is only a week long break from classes. It was just the only time I could take the trip before graduation.” “Take a semester off. Stay here with me.” He pushes my hair to the side and holds my cheek, his thumb rubbing gently back and forth. “I’ll show you the real Paris. I’ll make love to you every day. I’ll make you fall in love and never leave. Joie d'vivre” I smile gently. Holding his hands in mine, I say, “It sounds so tempting to throw caution to the wind.” Looking down, I sigh. “But I can’t. This is my last year. I have too many commitments, too many expectations, too much of everything. I can’t disappoint everyone.” “I’m disappointed that I only get to know so little of you.” “You’re getting the best of me.” I laugh. “Trust me. I’m not that interesting in my real life.” He tilts his head to look me in the eyes again. “This is not real life? The real you?” “You bring out the person I want to be.” He glances over my shoulder like he recognizes someone. When his eyes land back on mine, he says, “Soon enough, I’d bring out the worst in you as well. Relationships are doomed.” He walks with me in tow, his strong hand wrapped around mine possessively. “Do you really believe that?” Looking over his shoulder at me, he replies, “Are you leaving in two days?” “Yes.” “There’s your answer.” Right then Savi grabs hold of Olivier and they shake hands. He smirks at me, then releases Olivier to come kiss me on the cheek. “Heureux de te revoir.” When I shake my head slightly, he repeats for me, “Good to see you again, Kandace.”

“Nice to see you again.” Olivier squeezes my elbow and says, “I’ll be right back.” To Savi he adds, “Prends soin d'elle.” When Olivier leaves, Savi turns to me with his smirk, “I’ll take care of her. No problem.” Rolling my eyes, I say, “I’m fine all on my own if you need to be somewhere.” He leans in close, so I tilt back a bit when he says in what I think he perceives as his seductive voice, “Come with me. I’ll show you my art.” “You’re one of the artists?” “I am. Come.” He leads me to the bar. “Drink?” “Sparkling wine, please.” Taking two glasses from a table, he hands me one and sips from the other. I take a sip as he says, “Turn around.” I turn and see the giant dick pic again… I mean photograph. I quickly look away, feeling my cheeks redden. Savi’s breath hits the side of my exposed neck. “Look, Kandace. Don’t be shy. It’s the male form. You’ve seen the male form before I assume.” Gathering myself together, I gulp down my drink, straighten my shoulders back, and face the penis. Just to prove to him I can. “I’ll need another drink, s’il vous plait.” I hand him my glass, keeping my eyes forward. Returning to my side, he hands me a drink. “Do you want to see me for yourself?” My glare hits him hard. “I think I just did. Merci for the drink.” I walk away. Weaving through the tables, sculptures, and people, I lift up on my tiptoes until I see Olivier in the far corner. From appearances, he looks like he’s arguing with someone. I keep going, getting closer, but stop when I see it’s the redhead from the hostel lobby, the one who slapped him. She’s crying and gripping his forearms. He looks over his shoulder, looking around the room until he sees me. Worry consumes his expression and he pulls his arms away from her. I debate what I should do—go over there or leave them alone. I decide to give them their privacy and wait near an interpretive sculpture of mother and child made from scrap metal and hubcaps. After two glasses within twenty minutes, I realize the night can only get better from here. Suddenly, the entire warehouse goes pitch black and I freeze to the spot. I’m bumped as screams of excitement are heard all around me. My heart begins to race and then a blue spotlight swerves above our heads. A red joins in, followed by a flashing green light. As my eyes adjust, more lights brighten the ceiling, including tiny white lights that look like stars in the sky. I’m staring up when I feel Olivier caress me from behind. I know it’s him just by the way his fingers tighten around my waist—need wrapped in gentleness. He touches me like he can’t not touch me. His fingertips spark my body to life underneath them. “Merci.” “For what?” I ask, still enjoying the show above our heads and the feel of him.

“For the sex later tonight.” “Ha!” I turn around, laughing. Grabbing him by the jacket lapels, I tilt my head and say, “You sure are confident.” “I know what I want, Sunshine, and I want you.” Pulling him as close as I can, I kiss him because we only have twenty-four hours left to make the memories to last me a lifetime. And because I want him too. The music kicks in and when we look around, the sculptures are gone. People are dancing and drinking and the art exhibit has become a rave. “This is amazing,” I shout, hoping he can hear me above the bass. “You’re amazing.” “So what was that about? The girl?” He looks around, running his hands through his hair. “She’s my ex-girlfriend and wants to get back together.” “What did you tell her?” “I told her the same thing I told you. The woman I’m with tonight is amazing.” His charm is more than endearing. It’s a flat out turn-on. Then he says, “I’ll show you amazing.” He takes me by the waist and we walk toward an emergency exit lit with a green sign above. Out of breath in anticipation, I laugh as he twirls me around, my back landing against the smooth wall. In an instant, his hand moves my hair and his mouth is on my neck. I drop my head back, the room suddenly hot, and I inhale, needing air. “Je te veux.” “I don’t know what that means,” I say, breathing harshly. His kisses turn into more, but then he stops, and looks me in the eyes. “I want you.” “Right now?” “Oui.” Frantic that everyone can see us, I look around. My eyes don’t see anyone else’s on us, everyone too caught up in their own enjoyment to pay attention to ours. Hot whispers. “Not sex, Kandace. Just… Let me make you come.” His accent always thickens when he talks about sex and I find that temptingly sexy. “Let me show you.” His hand slides under my shirt at the waist. When I look down, he says, “Don’t look. Just feel.” He leans the top of his head against the wall next to mine, pushing in even closer. The dark corner feels more private than it should. People dance just ten feet away, but seem to be in their own world. The bar is across the room and crowded. Others are still looking at the art in the main room. I close my eyes, the music penetrating my chest as his hand moves down the front of my pants. The snap pops and the zipper goes with it. Then he’s slipping into my panties until he finds the spot that’s already ready for him. Olivier groans, then says, “I want you right here.” He takes one of my hands and lowers it until it’s against his hard cock. He strains against his jeans, making me want to free him in more ways than one. But how he’s touching me now distracts me and my breath stutters. “God, Olivier. I want you. So much.”

Strong fingers move faster between my legs as my hand moves quicker, tightening around him. “I want you. I want you. I want you.” My words come out in a chant, an ode to the man who liquefies my thoughts as my body unravels. A gush of air cools my body as he rolls to the side of me, his back pressed against the wall like mine. I look over at him questioning, “What about you?” Moving back in front of me, he zips my pants back up then snaps them closed again. After a long and heated kiss of the French kind, he leads me to the door where we find our helmets in a corner. “Let’s go. I want to fuck you.”

CHAPTER 8

e made it past the top of the stairs this time, but barely. In a frenzy of mouth W fucking and gropes, Olivier’s back slammed against one of the other doors in the

hallway that leads to our room. With my legs wrapped around him, my back slams against the next. Luckily no one answers. Our door is opened, but I’m not even sure it was closed before I landed on the mattress with my shirt half off and my jeans half down. Jumping up, I practically tear my clothes off as fast as he does. “Top bed,” he demands. I scurry up the wooden ladder with him hot on my tail. He lies down and I settle on top of him as he rolls on a condom. As soon as he’s ready, I slide slowly down. Once I’m settled, his head drops back, his eyes close and he swears, “Baise.” Placing my hands flat against the ceiling, I move, slowly picking up my pace. Deep. Filling. Spurring me on to want him deeper, I drop my weight and move rhythmically on top of him. With him, my head clears and a singular goal replaces my daily concerns. Instinctually, I press down, the chase beginning. With my eyes closed, I say, “You feel so good. Make me come, baby.” My hips are grabbed and all movement stops. Slowly opening my eyes, I look down at him. His eyes are open and focused. “You called me baby.” After swallowing hard, the words come rushing out, “I’m sorry.” “No.” “No?” “Don’t be sorry.” His grip loosens. “I liked it.” “You did?” I lean down and kiss him. “I did. I like this.” His voice goes quieter when he says, “I like you.” “I like you too.” I sit up again. “Baby.” His hips jerk and I begin moving again. He makes me feel so much that I’m not used to, new sides of myself that I like. Going after what I want sexually is a first with him and he makes me feel confident. “I want you on top.” Leaning down we kiss again. With our bodies joined, we roll over until he’s on top. He runs his hands from my hips to my knees, he pushes them up, opening me

for him. He begins moving as soon as we’re reunited again. I can’t stop myself from watching him. His strong jaw is defined when his head is back. His Adam’s apple hits heavy with each swallow. Olivier’s chest could rival Michelangelo’s statue of David—hard and defined, but smooth to the touch. When he looks down, his blue eyes pierce my greens and in this moment, I actually consider his earlier offer. I close my eyes to get perspective, but he can’t be ignored as my orgasm courses through me and I call out, “Olivier!” He drops his arms to the bed on either side of me and pushes hard, thrusting with strength. After I raise my hands to the bed railing above me, he continues as I hold myself solid in place. Two grunts and a “Merde” later, he collapses on top of me, both of us breathless and panting. Kissing my collarbone, he murmurs against my skin, “Séjour. Stay.” He looks me in the eyes, his gaze weighted with more than I have a feeling he’ll admit. It speaks to my heart in wordless observations and contentment. “I want you to stay with me here in Paris.” Despite being tired, I smile. How can I not when looking at him and feeling his deepest emotions? “Where would we live? Here at the hostel?” “We’ll find an apartment.” “I have no money saved. I spent it all coming here.” “We’ll live off love.” “You make it sound so easy.” “Let’s not over think or complicate what’s good between us.” He moves away and pulls the covers over me, then covers himself. “C’mere.” His arm is outstretched and I happily fill the opening. “So love is all we need?” I ask. “Love. Sex. Food. Drinks. Air. I think that covers the basic necessities,” he says, chuckling. “Pretty much.” I close my eyes, exhaustion settling into my body. “I’m so sleepy.” I feel his lips press to my forehead. He kisses me twice and whispers, “Happy Birthday, Sunshine.” My smile takes over. “It’s my birthday. I almost forgot.” “I was inside of you when you turned twenty-two. That means forever, right?” “Ha ha.” I nudge him with my knee, but then I stop laughing. “Oh my God, you’re right. You were inside of me when I turned twenty-two. That definitely means something.” Sliding my head up to see his face, I ask, “Why do you call me Sunshine?” “That’s for another day. It’s late. Go to sleep.” “Okay.” With a goofy grin on my face, I whisper, “Goodnight.” “Fais de beaux rêves.” “Tell me what that means.” With another kiss to my forehead he says, “Sweet dreams.” “Fais de beaux rêves.”

On my twenty-second birthday I wake up alone on the top bunk in a room in a hostel in the middle of Paris. Other than the alone part, it’s good. I’m in Paris on my birthday. It’s hard to complain. Leaning over the edge of the bed, I look down to see if Olivier is here. He’s not. But a note and his phone are on the nightstand. Maybe he just ran out for a minute or even better, to get us coffee again. I climb down the bed and take the note in hand. Cher soleil, Joyeux anniversaire! I have to work, but I want to meet you, take you out for a birthday meal. I’ve left my phone, so I can call you after work. I shall see you later, love. Tout mon amour, Olivier I take the phone in hand and hold it to my heart. Even I know him trusting me with his phone is like trusting me with his heart. After dropping it into my purse, I pull out a dress I’ve waited to wear all week. It’s frilly, has a bow for the belt, and makes me feel pretty. I found it online and had to have it. It’s a perfect fit and I just knew it had to come to Paris with me. After getting ready, I grab my purse and coat and head out. I had planned on visiting another museum, but I’ve decided to scrap my schedule and follow my heart to the Eiffel Tower—straight, no stops. I’ve been here for four days and still not seen it. That must be a crime by French standards. Stopping in a bakery along the way, I get a hot coffee to warm me up along with a chocolate éclair to treat myself. If I can’t eat dessert first on my birthday, then when can I? I take in a few shops as I stroll to the subway station, finding a cute leather wallet with an embroidered design on it. Back on track to Le Tour Eiffel, I feel comfortable enough after walking most of Paris over the last few days to guide myself and leave my map tucked away. Two train stops and one change later, I arrive in the 7th arrondissement. The weather is clear even though it’s a little chilly, but I don’t mind taking my time, so I start walking again, but stop in my tracks. There. It. Is. The Eiffel Tower stands before me, tall and proud. I could probably stand here another hour admiring it, but I run instead, way too excited to play it cool. When they ask if you want to walk, take the elevator. Leave the stairs for those of us who like to linger at all the major levels. I hate feeling rushed by others and can’t get enough of the view of this gorgeous, historical city. I stare out for miles, imagining where Olivier might be. Taking the phone from my purse, I check for missed calls. There aren’t any, so I tuck it back in again.

I spend well over an hour enjoying the climb up and coming back down before leaving and finding a spot to sit on the lawn. I lay back, staring at the top of the tower against the blue of the sky. My birthday really couldn’t get any better. Then a rap song blares from inside my purse. Olivier! I hurry to answer. “Hi.” “Hello.” I pull the phone away and look at the screen before putting it back to my ear again. “Hello,” I say tentatively. A woman says, “Hi, I’m looking for Oliver.” “Oliver? You mean Olivier?” She laughs. “Yes, Olivier. This is his mother. Is he around?” “His mother? You sound American.” “I am American. Just like Oliver. Who am I speaking with?” I pause, stunned by her words. My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach, then I clear my throat when she asks again. I finally reply, “This is Kandace. Oliver isn’t here right now.” “Kandace, will you let him know I called?” “Yes.” “Thank you.” “Goodbye,” I say, hanging up. I sit there staring at the phone like it will somehow give me the answers I suddenly find myself wanting. Answers to questions that aren’t even questions but realizations instead. Oliver is an American, just like me. He lied to me. About everything. When his accent faltered I didn’t think twice because it also thickened sometimes. I gulp, trying to fight the tears of betrayal that are rapidly racing to be freed. Why did he lie to me about being French? I wouldn’t have cared. Being from the states could have bonded us even more through this adventure abroad. More importantly when he was trying to convince me to stay, why not give up the act then? Why continue it? I stand up, knowing I won’t get any answers sitting here at the base of a monument that is now tainted by the web of lies I’ve been caught in. I take a taxi back to the hostel. I’m in no mood to appreciate a city that once held beauty. I invested my heart into a sham and now I’m paying the price. Tomorrow I leave and would have known no different, I would have gone on with my life occasionally remembering the Frenchman who stole my heart one time in France. Instead, I’m left with memories of a con artist who traded my affection for a fuck…or three, maybe four. I shake my head not able to keep track anymore. Feeling disgusted, I walk into the lobby with a mission. Stefan stands to greet me, no lady-friends in sight. “Bonjour, Kandeese.” A new perspective firmly in place, he doesn’t look half the sleaze that Olivier… er, Oliver does to me now. Stefan is easy to figure out. He doesn’t hide his wants or who he is. Oliver… I get angrier and stop. “Bonjour,” I say, smiling sweetly. “Do

you have any available rooms for the night?” He makes this sexual hand motion and says, “Ehhhh, you and the Américain not getting along?” “You knew he was an American?” Shrugging, he says, “Of course, I knew this. He speaks French but, uhhhh, how do you say, slappy?” “Sloppy?” “Oui. Oui. Sloppy.” “I guess I’m the last to know. So please tell me you have another room for the night.” “I do. I have a double or a single.” “Single please.” He goes to the desk and starts typing. “It will cost you more to have a single.” “That’s fine.” Reaching into the drawer in front of him, he digs a key out. “Room quatre, first floor.” Within fifteen minutes, I’m all settled into the new room for my last night in Paris. Sitting down on the twin-sized bed, I sigh, then lay back. Even though it’s my last night, I’ve lost my appetite and don’t have the energy to go out. I choose to stay here until tomorrow. I have until lunch to explore one last time. As for tonight, tonight I put in my earbuds, turn on my favorite playlist and hole up in the security of this room, trying to avoid the traitor who stole my heart.

CHAPTER 9

up to the overhead light blinding me and the curtains still wide open. It’s I wake just after midnight when I see the clock on the nightstand. I pull the earbuds

out and hear a ringing sound. It’s muffled, but can still be heard. I see my purse. Reaching down by my feet, I grab it and pull Olivier’s… ugh, Oliver’s phone out of it. When it lights up, it displays ten missed calls and several texts. Opening one, it’s for me, sent from him: Kandace, where are you? I’m using my friends’ phone. Come back to the room. I’ll meet you there. Looking at the clock one more time, I’m wondering how I’m going to return his phone to him without seeing him again. I could leave it with Stefan, but I don’t know if I trust him to actually return it. Ugh. This sucks. I feel so betrayed by him. One thing I know is that I’m not returning it tonight. I take off my pretty dress and turn out the overhead light before getting back in bed. I need sleep. If I have to confront Oliver tomorrow, I need to be rested or I might fall victim to his wicked ways again. And as much as my body says, “Oui,” my brain says, “Non.”

The sun shines in, waking me just after seven. I slept longer than I thought I could under the circumstances. I’m also pleasantly surprised that Stefan didn’t give my hiding place away. I get up and get dressed while sneaking in and out of the communal bathroom. By nine, I leave for breakfast and one last trip to the Eiffel Tower hoping to replace the pain from yesterday with new memories. Arriving before the big crowds, I don’t bother going up again. Instead, I find a space on the lawn and sit down. Just as I unpack my croissant, I hear, “You’re avoiding me.” I pause, trying to control my roller coaster of emotions before talking with Oliver. “I am.” The truth can’t hurt the situation. “What happened?” I turn around and see him sitting a few feet behind me. “Your mother called.” The news doesn’t seem to faze him. “What did she say?”

“She wants you to call her back.” Panic has finally set in, showing me an emotion I can relate to. “It’s not what you think, Kandace.” His accent is slipping away just like the charade he’s been putting on. “Really?” I stand up, dusting my pants off. With my shoulders back, I say, “She’s American. You’re American. I’m not sure what to think about all the lies you told me.” He stands quickly, coming closer to touch my hands, but I shift back and warn, “Don’t.” “I can explain.” “You can explain why you sound like an American now? I’m not stupid, but you treated me like I was. Guess what? I think I’ve got this one all figured out. You lied to get laid.” My arms are in the air as I lose the calm demeanor I was holding onto. “You tricked me and for what? You made me believe I could actually stay here and we would live off love.” My eyes fill with tears. “I felt like we were more than casual sex, but you were still feeding me bullshit lines the whole time, knowing we would never have a future.” “Please, Kandace. Calm down and let’s tal—” “Calm down? Are you insane? Do you know how much you’ve humiliated me, how dumb I feel? You’ve ruined a trip I’ve dreamed about my entire life and all for your own enjoyment.” He grabs my arms before I can escape. “Listen to me. Everything I said was true. The person you met, you spent time with, that’s me—” “No, that’s Olivier. You are Oliver or are you so detached from reality that you’ve forgotten who you are?” An accordion player in the distance plays, filling the air with “La Vie en Rose” and my heart begins to thud in my chest. With my hand toward the musician, I say, “That’s what Paris was to me. It was a dream come true. I would have been content to see the major sites and visit museums, eat baguettes at bistros. But you took that away from me, stole it without my permission because I believed you. I believed what you told me and showed me and I fell in love. I hate that I did because again, it makes me feel stupid. But maybe that’s what this trip was about—taking the good and forgetting the bad. You, Oliver, are the bad and I’ll try to forget you and how you affected so much of my trip.” I turn, slipping my arms out of his grasp and his hands drop away. Without warning, in one last desperate attempt to talk this through, he says, “I fell for you too, Kandace.” Desperately taking my hand, he turns me back around to face him. “We were meant to meet. We were meant to be.” The way he says my name in his native accent isn’t as charming, but I like the sincerity of it. It just came a little too late. It’s then that everything becomes so much clearer. I don’t have to wash my memories away or forget him. I just need to keep our time together in perspective and enjoy what it was. Able to finally see the situation for what it is, I walk to him, touch his cheek. “We aren’t meant to be,

Oliver. We are lost in translation.” Standing there with the Eiffel Tower as his backdrop, my heart settles as I find peace between us. Handing him his phone, I lift up and kiss each of his cheeks. With a smile, I back away and say, “Au revoir, Olivier.” Then I turn and walk away, leaving him behind as I leave Paris, choosing to take all of my memories with me.

~Four and a Half Weeks Later ~ My alarm goes off, but I don’t want to get up. I’m tired and it’s Saturday. I deserve a day off. Opening my eyes, I know today won’t be that day. I don’t allow myself too much free time or my thoughts wander to a certain American in Paris. Straight to the coffee pot, I start the machine, then the shower. A knock on the door jolts me the rest of the way awake. I shouldn’t have company at seven-thirty in the morning and my roommate went back to Kansas for the winter break, so I have no idea who it could be. I walk to the door of my apartment and peek out, but no one is there. Finally, I open the door and a small box is sitting on my doormat. Looking around, I see if I can find who delivered it. It didn’t come through the postal service or package delivery because it’s blue with an orange and white striped ribbon around it. I lean down for closer inspection and see a tag. The tiny note reads: Kandace, Open Me. Hrmmm… This is peculiar and totally intriguing. I grab the box and go back inside, securing the deadbolts back in place. I set the package on the coffee table and watch it for a minute before I remember I have the shower going. Damn it! The hot water has probably already run cold. Hurrying into the bathroom, I shower quickly, taking advantage of the remaining warm water, but think about that package the entire time. With a towel wrapped around my head and my robe on my body, I pour myself a cup of coffee, then sit on the couch to stare at the mysterious box a little longer. In the few minutes I do, absolutely nothing changes, moves, or gives me any indication to what’s inside. So I take the box in hand and open it. When I lift the lid, I find a miniature silver Eiffel Tower. Picking it up, I turn it around between my fingers and sigh. Thoughts of Olivier cross my mind and my heart starts racing. Anxiously, I dig under the fluffy filling, but there’s nothing else in the box to tell me where or who it came from. I take a sip of my coffee, then lean back on the couch, remembering Olivier’s… Oliver’s face, his smile, what he looked like when he was sleeping, the way he made me feel before his lies were discovered, and the tears in his eyes when I kissed him goodbye. I set the Eiffel Tower down on the table and stand. One last glance is given toward the door wondering who was on the other side of it just minutes before.

The library is always empty around the holidays, which is why it’s my favorite time of the year to be here. Most people are recovering from Christmas to bother with spending time in a dusty room full of old books. But I love it. There are a few other sad souls like myself jumping ahead on their spring schedules, but other than that, just staff is here and they’re scarce. Two of my professors gave me the syllabus early, knowing I like to work ahead and be prepared. I look out the large window next to my table and watch as people pass by. This is my favorite corner of the library. It has a great view and is set away from the main books and other large rooms, giving me more privacy. Turning my attention back to the large book in front of me, I flip to the next page and dig back into my research. The alarm on my phone goes off two hours later. Due to expected bad weather, the library is closing early today. It shouldn’t. If I’m willing to give up my holiday to be here, they should let me stay. I roll my eyes as I stand, gathering my belongings. Outside the window, I see a man sit down on a bench. The wave of his brown hair reminds me of Oliver’s shaggy hair. It’s not him… though after getting the mysterious Eiffel Tower this morning, I kind of want it to be. “We’re closing now, Miss,” an older man in a bow tie and cardigan says from behind the information desk. I grab my backpack and pull it on. When I pass him, I smile, and say, “Happy New Year.” “Happy New Year.”

Three days until the New Year begins and I’ve got a case of the holiday blues. It happens every year around this time, but this year I didn’t go home and with my friends gone, I’m feeling very alone. I actually went on two dates this semester and neither was worth a second. It was a bummer too because on paper, one of them should have been a perfect match for me. He’s in the Bio Engineering Program, likes sushi, but not spicy Mexican. He drinks wine, appreciating quality instead of chugging beers like other college guys. He has never been in a fraternity, although he did do the pentathlon last year for the Sigma Chi’s. He was even from Pennsylvania like me, but he was so boring. Sitting up suddenly, I stare down at the sushi in front of me. Oh my God! Am I boring? Bewildered by this thought, I shake my head. I’m not boring. I’m fun. Totally fun. Adventurous. I mean, I went to Paris all by myself, after all. If that doesn’t shout fun I don’t know what does… Smacking my hand to my forehead, I hear Oliver’s words come back, “Step out of your box and live a little. Don’t just exist. Live.” Live. Am I living life?

Experiencing all life has to offer? The answer is too depressing, so I try to ignore it. I ignore it until the next day when another package arrives on my doorstep and I can’t ignore the fact that the best time of my life was in Paris. I pick up the box, a little bigger than the last, but not by much. This time I don’t hesitate, I just open it. Inside is a shiny, silver engraved keychain with a key attached. The engraving reads, Mon coeur t'appartient.. There’s a note inside this time. I open it quickly. Il en est de mon appartement. Rushing to my computer, I sit down at my desk and open a search engine. As soon as it’s ready, I type the phrase engraved on the keychain. My heart is yours. Leaning forward, I rest my head on my hand while trying to calm my quickening thoughts and heart. Olivier. Taking a deep breath, I type in the phrase written on the note—Il en est de mon appartement. So is my apartment. Tears flood my eyes unexpectedly and I run to the door to open it wide. Stepping into the hallway, I call, “Olivier. Oliver. Are you here?” When no one replies, I try again, “Oliver?” I’m disappointed again. I go back inside my apartment and close the door. I mentally tally the gifts, trying to piece together who sent them. An Eiffel Tower. A key to an apartment that I don’t even know where it is. Going back to my computer, I type in Olivier DuMarche and wait as pages upon pages fill the screen. Duke Olivier DuMarche, served in the French military as well as from a noble family by birth. I read further, scanning the page until I see his descendents—Grace Hanning, Chicago. Married to George Hanning. Two sons— Christoph and Oliver. When I click on images, photos of the Duke pop up. I scroll down the page and pics of Grace and George, Christoph, and Oliver show up. My heart stops momentarily as my gaze lands on the man who crushed me with his lies. Why did he have to do that? Why couldn’t he just be Oliver Hanning from Chicago? Why is he contacting me now? Why is he sending me gifts? There is no other reasonable explanation. They have to be from him. This makes me happy in ways it probably shouldn’t, but maybe I can forgive. And if I can, where can I find the apartment this key unlocks?

CHAPTER 10

he next twenty-four hours were spent inside my apartment until I couldn’t T take it any longer. The city was crowded with tourists and what felt like most of the

U.S. to celebrate New Year’s in Times Square. I thought I had properly prepared by stocking up on soup, cheesesticks, and ice cream. But once all that was gone, I realized I needed to go out with the masses and get more food. I throw on sweatpants and snowboots, my puffiest, warmest coat, scarf and knit hat. With my money in my pocket, I open the door and step out almost stepping on a letter that matches the wrapping on the other boxes. Snatching it from the ground, I go back inside and open it immediately. Dear Kandace, My name is Oliver Hanning. I’m twenty-four years old. I was born and raised in Chicago, Illinois and have one brother. My parents have been married for twentyseven years. A year ago, I dropped out of Stanford and came to Paris to stay with relatives. When I overstayed my welcome, I took some of my inheritance, before I was cut off, and blew through it. I couldn’t afford to fly home and my parents refused to lend me the money. I work odd jobs, but have found a regular waiting/bartending job at an ex-patriots bar in Montmartre. I negotiated a monthly rate at the hostel and lived there for two months. I’ve made friends and party too much, so I’ve stayed… probably stayed too long again. I was supposed to leave the day after you arrived. Something told me to stay. That’s a lie. I stayed because of you. My boss kept me working and you intrigued me. There was something between us the day you showed up in that yellow dress on a late fall day that made me think twice about leaving. You had this innocence that made me want to do bad things and you were just so damn beautiful that what seemed like easy prey turned on me and tricked me into feeling something I hadn’t felt before. So what do I do? I try to be what you want. I didn’t think a guy from Chicago could compete with the French. I’ve told you who I am. Now let me show you. There’s a ticket with your name on it at the Air France counter at JFK. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, this American will be waiting in the same spot

we last saw each other under the Eiffel Tower on December 31st at midnight. With love, Oliver A ticket to Paris? He bought me a ticket to Paris! Is he insane? What makes him think I’ll go back to Paris for him? He lied to me. Why would I go? There’s no reason I should. I’d be a fool to take him up on that offer. I haven’t even forgiven him yet. Setting the letter on the table, I walk back out the door, realizing I said ‘yet.’ But I’m too hungry to deal with this level of crazy. As I walk down the wet sidewalk, I begin to wonder what the weather in Paris is like this time of year. What the Eiffel Tower looks like on New Year’s Eve. And why he gave me this key to his apartment. When did he get an apartment? Is he staying there forever? Or for now? Walking into the corner market, I grab a handbasket and head to the frozen foods section. I can’t think about Oliver on an empty stomach. But with my hand wrapped around two pints of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey I stop before they reach the basket. Paris. Paris with Oliver. Not Olivier, but Oliver. I didn’t fall for him because he was French. I fell for him because he was awesome. I set the ice cream back in the freezer case, set the basket down, and hurry out the door. Rushing down the street I remember all the little moments we shared—the artist’s squat where he told me I was amazing, when he told the redhead I was amazing, when we were making love and he kissed my temple, when he gave me his phone because he trusted me… Why am I still here? I open my door and rush inside, flinging my coat and kicking my boots off. I grab my suitcase from the top shelf of my closet and throw it open on the bed before tossing stuff inside of it. An eight hour flight. That’s plenty of time to figure out why the hell I’m even going, much less giving him a chance to make this right. Sitting down next to the case full of overflowing clothes, I take a minute to process what I’m doing or should be doing. Flying to Paris on a whim is frivolous. That’s not me. I’m not frivolous, carefree, or careless. I have responsibilities and my studies. My part time job down at the registration office. And I need to clean the apartment before my roommate returns in five days. Excuses. All excuses to not face the man that hurt me, but is willing to go to all of this effort to apologize and make it up to me. So he lied about being French. I shrug. The positive side is that an American is geographically more conducive to my future plans anyway. He can romance me in two languages and I’ve thought about him every day despite my best efforts not to. Now looking at the situation with distance separating me from the humiliation I felt back in November, the fond memories sneak back in. Maybe it’s time I live a little. Be spontaneous. Maybe it’s time to forgive him.

It’s snowing in Paris. And magical. Just like New Years should be. I keep walking, anticipating the spot up ahead. Though it holds bad memories for me now, I’m hoping to replace them with good ones instead. My heart races and I hold my coat tighter around me, my nerves catching up with me. There are families all around and festivities, revelers, but not big action from the Eiffel Tower yet. We still have five minutes to go, five minutes to risk it all and try again with a man I thought I knew. I’ll be meeting him tonight like it’s the first time all over again. Champagne is popped nearby and I laugh seeing it spray all over the guy who opened it. Still walking, I admire the flickering lights of the Eiffel Tower—a sight I didn’t get to see on my last trip. And then I see him… His hair is a bit longer. He looks nervous, not like Olivier at all. But this is Oliver, so it makes sense. My body warms when his gaze lands on me. A small smile plays on both of our mouths. “Bonjour,” he greets. “Hi,” I reply, not sure if I want to speak in English or French with him, so I go with the old standby. He moves his head, his full attention on me. “Come here often?” “Not often enough.” I look around, then back at him finally strong enough to look into his eyes. “I’m sorry, Kandace. I really am. It seemed fun at first and then… I was in too deep and I didn’t want to disappoint you.” “That happened anyway.” He nods. But really, is it the biggest sin he could have committed? No, not even close. So I don’t need to torture either of us any longer. I take his hand and say, “Thank you for the gifts, the reminders, and the ticket. You didn’t have to do that.” “I wanted to. And,” he says, quickly glancing over his shoulder at the Eiffel Tower, “You were the only one I wanted to kiss at midnight. It’s almost time. What do you say?” There’s no big countdown or production, just two people throwing caution to the wind and choosing to be together, whether it be for a day or eternity. I have no idea, but because this man before me, kissing me with a passion I’ve only ever felt with him, was strong enough to not only apologize, but try to win me back, I’m willing to find out. Our mouths part and I slowly open my eyes. “I missed your lips.” “I missed everything about you.” He smiles, and says, “Now that we’re warmed up…” He never finishes that sentence. He is way too busy kissing me again and when I pull him closer, we both forget about words and futures, pasts, and lies. All that

matters is the here and now. Moments later, I pull the key from my pocket, I hold it up. “Did you mean what you said?” “I did. I still do,” he says with his arms wrapped around me, keeping me warm. “I’m renting, but I have options these days. My parents have come around and support my decision to stay here for awhile, so I’m working on my degree again and start back at a university here in a few weeks.” Looking worried, he asks, “How long will you stay?”

~ Four Months Later ~ I never thought I’d have this kind of decision to make. My path had always been set since high school. But here I stand at the door of my empty apartment, my roommate left a few days ago, with three paths to choose from: Earn my Master’s degree from Yale in New Haven. Take a job with an awesome firm here in New York City. Or return to Oliver in Paris. It’s a win anyway I look at it, but I can only choose one…

It’s been said time and time again, but Paris really is beautiful in the springtime. Oliver’s hand tightens around mine as we stroll down the Champs-Elysee for the first time as a couple. Unlike other decisions I’ve had to make regarding my life, the direction I want to go in, and more… this decision was the easiest. My family called me frivolous. Carefree. Careless. I didn’t care because my heart knew where it wanted to be. We might not be rich, though I’m thinking Oliver has come into more of his inheritance by the apartment in Montmartre. He bought it a few months ago, so rent is not something we worry about. For the time being, I have no plan in place. We are living off love and sex, food, drinks, and air. As he once said, the basic necessities. And life has never been better—Oh wait… Oliver stops, setting the picnic basket down on the lawn. He looks down at me and says, “Je t’aime, Rayon de Soleil.” “You’ve never told me why you call me Sunshine.” “You were the answer to a question I hadn’t been brave enough to ask. The light that gave my life direction. You were sunshine in that yellow dress and I knew right then that I couldn’t leave just yet.” Running his hand over my cheek, he adds, “Thank you for taking a chance and staying in that room with me. You changed my fate.” “I like to think we changed each others.” “We most definitely did.”

We kiss beneath the Eiffel Tower. When we part, he smiles. It’s sexy and a lot arrogant. And I’m madly in love with this man who stole my heart with a few lines and a fake accent, but kept it with his honesty and a key that gave his heart to mine.

The End.

ENGLISH TO FRENCH REFERENCE KEY

Morning - Bonjour H ello/Hi/Good Goodbye - Au revoir

Yes = Oui No = Non Cheers = Santé Okay = D'accord Good = Bien Very Good = Très bien Excuse me = Pardonnez-moi Please = s'il vous plaît You taste great = tu as si bon goût I'm going to make love to you, then fuck you so you’ll remember me long after you leave Paris. = Je vais te faire l’amour et ensuite te baiser de telle sorte que tu te souviennes de moi longtemps après avoir quitté Paris. . Do you want coffee? = Prendrais-tu un café? I don’t speak French = Je ne parle pas Français. Incredible = incroyable Back away from her = Éloigne-toi d’elle! Relax man, I’m just holding the door open for her = Détendez-vous, l'homme. Je suis juste en tenant la porte ouverte pour elle Get lost, asshole = Con casse-toi Shut up, American = Ta gueule, Américain I’m sorry = Je suis désolé How are you? = Comment ça va? My American friend = mon ami américain Hello Beautiful = bonjour ma toute belle Good to see you again = Heureux de te revoir Take care of her = Prends soin d'elle I want you = Je te veux Fuck = Baise Shit = Merde

Stay = Séjour Sunshine = Rayon de soleil (if it's a term of endearment) Sweet Dreams =Fais de beaux rêves Dear Sunshine = Cher Rayon de soleil Happy Birthday = Joyeux anniversaire! All my love = Tout mon amour Typical stubborn American = Américaine typiquement têtue Even if she does have the sexiest green eyes and a dreamy body, she is frustrating = Même si elle a les yeux verts les plus sexy qui soient et un corps à faire rêver, elle est frustrante! My heart is yours = Mon coeur t'appartient. So is my apartment = Il en est de mon appartement. I love you, Sunshine = Je t’aime, Rayon de Soleil

Part Two

SLEEPING WITH MR. SEXY

INTRODUCTION

L

ydia Nichols is on the fast track for career success. She's landed the job of her dreams after working her way up the corporate ladder. The only problem is she's in San Francisco and the dream job is in New York. With one last night to party with her friends before moving cross country, she goes all out, letting down her guard, and following her heart. Dubbed Mr. Sexy, the ladies love Chase Andrews. Despite his bad boy good looks, he's a nice guy with a good heart. While out celebrating his best friend's promotion, Chase decides to go after the one woman who has always captivated his mind and body, but eluded him. The only problem with his plan is the object of his affection is too caught up in following her dreams to notice. A few cocktails, laughs, secret crushes, and good friends set the stage for these two to discover what they've been missing all along. Sleeping with Mr. Sexy is the story of two people who do the best they can with the choices they make. Join Lydia and Chase as they navigate their post-college years trying to balance careers, love, friendship, and the discovery that finding yourself sometimes means coming home. © 2013 S.L. Scott

CHAPTER ONE

he soft, high-thread count sheets slide to the side, slipping off my thigh as I T sit up slowly. My head pounds with sheer aggravation from the sunlight that floods

the room. "Damn," I mumble, closing my eyes. I push the palm of my hand against my temple, hoping to alleviate the pain. It doesn't help. Instead, I inwardly curse my affinity for strong cocktails. Long Island Iced Teas are for co-eds and stay-at-home moms making the most of a night out with the ladies. I am neither of those. I open my eyes slowly while pulling the black strap of my bra back onto my shoulder until it's securely in place. As my eyes adjust to the brightness of a new day, I recognize my surroundings. They are very familiar though not mine. "Double damn!" I mutter under my breath as I turn and look behind me on the bed, knowing what I'll find, but still praying for a different outcome. My irritation softens as I look at Chase sleeping, admiring all 6’2” of him. Chase Andrews was one of the best-looking guys on campus, and the two years since we’ve graduated from college have been kind to him. When we go out, I hear the whispers. The ladies call him Mr. Sexy. He’s the man every woman wants to date and every guy wants to be. Successful, charming, attractive, funny, great body—a body I might have taken advantage of last night—twice. His sandy blonde hair is not long enough to hang in his eyes like it did in college, but it’s still not office proper. I secretly love that he looks like a bad boy whether he’s in jeans or a suit. To me, he’s always been handsome, but he’s also my comfort and biggest supporter. Yes, he’s hot, and yet, all I can think of is how by sleeping with Mr. Sexy, I just fucked up the second best thing I had going in my life. The first best thing I have is my job, which as of this morning, is now waiting for me in New York City. I stand up, unsteady on my feet, and unsure of exactly how I ended up in bed with my best friend. Making my way over to my skirt, I pull it on, waiting to zip it until I am out of his earshot. I don't want to wake him. I roll my eyes when I find my shirt wadded up on the floor at the base of the small Ficus tree in the corner of the room. Silk should never be abused like this. Letting the light fabric glide down over my head and arms, it cascades over my torso.

With all my belongings in hand, I quickly head for the bedroom door. But I stop, feeling the need to take a second. Leaning against the doorframe, I look over my shoulder, wanting to see him one last time before I leave. He stirs, his arm searching into the empty space beside him. Watching him as he shifts to look, I whisper, "Oh, Chase. What have we done?" Just as he starts to follow the sound of his name, I'm gone. Grabbing a cab, I make a stop at my apartment down the street to shower and change clothes. With only fifteen minutes to spare, I’m back out the door with no time to dwell on mistakes and memories that I’ve made. I grab my suitcase and walk to the door. With keys in hand, I study the apartment for a second then leave, firm that I’ve made the right choice. As I settle into the back of another cab, I slump down, closing my eyes. Last night started off innocently enough… "C’mon, Lydia. We're gonna be late!" Chase shouts from the kitchen. He believes the world will come crashing down if we’re ever late to anything. "What's new?" I shout back then laugh to myself. He gets so anxious if we’re not on time, and I love to rile him up. I start to twist my dark brown hair up in the back, but at the last minute decide to leave it down, knowing Chase likes it best that way. "Guess they’ll have to wait since you’re the guest of honor," he says, standing in the doorway to my bedroom. "Can I come in?" I glance over at him "Aren’t we polite? You don’t have to ask, and you know that. Come in." "Here." He hands me a glass of champagne. "You look incredible, you know." "Shut it! I'm trying not to cry tonight." "Why would me saying you look incredible make you cry?" He taps his glass against mine. I stop, really taking in the moment, a lump forming in my throat. Looking down at my glass, I watch the bubbles fizz toward the top and burst. When my gaze lands back on him, and I can tell he feels the weight of tonight as much as I do. "Come here." He sets his glass down on the bathroom counter. His right arm swings out and pulls me to him by the waist. Comfort and security. This feels right. He always feels right. "Am I making the right—" He cuts me off, not letting me back out of pursuing my dream. "You have to do this. It's why you've worked so hard the last two years." "I need you—" "I'll visit. You'll visit. Whenever we can, okay?" I nod my head against his chest, hoping this is true. My memory is interrupted by the taxi coming to a jolting stop at the airport. I pay my fare, and get left curbside with my large suitcase. Standing there, I look around. San Francisco International Airport doesn’t have the warmth of the city. It feels different. I feel different, at a loss, and feeling a little lost. Raising my chin up,

I grab the handle of my suitcase and go inside, leaving this life behind. After landing, I pull my bag off the luggage belt then stand in line for a taxi. I turn my phone back on, and look up the address again. I haven’t memorized it yet. I duck into the back of a taxi and give the driver the address, my new address. Scrolling through texts, emails, and finally the missed calls, I decide to deal with the least invasive one first—the text messages. There are four. I mentally brace myself for the worst, knowing I shouldn’t have snuck out like I did, but shame took over, and then logic. I left not wanting to face the consequences of my drunken actions—too embarrassed by my behavior. Why did you leave so early? No goodbye? C. Where are you? We need to talk before you leave town. I’ll drive you to the airport. C. Lydia, please call me before you leave San Francisco. Please. C. I look out the window as pain swells in my chest. I should've at least said goodbye. I didn't have time, I justify to myself, though it doesn't make me feel any better. I read the last one. Goodbye. C. Damn! I throw my phone back into my purse, ignoring what I know I shouldn't. "We're here," the cabbie says, his arm draped over the front seat, looking at me in the rearview mirror. "Oh, okay," I respond, paying. I get out of the car and stand in front of the shiny, mirrored Manhattan high-rise building that towers above me. “My new home.”

CHAPTER TWO

Almost One Year Later

"S o, you're going back to San Fran?" Mitch asks, surprised by my

announcement. I cringe from the nickname he calls the city I love. No well respecting San Franciscan would ever call it San Fran. "Yes," I answer then drink the last of my martini, tilting the glass up to make sure I get every last drop. "How long will you be gone?" "What is this, Mitch? The inquisition?" My tone is sharp, leaving no room for niceties as I study his short, dark hair. He gets a haircut every other Tuesday at a barber near his office. He’s a trader by day, my boyfriend by night. We’ve dated for four months. I’m not in love, but I wish I was because it seems like life would be easier that way. "Whoa!" Mitch puts his arms in front of him in surrender. "I didn't know I wasn't allowed to ask you personal questions or be concerned about you. Fuck, Lydia, you sure know how—" "I'm sorry," I say, turning to him on the barstool. "I'm just so stressed, and this trip isn't wanted on my part.” I rub my temples with my fingertips. “I've been guilted into it by my parents. My mom's afraid to fly, and it's the holidays. I also have some unfinished business I need to take care of." I whisper the last part, hoping to slip that in without any questions. He takes my hands in his, and says, "Listen, you've been working eighty hour weeks. You're stressed out. I get it, so stay. I want you to stay with me. Screw San Francisco. It's your first holiday living in New York. Spend it with me. We'll stay in the city, and just chill. No airports, no crazy shopping, no chaos. Heck, we don't even have to exchange presents if you don't want. Just you, me, and a bottle of Grey Goose on Christmas. Sounds pretty fucking perfect, if you ask me." "Yeah, it does," I say, exhaling. I’m not ready to go home, to see my friends or Chase, so this new option comes as a huge relief. "So, you’ll stay?"

I respond instantly knowing I'm not ready to face my past. "Yes."

Christmas Eve I have already ordered the Chinese food from the place around the corner, and just opened the wine when my phone chirps, signaling a text. "If you're late again, Mitch, I'm gonna kick your ass," I mumble, reaching for the phone. He’s late more than he’s on time. It drives me nuts, and has lead to more than a few fights. I guess some of Chase rubbed off on me. When I slide the display on the phone open, I read: Just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. I still miss you every day. C. I gulp as memories of the party the night before I left invade my thoughts. "To the funniest, smartest, and prettiest girl I know. May all her dreams come true. To Lydia," Chase says, toasting to the gathering of our friends at our favorite restaurant. "New York won't know what hit 'em." We laugh, and all drink to that as I look around at my friends. Each of them hold a place in my heart filled with good memories, and my chest aches knowing I won’t get to see them. I won’t be having my Wednesday morning coffee with Caris down at the corner shop anymore. No more midnight runs to the Thai place near Michelle’s house for the best spring rolls in the city. Heather won’t be able to stop by on her way home from work with a bottle of wine and stories of her crazy boss when I move away. Jack, Liam, and Mark—boyfriends to my besties and besties to my boyfr… I stop myself from finishing that thought. Chase is… Chase is… he’s my Chase. I tip my glass in his direction at the other end of the table, and mouth, "Thank you." His dark blue eyes sparkle tonight. He looks happy. I want to say it's the alcohol, but something deep down inside tells me that isn't the only reason. Jack’s been talking to him, and out of politeness, Chase turns to respond, breaking our connection. I rest my chin on my hand, my elbow on the table, and attempt to give my full attention to Caris, who is describing, leaving no minute detail out, her upcoming nuptials. Caris and Jack are moving in together, but I can't focus enough to enjoy her happiness. My gaze keeps landing back on the other end of the table—on Chase. "So, are you just dying? New York is going to be insane. I'm so jealous!" I hear Caris speaking, but I'm too involved in another conversation—a silent one taking place between me and Chase. He tilts his head, asking me without words, ‘What's up?’ A small smile crosses my mouth, and I shake my head while looking down at my hands in my lap. When I look back up, he's walking toward me. "Excuse us for a moment,” Chase says to the group. He pulls my chair out then takes my hand, pulling me up. With his lips barely gracing my ear, he whispers, "Let's go to the bar."

I don't need to verbally respond, my body is already in motion, my hand in his as he leads us out of the small party room. "Two Crown and Cokes, please." He holds two fingers in the air to the bartender down the way. Leaning his elbow on the bar, he turns to me—his playful smile ever present. I’ve dubbed it his sexy smirk. "How’re you holding up in there?" "I'm having fun. I think it's really nice you did all this for me." I slide onto a barstool, and spin to face him, my knees touching his inner thighs. Neither of us is uncomfortable by the closeness. "I have to admit that I'm not feeling very entertaining tonight, though." "You don't have to be ‘on’ with me. You know that. But I meant every word of the toast." "You’ve always been a good friend to me." "Just because you'll be in New York doesn't mean this ends." He runs his hand through his already messy hair, looking around the bar then back at me as if he's going to share a secret. "I'm gonna mis—" "I know. I'll miss you, too," I say, feeling the exact same way, but not wanting to talk about it. I’ll get upset, and I don’t want to be upset my last night here. "It's kind of the end of an era, and if you have a few minutes, there's some stuff I want to talk—" "Don't. It will just make it harder on both of us." The drinks are set down on the bar, breaking the tension that was thickening around us. He pays the tab and smiles, knowing that I can't handle goodbyes. We take our drinks, clinking them together and sip. Our eyes stay locked as Chase’s hand rubs up and down my hip several times before he stops and lightly squeezes. I look away, feeling my heart speed up and my breathing deepen. "Lydia, I—" "Chase, we—" "There you are," Caris interrupts. Chase’s hand drops to his side, and he takes another sip, or maybe it’s a gulp. "It’s just like you two to sneak off and leave us all in there while you have a private party out here. Lydia, dessert just arrived, and then we're heading to the club. Come on," Caris says, dragging me by the hand with her. I glance back at Chase who turns towards the bar, seeming to settle in. That image of Chase is still burned in my mind so clearly, even after a year. His text has immobilized me as tears fill my eyes. I miss him so much, but I ruined us. We can't go back to what we had, and there would be no point anyway. I'm in New York. He's in San Francisco. It's pointless. A tear hits my phone screen just as it fades to black. ~New Year's Eve~ "Lydia! Ooooh, Lydia!" Mitch bellows down the long hallway. We jump in excitement. He’s found us. "You better get out there," Ally says, and starts giggling. "I haven't even used the toilet yet," I laugh, leaning against the counter, waiting

my turn. A loud knock at the door makes both of us jump then squeal with excitement. "Found you!" Mitch says, knocking the secret knock on the door. I can hear the happiness in his tone. I’m happy, too. I’m also drunk and feeling giddy. Slowly, I open the door against Ally’s playful protests. Mitch pushes the door open wide, and says, "Gotcha." He grabs me around the waist and kisses me hard. While clearing my throat, I signal to the right, alerting him to our present company. As his lips leave mine, he sees Ally standing there with her arms crossed. She raises her hands up, and says, "As much as I love you two, I'm not into the voyeur thing." We laugh as Mitch holds the door open, a silent invitation for her to leave. He closes the door then locks it after she leaves. Pressing his erection against my middle, he kisses my neck. "I've missed you." His warm breath covers my neck as he nips a wet path up toward my ear. "Not here. Later," I whisper, wanting privacy from the party, but to continue the celebration with our friends. I take his hand and pull him back into the living room. Checking his watch, he says, "It's almost midnight. I'll hurry and get us drinks." He walks away backwards, smiling and blowing me kisses. Goofball! My phone buzzes in my purse. I unclasp it, and pull out the phone to check my messages. I figure it's my mom because one of our traditions is to touch base at midnight on New Year's Eve. "Ten… Nine… Eight…" I hear everyone around me chanting. I look down at the message as I hear, "Seven… Six… Five…" It's been a year today. You've not contacted me or replied. Your message has finally been received loud and clear. I won't bother you again. You've moved on. It's time I do, too. I love you. Goodbye. C. "Happy New Year, Lydia." Mitch leans down to kiss me, but I turn away from him, wiping the tears that came on with the sudden heavy emotions of my heart. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks. I swallow hard, needing to calm myself. "Lydia? You okay?" I turn back around, hiding my face against his chest. "Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, my voice cracking from the pain I feel. "No, you're not. Lyd, talk to—" He sees my phone, and snatches it out of my hand. "Give that back!" "No. I want to know what upset you. You were fine before you looked at your phone." I jump up and try to get it, but he holds it high above his head. He angles the screen to face him, so he can read it, and my heart sinks knowing he'll be hurt. "Mitch, I'm fucking serious. Give me my phone back right now!"

It’s clear the moment the text registers in his mind. He lowers his arm, and hands the phone back to me. He looks at me confused as if I'm a stranger. The crowd is celebrating all around us, and yet, it feels eerily quiet and cold where I stand. Reaching out, I rub his arm, trying to comfort him. "Mitch?" "Don't." I step forward, wanting a chance to explain something that I won’t be able to without hurting him, but he steps back. "Don't, Lydia." A couple who is kissing bumps into him, and it's like he's been knocked into the reality of the situation. He leans forward, his eyes narrowed at me in offense. "I've put up with these messages from this C person for…" he says, punctuating his words with a humorless laugh, "… The entire five months we've been together. Together?" He looks to me as if he's trying to figure out if the word defines us properly. "We've never really been together, you and me. You've kept a wall up the entire time. You've kept your secrets hidden and your feelings closely guarded…" He turns, and walks away not even bothering to finish his sentence. Hurrying after him, I reach forward to grab a hold of his sleeve that eludes me as he weaves his way through the partygoers. "Mitch!" I call, quickening my pace. "Mitch!" I finally catch him at the elevator outside the apartment. "Mitch, I can explain—" "I can read, Lydia. This guy says he loves you—" "He also said goodbye." "So, like this is something that's been going on while we've been toget— dating?" He crosses his arms, protectively, and looks up at the ceiling. He appears to be struggling with his emotions and it’s all because of me. "No, you read it. I haven't been in contact with him. Mitch, please, it's nothing." "It's? Don't you mean he's nothing?" He looks at me with glassy eyes. "I will do anything to convince you that I care about you, but—" "But you can't say he's nothing, because he is something to you. He's been in there," he says, tapping me on the chest, "the whole time, hasn't he?" He glances quickly to the elevator as it dings and the doors open. "Lydia, I care about you. You know I… that I love you, but I won't stand in line for your affections only to come in second place." He steps onto the elevator, and holds the door open. "You really need to figure your shit out. Your life is consumed with work and guilt. You're the one who loses in the end." He leans back against the far wall of the elevator, and, as the doors close, he says, "Goodbye." As I watch the steel doors closing, ending our relationship, I realize he’s right. We never had much of a relationship because I never let him into my heart. There just wasn’t enough room in there to hold onto all the memories I shared with Chase, and add new experiences with Mitch. I lean my back against the wall and slowly slide down until I’m sitting. Maybe it’s just as I know it to be. Seems so easy to see when I acknowledge that my feelings weren’t deepening for Mitch.

I miss Chase. I miss hanging out together and the way he was always there for me. I miss my old life, but I ruined that when I slept with him. He might forgive me for instigating us falling into bed, but he won’t forget. Chase will never look at me the same. Tears fill my eyes because I remember just how good life was with him in it.

CHAPTER THREE

rue to his word, Chase doesn't contact me again. Another year passes while T I’m immersed in meetings, climbing the corporate ladder, and long hours. I still

find myself thinking about him all the time, but it's getting easier to wash away the memories and regrets from our night of demise. Embarrassment colors my face, remembering how I took our friendship and tainted it with jealously. I had never been the jealous type. We were friends, nothing more. That last night, maybe it was because I’d mixed my liquors all night, or maybe it was the impending separation that weighed on my heart more than I let on, but my emotions were all over the place. Seeing Chase with another girl on my last night in San Francisco just made all my fears surface and bubble over. I wanted all of his attention, and if I had been honest with myself back then, I really wanted all of him. I stand up, and wipe away my tears, deciding to head home, all the while, letting the events flood my thoughts, taking me back to a part of that night I’d long forgotten. "Caris, I'm worn out. We’ve been dancing forever. I'm gonna get a drink and sit this one out." My feet hurt, so I slip off the dance floor. "I'm exhausted. I’m going with Lydia," Heather says, trailing behind me. "Party poopers. Tell Jack to get his ass out here then," Caris says, dancing and grinding out on the dance floor surrounded by enthusiastically dancing strangers. Heather bumps me in the shoulder, and says, "You know, there's a very handsome man at the bar that's been eyeing you all night." I don’t bother looking in the direction she’s encouraging. "Oh, no! No one-night stands for me." As we approach the group, Heather leans over, uncharacteristically direct tonight, and says, "I was talking about Mr. Sexy himself." My eyes flash to hers as if she's spoken some forbidden secret aloud. "Don't give me that look,” she says, putting her hands on her hips. “You two should've hooked up in college, and you know it." She nudges me gently in the opposite direction from her and right into Chase. "Whoa, there. You okay?" he asks concerned—always concerned for me.

He's holding my arm. I look up at him, and smile. "Yeah, just trying to avoid some unnecessary intervention." I give Heather a look, letting her know I don’t appreciate the obvious push forward. She just laughs then turns her back to me, and leans against her boyfriend, Liam. "So, you tired of dancing?" Chase asks, his hand settling on my hip and gently squeezing. It’s always been a comfort to me before, an encouragement to get out of my head and open up to him. Tonight, it feels different. Tonight, it feels good to be touched and the intimacy of friendship that it held before now feels like more. "Yes, I need a break and a drink." "I've got this one," Michelle shouts out, always the loudest and strongest personality in the group. Within a minute, all three girls are holding Long Island Iced Teas, and Michelle is reminiscing. "We practically lived off these in college." Chase chuckles while scrunching up his nose. "Those are still gross. I don't see how you can drink that cesspool of liquor." I take a big ole gulp, and say, "Good thing you're not drinking it then." "Touché, Miss Nichols." He pushes my hair over my right shoulder. "Your hair is getting long." After taking another sip of my drink, I start to feel the effects. "Something different for the new job." "It's pretty," he says, running his finger slowly down the exposed skin of my neck. Trying to read his thought by deciphering his expression, I decide to let the compliment go, chalking it up to alcohol and him feeling sentimental about me leaving. I drink my cocktail while trying to memorize my friends smiling faces. The eight of us are all together one last time. As of tomorrow, this group becomes a group of seven. The thought makes me sad, and I take another big gulp from the straw then set the empty glass on the bar. "Oh, no, you don't. Round two. Here ya go, babe," Michelle says, shoving another Long Island in my hand, and hitting her glass against mine. A few drops splash out, indicating our growing level of intoxication. Trying to live in the moment, I stare at my drink, realizing this may be the last drink I have with them for who knows how long. "I can tell something is on your mind," Chase says, his hand landing on my forearm, reading my thoughts well. "What is it?" "Tomorrow and the future." "Worrying about the future can be dangerous territory." I laugh. "Yes, it can be." I look up at him, and am blunt when I say, "We never hooked up." It's just hitting me that we never dated or even hooked up. He's attractive, and I can tell he thinks I am, too, but we always kept things on the up and up, making our friendship the priority. His eyebrows shoot straight up, and that sexy smirk appears with a little laugh escaping. "No, we never did." He leans forward, his breath brushing across my

cheek, and says, "Remind me why that is again." Goosebumps cover my skin, and I close my eyes, inhaling his closeness. "Lydia?" Michelle says, standing next to me. "No!" Chase says abruptly, cutting her off and effectively blocking her by stepping between us. "Give us a few minutes. Alone." I can hear her huff from behind him. "Okay. All you had to do was say so. Geez, ya grumpy git.” "Lydia, look at me. Let me see those beautiful browns," he says, tilting my chin up. "I'm afraid to," I answer, keeping my eyes lowered. "Why?" "I'm afraid of what I'll see in your eyes." I hear him take a deep breath and exhale, his breath hitting my hands. "Lydia—" "Chase, there's no point. I'm leaving in the morning," I say, turning around to my name being called from the dance floor. The whole gang has left us, and I hadn't even noticed. They are all out dancing together. I take a big gulp of my drink, finishing it, and set the glass down before I finally have enough liquid courage to meet his gaze, and ask, "You wanna dance?" I hold my hand out to him, hoping he accepts and that we can move on. "Go dance, Lydia." His face isn't sad, it's neutral… almost resigned. I hate seeing the lack of emotion from him. He's protecting himself. I've hurt his feelings, and it pains me to hurt him like that. I stand there a moment longer, still hoping he'll dance with me. "Go on. Have fun. It's your last night here," he says, poking me playfully while putting on a good show for my sake. I turn around, and start walking away. Looking back once, I can feel his eyes caress my body even though I don’t see him immediately, but feel the pull between us—strong and tethered. Against my better instincts, I join my friends on the dance floor instead.

CHAPTER FOUR

"

L

ydia, you asked me not to talk about him," Caris says, waiting for me to lock the car. "I just want to know if we're going to run into him or not. Help a girl out here," I reply, the shake in my voice evident as we walk through the parking garage toward the street. "I really don't know. If I did, I would tell you.” She shrugs. “Chase kind of dropped off the face of the earth a few months after you left." She hooks her arm with mine as we round a corner. "Jack’s seen him a handful of times over the last few years, but it was just to grab a beer. I know he made Junior Partner at the firm he was working at. But, other than that, he didn't give him much information, so we have no idea if he'll be here or not." We take another corner and I see the bar entrance up ahead. "I hope not." She stops in front of the door, her hand on the knob. "What happened exactly? You were best friends, always together. Hell, I thought for sure you two would end up together. No one knows what happened, and we're all more than a little curious." I look down the sidewalk, avoiding her eyes that read me too well. It’s relatively empty for such a festive night in San Francisco. Local bars don’t get as much action as the fancy new clubs that are springing up all over the city. When my eyes meet hers again, I put on a little smile, and say, “Life happened.” Caris pulls the door open, knowing she’s not going to get a better answer than that. The music is loud, a popular song on the radio a few years back, and my thoughts drift to New Year’s Eve two years ago. "Looks like our boy is getting lucky," Mark says, hitting Jack on the shoulder without missing a beat to the song blaring over the dancefloor. Jack spins Caris around, letting her continue her grinding on his front side as he looks over my head. "About time. That dude needs to get laid." "Who? Chase?" Michelle asks, dancing with Mark. My head spins around so fast that I almost pull a muscle. That's when I see him. Chase has his hand is on a girl's lower back as he leans in, whispering in her ear. The girl, some blonde, tosses her hair carelessly over her shoulder and laughs,

leaning against him. I stop dancing, not able to stop staring at him, at them. My heart breaks as my temperature rises, and jealousy surges inside. I move with determination. I don’t know what I’m going to say, or really what I’m doing, but I’m a woman on a mission. I just wish I knew what that mission is—to stop of friend from hooking up, or to stop of friend from hooking up with the wrong girl. As I storm toward them, I hear Michelle behind me yell, "Oh, shit!"Right before I reach them, I feel her grab me from behind and yank me right past them to the other side of the bar. “Ouch! What are you doing?” I ask. “What are you doing?” she replies, giving me the evil eye. "Two Long Islands, please, and make it quick," Michelle demands, slapping a fifty on the bar. “Just coming to get a drink,” I say, lying through my teeth. “Great! I just ordered you one.” Although she used the word great, I have a feeling it wasn’t meant in a positive way. Turning around, I stare at the back of Chase's head, trying to mentally will his attention my way. Blondie tosses her head back, enjoying something charming and funny he said. Little does she know that he's always charming and funny. I take three long gulps, finishing half my drink at once. "Prince Charming all right," I mutter under my breath while staring daggers at Blondie and her pert, up-turned nose. I hate her. "Lydia?" Michelle calls. Chase continues charming the undies right off the overly-peroxide blonde. She calls me again and it’s becoming not only distracting to what I want to be doing right now, but it’s annoying. "Lydia?" "What?" I say, snapping back in anger as I look her in the eyes. Michelle has her hand on her hip. "What are you doing?" "What do you mean?" "You know exactly what I mean! It's your last night. You could've bagged that hot ass six years ago if you wanted, and now the claws come out tonight?" "Don't be crude, Michelle." I finish my drink, and slam the glass down on the bar. "I don't get you. You act like you’re just friends, but then you get all bent—" "We are just friends." I lean forward. "Two more." The bartender nods and punctuates it with a wink in my direction. I roll my eyes at his blatant flirting. "Then why does it bother you so much if he hooks up? The guy's been an angel. Let him go, Lydia. You're moving on. Let him. He's been living the life of a monk. Let him have fun tonight." Michelle hugs me. I lean my head against her shoulder. "I know it shouldn't, but why does it hurt?" "You're right. It shouldn't. You’ve both dated other people over the years and never had a problem before. Why now?" "I think I'm just feeling overly emotional about leaving you guys." Not sounding very convincing, she hands me my drink, and says, "That's probably it."

We take a few wobbly, buzzed steps away from the bar. Holding hands, we make our way to a nearby leather couch and plop down. Within a few minutes, Mark returns to Michelle's side, and some guy settles down next to me. As he introduces himself, I notice how good looking he is. Not Chase good looking but attractive. Blonde, blue eyes, fake tan, but friendly. His name is Lex, and he's funny, touchy-feely, a little too touchy-feely, but I'm three sheets to the wind and kind of enjoying the attention, and this guy knows it. His hand rubs up and down my leg as he leans in to tell me how sexy I am. Although I could use some private time with a hot guy, even drunk this situation doesn't feel right. I stand up, unsteady on my feet as the alcohols’ heavy effect kicks in. Lex jumps up, grabbing me by the arm to steady me. "Hey, there. Where you going?" I pull my arm out of his tight grip and stumble forward, right into Chase's arms. "I've got you, babe." "Excuse me," Lex cuts in, trying to knock Chase's hands off of me. "She's with me, dude." Chase moves closer, looks him straight in the eyes, and says, "Listen, dude. Back off. She's with me. As in we came here together, and we'll be leaving together. So I suggest you move along." Chase rubs his thumb over his lower lip, knowing he's got the upper hand. His other hand grips me around the waist, our bodies flush and every nerve in my body is alight from his touch. Jack’s voice cuts into my memory, bringing me back to the present. "Hi, Lydia?” “Hey there.” The bar has gotten louder since I arrived—the crowd drunker. I’m too sober to face my past alone and feel grateful to have my close friend checking on me. “You need a top off?" he asks. I glance down at the drink in my hand then back up to him. "No. I'm good. I think I'm gonna take off." I turn my back to the couples slow dancing on the small dance floor, the romance of it all a reminder of what I’m missing in life. When I look at Jack, I smile and say, "It's been good to see you again." "You, too. It’s been too long. You shouldn't be such a stranger." "I feel like a stranger even to myself these days. I'm happy for you and Caris. I'm sorry I couldn't make the wedding-" "We understand. You were in Europe. At least you closed the deal." He leans against the table next to me, looking like the college kid I once knew—carefree and content . "Are you happy, Lydia?" I chuckle to myself. "I'm not unhappy." "That's not the same thing, and you know it." "My job is interesting. What more can I ask for?" He rests his hand on my shoulder, and says, "I didn't ask about your job. I asked about you." I gulp, feeling vulnerable, hating weakness and realizing this kind of conversation is why I stayed away so long. At least part of the reason I stayed away.

He reads the silence between us as answer enough and doesn't push. After a quick kiss on the cheek, he says, "Just so you know, I'm glad you came home for the holidays. I'll go get your coat." "Thanks." Turning around, I watch the couples to pass time, but it makes me feel lonely and depressed. The holidays do a swell enough job of that all without the added torment of witnessing love in the air. "This is a pleasant surprise," a deep, smooth voice says from behind. It’s a voice from another time and another place, but still so familiar that my heart clenches in response. "Lydia." My body moves involuntarily closer to him, and I look up. "Chase. Hi." His head tilts just a bit, and there's that smile I missed so much. "I didn't know you'd be here." "From what I hear,” I say, “you've pulled quite the disappearing act yourself." He looks away, chuckling. "I faced reality. It's no fun to be a seventh wheel." "I'll bet." "Chase?" "Lydia?" We both speak at the same time then laugh in the awkwardness. I let him go first. He says, "You look great. You look different. I can't quite place how, but you do." "Thank you, I guess." I take a moment to really look at him, and his handsome face. He's more manly-looking and more gorgeous than my memory gave him credit. "You look more… different somehow, too, but all the same." I feel stupid, insecure. My heart is beating out of my chest, and my mind is chaotic, making coherent, mature dialogue difficult right now. "Do you still call New York home?" he asks, his voice blanketing my heart with warmth and comfort. "I never called New York home, but yes, I’m still there. I travel a lot to Europe these days, too." "Sounds exciting. All your dreams have come true, Lydia. You must be happy." I look back up, directly into his eyes. "Dreams, happiness… hmmm, maybe. I don't really know anymore." I avert my eyes back to my barely touched cocktail on the table in front of me. "That's too bad. It was always your number one priority." "Chase, I screwed—" I start to say, but I'm interrupted. "I'm ready to go now, Sweetheart." My mouth drops open as a leggy brunette with ice blue eyes and long eyelashes slides under his arm and rests her hand on his shoulder like she owns him. His eyes flicker to mine, concern and unease covering his features—always concerned. He’s always been so concerned about me, but now I feel what we were sharing a moment earlier was false, a charade just for me. Chase's arm slides around the draping woman's waist, and he makes the introductions. "Darcy, this is Lydia, my—"

She turns to him quickly. "Your what?" The woman asks confused by the possessive he just used. I’m feeling a bit confused myself, but stand there and watch as he shakes his head, and continues, "Lydia, this is Darcy—" "His fiancée. We just got engaged last week." As the contents in my stomach lurch, I press my hand flat against my middle, and she talks on. "He wanted to surprise me before Christmas. A ring for Christmas would have been so passé, if you know what I mean." She holds her hand out flashing her rock at me. I don't remember responding, but I must have, because she seems pleased with my reaction. Looking at Chase, the pain in his eyes is clear as crystal to anyone who really knows him. My heart aches in my chest knowing I had him. He was mine, and I let him go. I let him get away, or more accurately, I forced him away. Racing, pounding heartbeats cease altogether as I realize this is love. I love Chase. I'm in love with Chase, and now he's going to marry someone else. How could I not see this before? Why did it take an act of jealousy to make me see what’s so obvious? "Here's your jacket." Jack interrupts my inner thoughts and Darcy's blathering. Unable to face Darcy any longer, I turn to Chase, and say, "Congratulations." It’s weak and has no true feeling behind it, but it’s the polite thing to say, so I force it out. "Thank you. We're so happy! Right, Sweetheart?” She says, patting his chest. She keeps blabbering, leaving no room for his reply. “I think we're going to have an early summer wedding. Why wait when you know it's meant to be?" The heavy tension is felt between Jack, Chase, and myself as we glance slowly from one another in silent understanding. "I should walk Lydia to her car… for safety," Chase says, looking at me then to Jack again with a firm nod. Jack picks up the cue that Darcy is oblivious to, and says, "Caris would love to hear about the ring again. She wants to get a diamond necklace, but is a bit conflicted whether clarity is more important than cut—" "Oh, it's all about the carats, Jack. I'll set her straight right now," Darcy says, playfully hitting Jack on the arm, and ignoring the fact that her fiancée just offered to walk another woman to her car. She’s either too trusting or too stupid for her own good. I’m undecided how to fault her yet. After swinging my jacket on my arms, I head for the door. "You know you don't have to walk me. I'm perfectly capable of getting to my car all by myself," I say, calling over my shoulder. He quickly steps next to me, and says, "I know you are. You were always very independent. Sometimes too independent." I stop when I reach the sidewalk, the cool of the air and the heat of his words battling for a reaction from me. "Even after all of these years, why are all of our conversations full of innuendos?"

"I wasn't aware—" "Yes, you are. You're an intelligent man. You know what you're saying, and you know what you mean." "I meant that I wasn't aware that we had conversations anymore," he replies coolly, correcting my assumption. I continue walking, and he continues talking. "You're not going to talk about it?" "It?" I ask, hoping to avoid this conversation from delving any deeper. "You know what ‘it’ is. ‘It’ is the big fucking elephant between us right now." I press the key fob to unlock the rental, but he stops me against the trunk, his voice lowered to a breathy whisper. "Don't do this. Don't run away from me again. I deserve answers—" My knees weaken from the closeness, and his breath warms me over. My mind stays strong and I strike back. "I don't have any answers for you, Chase. Okay, here, try this one on for size. I'm a coward. It was… it was too much to handle and too late. I needed to stay focused. We were a mistake." "No, we weren't!" he says, raising his voice. "Lydia, it was… it was just bad timing. That’s all." I feel the tears forming in my eyes, and I try to duck out from around him, but he stops me, holding me by the wrists and pushing his hips against mine, my feet between his, trapping me. "You just said it yourself," I say, raising my voice now, anger spurring me on. "Bad timing! What else do you want me to say?" "I want you to be honest with me.” His gaze pierces mine. “We were best friends, and you left without saying goodbye—" "I was embarrassed." "Of me? You were embarrassed about sleeping with me?" "We didn't do that much sleeping—" "Stop it! Don't belittle this conversation. I still deserve answers." His phone buzzes in his pocket, drawing his attention away from me as he looks down, reaching for it, and effectively releasing me. Taking the opportunity to make my escape, I slip out from his grasp, and reach for the car door. He’s reading a text that apparently takes precedence over what’s happening between us. "You should get back to your fiancée, Chase." I feel hatred for Darcy right now. It's not rational, but I can't help it. Looking at him breaks my heart into a million pieces, and I make a vow on the spot to have a very long break from guys. "Lydia? Please," he says. His hand presses against the driver’s side window and he stares at me as if he’ll be able to stop me from getting in the car. With my hand on the door handle, I keep my head down, and whisper, "I was never embarrassed that I slept with you. I hate that you slept with me just because we got caught up in a game of jealousy. I always wanted it to be different for us. We deserved better than to be together out of fear of losing each other. We deserved

better than that." I open the door and slide down into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut, and starting the engine. When I put the car in reverse, he takes a step back, out of the way. As I back up, he’s waiting, so I come to a stop, knowing I owe him this much, and crack the window open. With his fingertips holding tightly to the top of the glass, he says, "For the record, I was never embarrassed, and I didn't fuck you out of jealousy. I made love because I'd been in love with you since the day I met you in Poli-Sci class." Before I even absorb what he just confessed to me, he walks away. I watch in the rearview mirror as he lowers his head and shoves his hands in his pants pockets. Needing time to calm down, I sit there a moment longer with my foot on the brake. Did that really just happen? Are confessions appropriate when I have a flight back to New York tomorrow, and he's engaged? I slam my head against the headrest, and shout, "Double damn!" I burst into tears, knowing deep down it would play out like this if I was ever forced to face him, which is why I avoided coming back as long as I did. What really pains me though, is the fact that I lost him twice. The first time because I was too stupid to see what us getting together really meant. The second time because he moved on leaving me behind. The tears flow freely and I feel our once unbreakable bond, tattered and broken beyond repair. He's getting married.

CHAPTER FIVE

true to my no dating vow for five months. It wasn't hard considering I I hold still work ridiculous amounts of hours a week.

Sitting at home one Saturday evening, I’m popping M&Ms into my mouth by the handful and downing wine by the glassful. I miss my friends. I miss my old life. My visit home last December renewed all my friendships, all but one, of course. But I’m glad to have the other ones back in my life again. I hadn't realized how lonely I had become. I call Caris. Four rings, and she answers, "You've got amazing timing." “No hello,” I reply, and giggle. “No time for hellos.” "Why? What're you doing?" "I'm at the wedding, Lydia." "The wedding? Am I supposed to know what wedding you're at?" I wait, taking another sip of wine when she finally speaks again. One word is all it takes to explain everything. "Chase's." In an instance, I go numb. Then something inside of me finally blows, every repressed emotion bursts forth. I stand up as if that will make a difference as I make demands. "I've got to talk to him, Caris!" "What? No! You can't do that." "Caris, I need to. Please. Get the phone to him." "No! He's getting married in less than thirty minutes. Don't do this to him. Let him be happy. You had your chance—" "Bullshit! Caris Elizabeth Michaels, put him on the damn phone right now!" "First of all, it’s Lynton now, not Michaels. Secondly," she says, running out of breath. "I'm going to do this for you, and then you're going to let it lie… forever. No more of this going back and forth stuff. He's getting married, because he wants to. He's moved on. You need to do the same. Agreed?" "Agreed." I agree, but it pains me to do it. I hear her mumbling to herself on her end. "I can't believe I'm doing this." Finally, I hear a knock and she says, "It's Caris." I assume she places the phone flat against her chest to muffle their voices, but I can still hear him.

I close my eyes and enjoy his deep soothing tone when he speaks to her. "Lydia?" My mind goes blank. What am I doing? What should I say? "Hello?" he asks. His breath is short, bordering on panicked. I find my voice, though it's weak and shaking. My hands are shaking, too. I'm nervous. "Chase?" "Hi. What are you doing?" He sounds nervous, maybe a bit angry now. "I needed to talk to you, to hear your voice." "Are you all right? Is something wrong?" I’ve missed his concern. I want to tell him not to go through with this wedding, but I can’t. All I can do is tell him how bad I’m doing without him in my life. "I'm not all right, and everything is wrong. All wrong." I feel heavy tears prick at my eyes as my voice gets shakier with every word spoken. He sighs loudly into the phone. "Lydia, why are you calling?" I can visualize him running his hands through his hair right now. "Chase?" "Yes?" "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for leaving without saying goodbye. Please forgive me." He chuckles softly. "I forgave you a long time ago. Um, I hate to cut this short, but I really need to go." "Thank you." "You're welcome." He pauses, and then adds, "Hey, Lydia?" "Yes?" I perk up with misguided hope. "Have a good life, okay?" The tears steam down my cheeks as I muster everything within me to let him go. "You too, Chase." Right before he ends the call, I whisper, "I love you." The phone goes dead. He doesn't hear me, but it felt right to say it, to put it out there after all these years. After a few glasses of wine, I close my eyes while lying on the couch, and let all the good that was our last night together, cover me in warmth and wonderfulness. I was drunk and stubborn when we left the club, still embarrassed when I revisit the memory. "I can take care of myself, you know," I say, annoyance in my tone. Chase smiles at me then laughs. "I know you can. You've always been very independent. But back there was more about me than you." I continue using Chase as support as we walk toward his apartment. "Michelle said you need to get laid? Do you need to get laid, Chase?" I ask, slurring my words while accidentally swaying a little to the right. "Come back here. You're drunk." He pulls me by the hand and tucks me under his arm securely for the remainder of the walk. In his apartment, I pour myself a glass of water, and watch as he adjusts the lights to a dimmer setting, making it easier on my eyes. He shuts the curtains in the living room and starts some soft background music. "Are you drunk at all? A little buzzed maybe?" I ask, just wondering because he

seems sober. "I'm pretty buzzed. Don't let the sexy swagger fool you." "Mr. Sexy’s sexy swagger," I repeat, snorting into my water. He walks into the kitchen with his shirt untucked and his belt hanging loose. Fuck, he does have a sexy swagger. I stop laughing and watch his ass then his front as he swaggers my way. “You’ve never called me that before.” Raising my chin up, I reply, “I’ve never had a reason to before.” He smirks. “Do you have a reason to now?” My whole body is engulfed in heated, sexual Chase flames as I look at him look at me like that—Hell yes, I have a reason. “Damn straight, I do.” He reaches for my water, takes a gulp, and, as soon as he sets the glass down, I’m on him. My body lunges forward, my tongue licking the water droplets off his lips before he has a chance to do the job himself. His hands grab my waist, and he pushes me away just enough to look at my face. "Lydia?" I close my eyes, humiliated by the lack of control with my best friend—my hot, sexy best friend. "Lydia, look at me." I open my eyes slowly, embarrassed. "What was that?" he asks. "That was me making a fool out of myself. I'm sorry," I say, straightening his shirt by running my hands down his chest repeatedly and totally feeling his rock hard chest. "Don't be sorry. I liked it." He grabs my hands and spins us around so he has me pinned against the counter with his impressively hard erection pressing against my stomach. His mouth is on mine, and we kiss. Oh, holy mother of kissing. He can kiss. His lips, his tongue, his methods… I'm a complete puddle of goo. Why have I not been kissing Chase for the last six years? My girl parts tingle deep within, my body excited with anticipation for more with him. Then, as if it couldn't get any better, he moans into my mouth. "Oh, Lydia." He caresses the sides of my face as if he can't get enough of me. He must be feeling what I'm feeling, except my mind is still fighting with reason. This is Chase. You can't do this with your best friend. You shouldn't do this with your best friend. You're going to ruin your friendship. God, he's sexy. I need more of him. How'd that slip in there? "I want you. I've always wanted you," he says. His words coming out in staggered pants on my neck. He reaches my weak spot. Just as he open mouth kisses that soft spot behind my earlobe, all my reasoning flies out the window. I throw my arms around his neck, and, not wanting this feeling to ever end, I whisper, "I want more, Chase." "Fuuuck!" His word vibrates against my tingling skin right before he lifts my

skirt up to my hips and picks me up. His mouth is back on mine, and I wrap my legs around his middle, pushing his erection directly against my hot center. We groan as he heads to what I assume is the bedroom. The friction caused by his movements feels fantastic, and my body becomes eager with desire. We reach the bed and topple down. Our chests heave in want, but our brains in overdrive. I look into his eyes, the blue glimmers to life with a hint of concern lacing the pupils. "Lydia?" He doesn't have to ask the question. I know what he's going to ask. He doesn't want me to regret this as much as he doesn't want to regret doing this. If this happens, there's no turning back to what we were, and he's been the closest person to me since we met. Are we ready to be there for each other in this way, too? He adjusts himself on top of me and hits where I need him most, making me feel so much in that one little movement. Too much, but I push the developing emotions down, give him an encouraging nod, and enjoy the physical stuff.

CHAPTER SIX

"I

volunteered for a transfer back to San Francisco this summer. The company needs a trusted executive to reform practices out there and get the office back in shape." On the phone with Caris, I try to hide my excitement, but it’s already a done deal, so I give in and let my own happiness grow. "I miss you guys. I miss my family, and that's the office where I cut my teeth." "That's fantastic news, Lydia. I can't wait to have you back in the city again. I’ve missed you a lot." "I've done what I can do here in New York." But what I don't tell her is that I'm not living the life I thought I wanted. Work doesn't fulfill me like it once did, and as for my social life—no one compares—and I'm seriously sick of comparing. Chase is married, and I need to accept that. But something inside of me can't come to terms with the reality. That bothersome feeling in my heart is keeping me from my own happily ever after. "It's time for me to come home and make a life. San Francisco is offering me a normal work schedule. Caris, I'm almost twenty-seven, and I really don't want to spend the rest of my life alone. I’ve been gone over two years. I’ve put all of myself into my career. I just think it’s time to make something other than work a priority in my life." "I'm glad to hear you say that. You're making the right decision." We chat about which part of the city I might want to live in and all the new shopping centers springing up in the suburbs. Loneliness gives way to hope now that I know I can return home, and still have the support of my friends. Lying in the dark of my bedroom later that night, that nagging tug in my heart works its way to my head. Chase. I can only think wonderful things about him with our history, but my tummy stirs remembering how his hands felt on my body when we made love, and how he made me feel sexy and cherished. "I'm damned if I do you and damned if I don't," he says, his mouth crashing down on mine, making the decision for both of us as his hand slides down my body and over my hips, behind my knee and down my calf. He takes my shoe off, and then wraps my leg around his hip, repeating the process with my other leg. I pull his belt free, and toss it to the floor before I start on the buttons of his

shirt. His mouth wanders over any exposed skin he can find around my neck, but he suddenly sits up, his breath deep and heavy. He pulls his shirt off over his head, not bothering with the lower buttons and tosses it behind him. I don’t bother masking my appreciation of his physique as he removes his pants, my sharp intake of air giving me away. The irony is that I've seen Chase shirtless before. We've gone swimming together. We've danced closely. He's held me many a late night while watching movies. But to see him now, in a different light, in a sexual way—he’s different. I attempt to squeeze my legs together, but he’s between them before I have a chance, his hips spreading mine. He's gorgeous. His body is beyond amazing and then that sexy smirk makes an appearance. "What are you smiling about?" he asks. His voice is huskier than usual, and his actions confident as he brushes my hair off my face. Feeling sassy, I say, "I wasn’t aware I was smiling." “Do I make you smile?” Chase crawls up my body in just his briefs. He's tenting his briefs, so I can't help but wiggle against him. “Always,” I reply, closing my eyes. As soon as I do, my head feels fuzzy as the alcohol sets in making me feel as though I’m sinking into the mattress. I open my eyes and the motion stills. He takes my breasts in his hands, squeezing them through my shirt and bra. My smile disappears as my desire for him returns. His mouth goes to my right one, and he exhales a hot breath over the top. My hips buck, and I can hear him chuckle in response. "Chase!" I exclaim, lifting my head up to scold him for laughing at me. "I'm sorry, babe. I'm just kind of surprised I get to do this. I've wanted you for so long and I didn’t expect you to feel the same after all of this time." I should really address several parts of what he just said, but when he called me ‘Babe’ and said, ‘I've wanted you for so long’ my mind shifted gears. My insides began swirling with deep emotions for him. Chase isn't my best friend in this moment. Chase is someone I always wanted to be with, but was considered the forbidden. Now, he's a man with needs that only I can fulfill, and I have needs that only he can fulfill. My eyes fly open, my breath shallow, and I sit up in bed. Dreaming about buried emotions weigh on my heart as much as seeing his face again like that, wanting me that way, makes my body tingle. I turn on the lamp, knowing I’ll never have Chase that way again and decide to start packing a box to take my mind off of that last night we spent together.

CHAPTER SEVEN

"

you figured out when you’re having everyone over to the new place?" H ave Heather asks. She loves planning parties even though I’d be fine not having

one. I side-eye her, hoping she sees it my way. "Can we skip it? I really don’t need a toaster or any gifts for that matter." "No, absolutely not. Anyway, everyone brings wine. We’ll stock your wine rack and then I can hang out over there and we can drink it all." Resolved to the fact that my friend is insisting on torturing me, I exhale heavily while grabbing my coffee from the barista. "I thought as much, but I appreciate your honesty. I’ll think about hosting a party… just for you and your wine addiction." I laugh, glad to be back in the city with my friends. "On a different note, I’ve been meaning to tell you something," Heather says, her tone firm, but cautious as she walks behind me with her own coffee in hand. She heads for a set of chairs in the corner of the coffeehouse. "Okay, this sounds serious. Should I be concerned?" I sit back in the leather chair, bracing myself for the worst, even though I don’t know what the worst could be. "I've felt bad keeping you in the dark. I mean, you've been back in San Francisco for almost three months now—" "What is it?" I sit forward in my chair. She’s making me nervous. "It's about Chase—" "No!" I throw my hands in front of my body to stop her. "I don't want to hear about him." "But—" "Heather, it's not that I don't want to hear about him. It's that I can't hear about him. My heart can't take it. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with what we were and what we are now. I screwed up, and I have major regrets for using him like—" She leans forward, putting her hand on my knee. "Lydia, it took two. He knew what he was doing." "I should have stopped it. We'd be friends now if I had."

"He was in love with you." And there it is—the reality of what my heart always knew, what he told me last December, but I wasn't ready to face. My work was more important than love, and now I'm paying the price for it. I gulp, flopping back in the chair. I take a sip of my coffee. "Mmm. I haven't had this flavor—" "Nice try, Ms. Distracter. Furthermore, you've been so far up your own ass to see what's right in front of you all of these years." She stands up, irritation rolling off of her. "Chase loves you… loved you, loves you. Whatever! For your information, he only had a few drinks that night. He wasn't drunk. He knew exactly what he was doing. So, as much as you feel empowered by taking responsibility for every fucked up decision, he was very aware of what he was doing that night. So, you," she says, pointing a finger at me accusingly, "need to accept that maybe, just maybe, he took advantage of the girl of his dreams after she pummeled four Long Island Iced Teas. He was with that blonde girl at the bar, not to get laid, but to get a reaction, and it worked like a charm. You finally let the walls down for one night and followed your heart." "Followed my vagina is more like it." "That's beside the point," Heather says, raising her voice and drawing some nearby patron’s attention. I look around, a little embarrassed, and give her my annoyed bitchy-face. "The world does not revolve around Lydia Nichols. Chase moved on, because you blew it. You blew it big time. You ran off to New York and hid for the last two and a half years. And, on top of that, you blew it for all of us. You let us all down, Lydia. You hurt that man. Chase was a caring friend who was always there for us, and you took him away from all of us. You broke him. He left us because of you." "Heather—" "I'm not finished," she says, walking behind the chair, putting distance between us. I sit there as she continues to tell me how messed up I am. "You need to make this right. Not for yourself but for us and, especially for Chase." "I can't." "You can, and you will." "I can't go barging in, disrupting the life he's built with… with her." As I say this, I feel a rush of pain fill my heart, like I have finally accepted that he's truly someone else's now. "You can," she says, lowering her voice to just above a whisper. She walks to the door a few feet away and turns to face me with the door open. "Lydia, he didn't get married." She takes a deep breath. "He's in court today. Don't waste another chance." My heart freezes in my chest, and my mouth drops open as I watch her leave. The bell above the door ringing remains the only indication that she just left me in a coffee shop with that bombshell of information. I sink into the chair, my whirring thoughts a mass of confusion.

He didn't get married. Chase is not married. He didn't go through with it. With my emotions all over the place, my heart and mind narrow in on one monumental reality, and I bolt up from the chair. Chase is not married! A tidal wave of relief washes over me, and I suddenly feel the tightening in my chest release. I haven’t felt this invigorated or hopeful in years. I turn in a circle, not knowing quite what to do with myself. Do I go home? Do I go after Heather and find out more? Do I go see Chase? ‘Make this right.’ Heather's words echo in my head. The feeling from our one and only night together as more than friends overtakes all my other thoughts, reminding me of what I already knew to be true. This is right on so many levels that I can't stop the force of this if I wanted to. I run out of the coffee shop and down a block. Looking frantically around, I’m unsure of where to go. I need to make this right, to make us right again. How do I make this right? My anxiety gets the best of me and I curse out loud. “Double damn!” My outburst draws the attention of a guy walking by, and I start running not caring about the scene I just made. I’m dressed wrong for the distance I need to run —sneakers I'd chosen for looks over comfort, skinny jeans, and an old concert t-shirt that has a few well-earned holes. Okay, I look like shit, but it isn't about how I look. Right now, in this moment, it's about how I feel and not wasting the chance I’ve been given. I run three blocks up and six blocks over, stopping twice to squeeze the cramp knotting in my side. I'm sweating, and then it starts raining on me. Wearing down, I finally hail a cab and give the driver my destination. Traffic comes to a standstill near the Civic Center and my impatience kicks in. I pay the cabby, and he points me in the right direction. By the time I cover the last two blocks, I'm drenched. The tears I develop as my heart explodes in my chest are instantly washed away, along with my make-up, in the warmer than usual late summer rain. I take the courthouse stairs by two with no Plan A or Plan B in place. Winging this, I've just got to see him. My insides twist. I need to know if it's all true verified by the source himself. The doors swing open and a small crowd exits, all popping their umbrellas open at once. I squeeze between them, going against the stream. I hear complaints as I get a myriad of grey and black suits wet, but I don't care. There's no time for me to be concerned with anyone other than Chase right now. Why didn't he get married? Rushing down the marble corridor too fast, I hit a slick spot and slide across the cold stone and fall right on my ass. "Damn!" My swear word echoes through the great hall and silence befalls the busy courthouse lobby. "Lydia?" I'm on my knees when I hear the most perfect voice say my name and swivel toward the sound. When I spot him in the crowd, I smile. He’s more handsome than my memory recalled. He always is.

"Lydia, are you all right?" Chase rushes over to me. "Why didn't you get married?" I plead from the floor below him, the words rushing out. He seems confused as he reaches down, taking me by the forearms and pulling me up to my feet. With a lowered voice, he asks, "Well, hello to you, too. What are you doing here?" Gripping his forearms clothed by the smooth grey fabric of his suit, my eyes meet his. "Chase." His name flees my lips more as a sigh than a calling. Looking down between us, my insecurities begin to return. I shake my head once, closing my eyes to regain the composure I’ll need to be able to say what I came here to say. I'm not even sure what I'm supposed to be saying, but I decide to drop all pretenses and go with how I feel. "Are you visiting your family? What are you doing back in the city?" he asks. "Chase, two minutes," a stranger says, tapping him on the shoulder. I watch as Chase acknowledges him with a nod. "Okay," he replies. "Lydia? What's going on?" It doesn't escape me that he's still holding my arms firmly with concern. Always concerned. Always concerned because he loves me, loved me… fingers crossed, he still loves me. I let my heart express my feelings when I say, "I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I just need to see you. Heather told me you didn't get married." I watch as he rolls his eyes, looking away from me. He turns back with a huff, and says, "They weren't supposed to tell you." "Why? Why weren't they supposed to tell me? Why didn't you go through with it? You told me to have a good life. You told me goodbye. Why did it matter if they told me?" I could feel the anger swelling in my chest—a different emotion busting forth than I originally expected. His nice suit being fisted as I grasp hold of him, wanting answers from him as much as he wants answers from me. Removing my hands from his clothes, he takes them in his, and whispers, "I need to go. My client's case is next on the docket." He takes a step back away from me. I take a step forward. "Please, just tell me." "Chase!" An older man commands his attention and waves him over. "It's time. We need to go in now." He looks back at me quickly. "I’m sorry. I have to go." "No!" There's a desperation to my tone, but I don’t care how I appear to everyone else. I’ve cared about that for too long. "I need to know." Tears flow from my eyes again for all to see, for him to see. "You have to tell me. Please." With the back of his fingers, he does a light stroke down my cheek. "I didn't love her enough. I don't think I ever did." "Why?" I ask, barely hearing the question myself. He leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. With his lips still pressed against my skin, he says, "She didn't compare." He turns on his heel, and his

absence hits my rain-soaked body making me shiver. He glances back right before entering the courtroom, leaving me standing there alone. She didn't compare. She. Didn't. Compare.

CHAPTER EIGHT

or twenty minutes, I’ve been waiting on the courthouse steps outside. It F stopped raining and I’m soaked, so I sit down and start calling people. Heather

answers and I explain the whole conversation I had with Chase in detail over the phone. "He said she didn't compare." "Lydia, this is huge! I mean major, epic huge!" She squeals, which makes me smile. "Don't get your hopes up, yet," I say, dragging my palm down my drenched jeans. "I need to go. You're making me all nervous. I don't want to over think this or over analyze it. Chase and I just need to talk." "I'm proud of you." That makes me smile. "I can feel your giddiness from here, and it's making me all giddy, and I don't think I have anything to be giddy about… yet, so I’m gonna go." I spend another thirty minutes sitting there, looking around, my knee anxiously bouncing. Finally, I see the older man and Chase walking out the large brass doors with another man and a woman in tow. I stand up, once again unsure what I should do. I hear the man say to Chase, "You've got company." Chase looks over, and a small smile crosses his face. He says something to the group and then jogs down the steps to me. "What are you still doing here?" "She didn't compare to whom?" I ask, quirking my head to the side. I can't afford to make assumptions at this point in our relationship, if we even have a relationship at this point. He smiles, and says, "You waited over an hour out here just to ask me that?" "You've waited longer." I throw the truth out there, finally acknowledging how much he liked me, loved me, whatever. "Touché, Miss Nichols." He bites the inside of his cheek, and narrows his eyes at me. Taking my hand in his, he starts walking down the steps. "Come over tonight. I'll make you dinner, and we can talk." I love the feel of his strong hand securely holding mine. "Okay." He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, and pulls a business card from inside his jacket pocket along with a pen. After scribbling something on the back, he hands it

to me. "Here's my address. I have a late meeting I can't get out of. Can you do eight?" I take the card, looking down at the address. For some reason, I’m surprised he doesn't live in the same apartment he used to. "You moved?" "The old place… It held too many memories." "It held memories with me." Walking backwards, away from me, he asks, "So tonight?" I nod. "Yes, tonight." "Bye, Lydia," he says with a mischievous smile. "Bye." Standing where he left me, I wave good-bye. After taking a deep breath, I release it and all the worry I was carrying with me. I have a feeling tonight I might get more than just answers and that makes me happy for the first time in forever. Five hours until I make it right or break us forever. The events from the last night we spent together are fuzzy, but I know I enjoyed myself before I woke up in his bed covered in regret. Sitting on the couch, I watch TV to take my mind off the nerves that feel like flickering circuits under my skin. With nothing entertaining on, I close my eyes. Chase always made me feel good about myself. That night he made me feel good in a whole new way… "I want you so much, Chase." I pull him up my body by the biceps and kiss him again, needing him in the most intimate way possible. "God, I've waited so long to hear you say that. I want you, Lydia." He pulls at my shirt until he gets it off then tosses it carelessly over his shoulder, not knowing how much that delicate silk shirt cost me. I’m not caring either as I start on the zipper of my skirt, and apparently doing a piss poor job. Grabbing a hold of my hips, he flips me onto my stomach and unzips the skirt. I lift my middle up into the air for him, and he slides the skirt over my ass and down my legs and drops it to the floor. His hands caress my bare ass then I feel his body pressing against me which causes us both to moan in pleasure. “You’re a very naughty boy, Mr. Andrews.” When he lifts up, he laughs, and I quickly turn over, shifting up the bed so our legs aren't hanging off the edge. Chase stands and slips his briefs down, revealing himself to me truly for the first time. He's not shy, and he's definitely not embarrassed. He's hard and smooth, and large, having every right to feel confident naked. "Lydia?" "Yeah," I answer, letting my gaze meander over the taut muscles of his abdomen. "I've never wanted a woman like I want you," he starts saying, crawling across the bed toward me. "I want to say this will be beautiful, and it will be, but it might not be long, and it might not be as gentle as I think you deserve." I gulp, never realizing how much I wanted him before until he said he’s going to have his way with me. I’m going to let him, too.

He hovers over me. The tip of his erection is touching my stomach. He reaches for my silk thong on the sides and starts gliding it down over my hips. "I think you're the sexiest woman I've ever seen. I've never wanted anything more than to be inside of you right now…" He stops to catch his own breath, the moment taking it away from him. "I want that, too." And I do. I really do. His words are an aphrodisiac to my ego and body. My panties slide over my knees and his mouth goes to my stomach, making me gasp. My body reacts, my pelvis moving closer to the source of pleasure. "The smell of you wanting me is such a fucking turn-on." Damn, he's smelling me? “You can’t say things like that to me, Chase, and expect me to wait any longer.” "Tell me how right we are together. Tell me, Lydia," he demands as his mouth moves lower and lower and still lower until his hot breath blows across my aching middle. His tongue comes out and rolls across the outside of where I want him to be. "Tell me I can have you, all of you." I gulp in agony, needing him so fucking much. I’m weak to him, to the alcohol, and to this moment of pure ecstasy. "I'm yours, Chase, all yours." His tongue plunges as his lips take me and suck. I jump at the intense sensation. His hands grab my hips, and he steadies me on the bed as his mouth works wonders on me. I'm moaning louder than I've ever moaned and yet don’t care at all. This is carnal pleasure in its truest form. I look up once just to see his face buried between my thighs. It's so insanely hot to watch. But when two fingers join in the fun down there, and enter me, I cry out. "I'm sorry, babe. Did I hurt you?" Chase stops and looks up at me. My hands go to his head and push him back down to finish the job. "No, no. Feels so good. Please. Don't stop." I feel him chuckle against my little bundle of nerves, the vibrations hitting the core of my being, and the swell of something wonderful starting to build deep down inside. "Feels so good!" I say, dropping my head back down flat on the mattress, and draping my forearm over my eyes. I block out everything except the feeling of his mouth on me. Holy cannoli, he's gonna do me in. "That's the plan, babe,” he says. Did I say that out loud? "Yes." My body blushes from the sensations and from my uncontrolled word spewage. But then it happens. The moon, the stars, and the sun align, and all is perfect in the universe as the tingling that started deep in the center of my body explodes in all directions, sending sparks flying over every inch of my body. I scream, fisting the covers in my hands to keep me grounded in the moment. I’m in complete bliss before I feel his hands prying my thighs, that are currently vice-gripping his head, apart. His eyes are lazy and sexy, yet he looks hungry… for

me. I'm so fucking lucky. He slides up, dragging his hard length along my soaked center. He sucks on my collarbone then moves to my neck. Whispering, he says, "I need to get a condom." He starts to descend down the bed to retrieve a foil packet, but my fingers tug his hair lightly, bringing him back to me, so I can see his face. "Don’t, I'm on the pill." I've never had sex without a condom before, so I think it might be the mindblowing orgasm he just gave me speaking, but I need to feel him inside of me completely. I need more of this feeling we’re sharing. I’m also well aware of his dating history. He has never treated sex casually. "I need you now, baby." His eyes get distinctly lustier as he puts his weight back down on me and lines himself up using one of his hands. "Are you sure?" "I want you. I’m so sure… Ahhhhh!" I sigh as he pushes in without hesitation. His face is pained, and I worry for a brief second that I don't feel good to him until he corrects that notion. "God, babe, you feel better than amazing," he says through gritted teeth, easing my worry in an instant. One more push forward and he’s deeper, going as far as he can, pelvis against pelvis, and he waits. I want to say he's waiting for me to acclimate to his size, but I think he's acclimating to me just as much. Leaning down, he kisses me while starting a slow rhythm with his hips. But I need more of him, so I wrap my legs around his middle and start moving against his steady pace, encouraging him to speed up. He does, and he feels so right. We have wasted so many years not doing this. Why were we not doing this every single day? "Oh, Chase, you feel so good." "So do you, baby," he says with a moan. I can tell he's getting close. His nice rhythm has been thrown off and replaced with a more erratic one. But the shift is to my benefit and each movement of his hips hits me just where I need it most. After three more crazy swivels, I come again, lost in all that is Chase and this incredible connection we have. He drops his head against my shoulder as a series of muttered words escape him, his body tensing as I pulse through my orgasm. Shortly after, we both collapse together from ecstasy and exertion. That night was the best sex of my life and it wasn’t just about the physical act. When I stand in front of his door years later, poised to knock, I know I have to make this right. There's no more wasting time with mixed up priorities. If I have a chance at all with him, I'm taking it.

CHAPTER NINE

ootsteps echo off hardwood floors as he approaches the door. I didn’t know F what to wear to make such love-struck declarations and hope the jeans and blouse

are appropriate. When I hear the bolts being clicked unlocked, I suddenly feel as though I should have worn a dress. When he slides the large metal door open, my eyes take him in as his do the same to me. He looks fantastic—dark fitted jeans, a crisp, white button up with a few buttons left open at the top and socked feet. He looks freshly showered. His hair is even a bit damp. "It's good to see you. Thanks for coming," he says, moving to the side, inviting me in. I feel better about what I’m wearing, but I still feel like I’m walking into the unknown, so I walk in hesitantly. Everything in my life is always planned down to the smallest detail, calculated and weighed. But today has been shot to shit with spontaneity already, so why change now? I hear the door slide shut behind me as I walk into the modern loft space. Just like his old apartment, it's still very him—clean lines and muted colored palette. The exception is one shocking, bright burst of red, blue, and yellow exploding across a canvas hung above his couch, but other than that, it's comforting. It's him. "I like your place," I say, turning around to see him in the kitchen drinking wine, and watching me as I set my purse down on the coffee table. "Thank you. Wine?" he asks, holding a glass up for me. "Yes, thank you." “We’re so formal.” He looks down at the salad on the counter in front of him, and laughs as if I've missed the joke. “It’s as if we’ve gone and grown up or something.” “Yeah, something like that.” His smile gives him away, it always has. I know he’s over-thinking this whole thing. "What?" I'm too curious to let it go, so I wander next to him and lean against the counter. I take a sip and wait. "Nothing," he says, shaking his head, a grin still clearly plastered across his face in amusement.

"No, I want to know," I demand, feeling left out. Is he laughing at me? I'm starting to get paranoid, feeling exposed now. "You haven't changed at all actually," he finally says. I raise an eyebrow at him, thinking he's still keeping something else from me. Looking up, he says, "Fine! You, me, this. This is just fucking weird." "What is?" I play dumb, though I can admit how awkward this situation is for me also. "In all honesty, Lydia, I don't know what we're doing here.” He shrugs. “You show up at my work, the courthouse no less, out of the blue, looking fucking beautiful and crazed at the same time, demanding answers that you really don' t have the right to demand. Now, here you stand in my home, making me feel all those feelings for you all over again, and, yet, I'm gonna be the one who pays for this when you leave tonight." I set the glass down on the counter, and hold the eye contact. "Who says I'm leaving?" He leans closer, and says, "Don't toy with me. I paid the price when you left. I’m the one who got burned and I'm not going to do it again." His tone is threatening but soft. He's contradicting himself without even knowing it. I stand on my tiptoes, pressing my mouth against the shell of his ear, and whisper, "I'm here. I paid a price, too, but I'm setting aside the bullshit just for you this one time, and exposing myself. You've got my heart. You've had it all along. So, I can either pack it up and leave now or let you hold onto it a bit longer and see where the night takes us." We both gulp, and I can see his jaw clenching as I lower myself back to the ground, taking another sip of my wine almost in challenge. Moving in front of me, he puts his arms on either side of my body, trapping me between them. His face is so close that I can feel his breath warm me over when he asks, "Are you messing with me?" "Our dear friends weren’t only protecting your secrets. I live in San Francisco. I moved back." His eyes narrow. "You did?" "Mmhmm." I watch as his eyes go from mine down to my mouth, my neck, and back up to meet my eyes again. "What do you want, Lydia?" "You know what I want. I can see it in your eyes." "I need you to tell me." "And I need you to tell me who she didn't compare to." His trademark sexy smirk makes its debut tonight. "You want everything from me but aren't willing to give up anything yourself… typical Lydia." "That's not very nice." His words make me sad, his pain obvious. "I guess I feel a little bitter,” he says calmly, “maybe even a little vulnerable." He doesn't feel vulnerable. He's playing me now, using his lawyer tactics on me. No one sounds that confident if they're feeling vulnerable.

That's okay. I can give him what he wants. He deserves to hear some of my truths. "I only had one real relationship while I was in New York, and it ended on New Year's Eve two years ago," I say, leaving that tidbit for him to digest. His arms drop to his side as he stares at me. I can tell the pieces have fallen into place when he asks, "Why'd you break up?" "He read your text." "That was a goodbye text. Why would you break up over that?" "He knew. Seeing the text confirmed the suspicions he'd had all along." "And what suspicions were those?" "You know what suspicions, Chase. Are you really going to make me do this?" "Yes, because you owe me this much. Why didn't you let him in? What were his suspicions?" Feeling cornered, my temper flares, which is something that only happens when I feel I've lost the upper hand. I walk into the living room to gather my thoughts, and to try to slow my racing pulse. Being put on the spot has never been a strong point of mine. "Lydia, tell me or leave." An internal debate wages as my mind whirls with options. I don't think I'm as ready to do this as I first thought, but my heart argues the point. Stay… stay for him. But my pride cops an attitude. Leave! Put the wall back up and protect yourself. I lean down and pick my purse up off the table then take a couple of steps toward the door, letting my pride win as always. He rushes forward to block my exit, and says, "Don't do this. I thought we weren't going to pull this bullshit anymore. Just tell me." I'm weak, feeling out of control. I reach for the deadbolt under his arm, but he presses against it, keeping me from escaping. "Tell me, Lydia," he begs for an answer. I finally crack, and let all my pent up emotions flow out of me. "I was in love with you. Is that what you want to hear? Does that make you happy? I didn't realize it then. I didn't realize it six months ago. I fucking realized it the day you were getting married, and it was too late." I will myself to hold eye contact to back my conviction and confession. "It's not too late. I didn't get married because she wasn't you. She didn't compare to you, Lydia. No one does." He grabs my wrists that are still struggling to break out of here, and he stills them between us. "I don't want you to go. I don't want you to leave me… again. I love you. I loved you then. I still love you now. I don't know how to put the hurt aside, but I'm willing to try for you—for one true shot at a real relationship without the façade of work and friends and fucked up priorities." I'm stunned. He's willing to forget my dumbass mistakes of the past and accept me as I am now. I feel the fight leave my body, and relax under his grip. "Really?" I ask softly.

"Really," he answers without hesitation. Falling against him, I revel in the moment by wrapping my arms around his middle and leaning my cheek against his chest. I love this man. I say it out loud, wanting him to know I’m solid in this belief. "I love you, Chase." "I love you too, Lydia." His arms tighten around me, his head dropping to my shoulder. "You're still my best friend." "And you're still mine." "But I want more with you," I say, feeling happy in this moment of freedom from the restraining way of life I held myself in for so long. He kisses the top of my head. He knows me well and knows that was hard for me to admit. His hand slides up my back and caresses my neck. "I want a whole lot more with you, too." Leaning my head back, I look at him, really taking in all of his handsome face. I’m on the verge of kissing him, but my stomach grumbles, making me smile. “I haven’t eaten much today. Sorry.” "Well, let's get you fed then. I have a lot planned for you, and fuel will definitely be needed." I’m loving this new side of him. I love all sides of him, but I might be a little partial to this open book, say anything side of him. "So no taking it slow?" I ask, positive that I don't want to take it slow, either. He grabs my hand, and pulls me toward the kitchen. "Oh, no! We're not kids anymore, Lydia. We've wasted enough time." Taking my purse from me, he sets it on the counter. “You won't need this until morning, babe." His directness is fucking sexy. I shiver in anticipation of his plans. I distinctly remember being more direct myself when we were together the last time… The going away dinner tonight was lovely. Dancing at the club was fun with my friends all there, but having sex with Chase tops the night. It felt so good that I wake Chase up for round two. He's always been a good listener. He was more than happy to oblige my needs when I moaned my requests. As he holds my hips, I look down at him as I rock on top of him toward my release. I've never even wanted a round two before, and I can already envision round three happening before morning. I've also never had two orgasms from sex. Fuck, I've never even had one orgasm from sex that I didn't help along myself in some way. Yet, he did this to me. He gave me two in one session. He's got me craving him in very naughty ways. It's as if I can't get enough of the feel of him inside of me as we move. His fingers find my swollen center, and he rubs fantastic little circles while his face contorts in sexual contentment. Building. Building. Building. The feeling blooms inside. Just as he announces his imminent release, I come. We come together. He falls asleep next to me as I stroke the back of his head, cuddling with him. As

he drifts off into a deeper sleep, he mumbles, "I love you, Lydia." My heart stops. My breath stops. My hand stops. I stare at him in disbelief. He can't love me. We're best friends. This was just a one-time thing, something we needed to get out of our systems. I'm leaving… I look over at the clock… in less than eight hours. This was just drunken fun. No more. No less. He loves me in the best friend kind of way, the same way that I love him. The way that I love him? But, as much as this realization weighs on me, the alcohol and exhaustion kick in and weigh me down faster. I blink my eyes slowly several times, fighting the inevitable but lose. When I wake, I'm groggy, but I know I need to get going. Leave it to the alcohol to make me do something stupid. I had managed not to jump his sexy ass for six years, and, now on my last night here, I give into desire. Dread and regret settle in as I realize that most of my memories from last night have escaped me. It will never be the same with him again. He won't look at me the same way. Last night, I lost all logic and gave into need and desire. I close my eyes and try to clear my fuzzy head. I need to drag myself from bed, and get out of here before he wakes up and looks at me that way, that way that will make me feel pathetic. It was a pity farewell fuck, and that's all. I need to get out with the sliver of pride I still have left and focus on the job I love. Focus on that—my number one priority. The difference between the memories from the first time we hooked up years ago to now in present day is that my priorities changed when I confessed my love to the man of my dreams. Unlike before, there will be no sneaking out this time. I snuggle down, but when the sun comes blaring in this morning, I realize I imagined waking up in Chase’s arms a lot differently. "Have you ever heard of blinds?" He chuckles against my back, making the bed bounce. "Yes, but I was sort of too distracted last night to close them," he says, his voice sleepy with a husky tone. That makes me smile and I roll onto my other side to face him. His eyes are still closed as he tries to hold onto sleep a bit longer. I stroke the back of his head, my fingers dragging through his hair and repeating the action. His eyes finally open, and he smiles when he looks at me. "You stayed. Guess the double deadbolt wasn't necessary, after all," he chuckles, closing his eyes again. "Very funny. You can't get rid of me that easy." I sit up, and the sheet flows down my body, exposing my bare chest. I quickly grab at it, covering myself up. I need to be covered in some form when baring my soul to him. “Anyway, I liked the sex too much.” "Is that all we did? Have sex?" he asks playfully, running the tip of his finger against my naked thigh under the sheet. "Ha ha. You know what I mean." I look down at him. He's turned onto his stomach and completely fascinated by what his finger is doing. His eyes dart up to meet mine, and he says, "Tell me, Lydia. Tell me what we did last night." He's smiling, so I know he's teasing me. He wants me to reveal my

feelings first. I play along. "Did weee… fuck last night? Is that what you want me to say?" Chase jumps to his knees, grabs my hips, and pulls me under the sheet with him. His long fingers take to my ribs, and he tickles me. Through my pleas to stop, he says, "Tell me." The tickle torture continues. "You know what I want to hear. I want you to tell the truth." Tickle. "What'd we do last night?" He pokes me one more time for good measure. "Okay!" I cry out, and he stops tickling, but keeps his fingers positioned, just in case. "Okay, okay. I give. I give.” Letting a bit of playful sarcasm slip out, I ask, “Did we make love last night, Chase?" He rolls onto his back with a smug smile securely in place. "Damn straight we did." Turning to lie on his side to face me again, he reaches over with one strong hand on my back and pulls me to him, tucking me under his body. With a glint in his eyes, he says, "I'm feeling like I might want to make more of that love again right now," he says, his words light but meaningful. I can feel his erection against my thigh, and I stop laughing, catching my breath. "You're insatiable!" "Only around you, my love," he says, kissing my shoulder, getting me in the mood for some of that love-making business. "You’re spoiling me. I could get used to this kind of attention." "I hope you do," he says, kissing me again—twice. "It’s Friday. You want to play hooky today?" There’s no reluctance when he answers. “Make it a long weekend and you’ve got yourself a deal, Miss Nichols.” “You only want the three days with me?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow. “How about from now on?” “I like ‘from now on.’ I can work with that.” I smile, enjoying this early morning negotiation. “So you’ll stay?” I feign disinterest, but I love being here too much to not try and close this deal. “How long am I invited?” “How long do you want?” “You’re being all lawyer-y on me, and I must admit, it’s very hot.” “If you agree to my terms and stay in this bed, I can be all lawyer-y on you all weekend.” I giggle, and might be blushing. Actually, by the way my cheeks feel warm, I know I’m blushing. “What would you say if I don’t leave at all?” “I might be able to be persuaded to agree to that condition.” He kisses me again. Under a soft white sheet, in the blinding sunlight of morning, in my best friend slash love of my life's bed, I open my heart up completely, and ask, “Should we make this official then? Make us official, counselor?” “Definitely. Where do I sign?” I move on top to straddle him. With a wiggle of my hips, I smirk then lean down

and kiss him. Forehead to forehead, I say, “Right here.” We make us official three times that day, sealing the deal until his name leaves my mouth in a whirlwind of ecstasy every time. I never sleep at my place again. Chase has exceptional taste in expensive sheets. How could I possibly resist luxury like that? But really, it’s him, all him. I can’t live without him. After wasting so much time, we don’t waste another minute. Every night, with my lips pressed against his, I show him just how much I look forward to spending our forever together. I giggle with a huge smile plastered on my face because I know exactly how lucky I am. “I’m sleeping with Mr. Sexy,” I say, giddiness coating every word. “We don’t actually do that much sleeping,” The big smile on his face creases the corners of his eyes in such an enticing way. “I’m good with that.” He maneuvers on top of me, positioned between my legs. Cupping my face, he says, “Good, because I’ll never get enough of you.” We kiss and it’s full of passion and possibilities. “Promise?” “I promise you my forever, babe.” “That’s all I ask for,” I tease. That makes him chuckle. “Not much at all then, huh?” “More than I ever dreamed possible. You know you never returned my heart.” I lean my head on his shoulder while cuddled into his side. His arm tightens around me. “I’m keeping it safe right in here,” he says, placing his palm flat against his chest. Leaning forward, my ear replaces his hand, and I listen to the strong and steady heartbeat of the man I adore. “You know, we’re really together because I cut to the chase.” “You did not just say that? You are so much better than bad clichés that use my name.” My head vibrates on his chest as he laughs. “I think that deserves torture by tickle.” I jump up, but I’m not fast enough. He grabs my hips and pulls me back onto the mattress. Hovering over me with my arms pinned above my head, his mischievous eyes focus down on me. I expect the kiss that follows to be harsh with lust, but it’s easy with care and concern. His tongue gently caresses mine and I return every gesture and emotion. We part, both of us needing to salvage our remaining breathes until our breathing levels out again. Feeling the air thicken around us, playful taunts turn into meaningful stares and soulful declarations, and I say, “You once said a toast in my honor. You said ‘May all her dreams come true.’” His grip on my wrists loosens, and his body moulds against mine. He’s careful not to put all his weight on me, but I secretly love feeling the heavy pressure of him on top. “And did those dreams come true?” I drag my hands up over the strong muscles in his back, gliding them up his neck, and weaving my fingers into his hair. Pulling him down to me, with my lips

pressed against his, I say, “Every dream and every wish came true when I got you.”

The End.

Part Three

MORNING GLORY

INTRODUCTION

Harper has a great marketing job with a Los Angeles television station H ayley and a huge blind spot for one of her coworkers, a cameraman named Nick.

The two have been best friends since college, but have always been out of sync romantically. As Hayley maneuvers her way through one bad relationship after another, Nick is always right there picking up the pieces of her shattered heart. When Nick hints that he might be interested in someone new, Hayley begins to see how blind she's really been to the one person she can’t live without. As the door of opportunity with Nick begins to close, Hayley must decide if she's willing to risk what she already has with him in order to have it all. Engaging personalities, witty banter, and steamy love scenes make for a modern day fairy tale in this short story romance. ©2012 S.L. Scott

CHAPTER 1

thought I’d be married by twenty-five—so much for the fairy tale I always ending. As I take a sip of wine, I glance at my watch for the fifth time this

hour. “It’s been two days, nineteen hours, and forty-seven minutes since I last heard from Alejandro.” “Let him go, Hayley. And it’s official. You’ve crossed the line from sad to pathetic,” Nick says, smirking. I twist my long blonde hair up into a hair band on top of my head before stretching my legs across the couch and hogging all the space. Then I hold my glass in the air, and say, “Wine me.” He does, topping my glass off with the last of the Pinot Grigio. We usually have beer while watching the college bowl games, but this year is different because of my recent breakup. I thought wine would complement my whine better. “So, I’m pathetic now?” He smiles because he knows I like those better than his smirks. They’re softer, more personal. Holding my feet up off of the couch, he sits down then places them on his lap. “Knowing the days and hours is bad enough, but when you start tracking minutes, you’ve crossed into obsessive… or maybe depressive. I’m still undecided.” I notice how his hair falls over his forehead when he laughs. His brown hair has grown out a little, and it reminds me of how he wore in college. But tonight is not about how good he’s looking as he lives the high life as a single man these days. Tonight is apparently about me being pathetic post break-up, so I delve into that subject again because I like to torture my self-esteem that way. “You’re undecided if I’m obsessed or depressed?” I close my eyes while I balance my glass on my stomach. It almost tips, so I hold it in place. He rubs his hand up my leg and slides it over my hip. Then he takes my glass and his and sets them on the coffee table. “Scoot.” I do, and he lies down next to me. Once he settles, I rearrange my body against his and rest my head in the crook of his arm. “He’s your ex now, Hay. When will you at least admit it to yourself?” I don’t like it when he forces an issue. “I’m not ready to admit it. He’s just…” I stop to think of what I’m trying to say. “He’s making a mistake.”

“I think you are. He wasn’t worth the six months you gave him and his cheating on you proves that point. Why would you want to waste any more time on him?” “Nick,” I say, my tone firm. “I don’t want to talk about this with you.” “Why not?” When I sit up, I keep my back to him and say, “Because I know how you feel about him and where you stand on the matter. We’ll end up arguing, going round in the same circles we always do, and I don’t want to do that. I’m tired.” There’s a long silence that separates our thoughts and our bodies. He whispers, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” I feel his hand on the back of my neck, and he gently caresses. He’s comforting me, and it works. It always does. I can’t stay mad at him. “Half-time’s over. Lie back down with me?” I maneuver silently back into my spot, and he drapes his arm over my waist again. We clasp hands and go back to watching two college teams that neither of us usually cheer for, but watch because it’s our tradition.

CHAPTER 2

ll weekend I’d dreaded Monday. Now here it is all sunshiny with birds singing A outside my window, as if I hadn’t been devastated just a few nights ago. New Year’s

Eve was three nights ago to be exact, when I was still one half of a couple. But I’m not one half of anything anymore. With reality sinking in, I roll out of bed, open the curtains, and start my day. Walking into the newsroom two hours later, I greet the guard and receptionist like I do every morning and hope that neither can see behind the mask of false happiness I’m wearing. If they do, I appreciate that they don’t say anything. I scan the board for breaking news and headlines then walk into my office and shut the door. The door is a barrier that gives me a sense of peace—usually from the realities of working at a chaotic television news station. But today, it’s protecting me. I hope my humiliation is hidden from the keen eyes of the reporters who reside on the other side. The hours slip by as I bury myself in my duties until there’s a soft knock at my door. Nick peeks his head in before I have time to answer. He smiles, and it’s sympathetic. I’m conflicted by how I feel seeing that emotion on him. “Hey there. How are you doing today?” “Good.” My automatic answer. “Were you in the field this morning?” He walks in and shuts the door behind him then takes a seat on the other side of my desk. “Yeah. Filmed two stories. You want to grab lunch?” I glance at my monitor and the two-hundred emails I have left to handle. Marketing for the top-rated station in the city keeps me busy. “Um, I should work.” “Are you mad?” “Why would I be mad?” “I don’t know.” He shrugs, obviously uncomfortable. We don’t normally dance around our feelings. “What’s going on?” “Nothing.” He evades, so I insist. “Tell me.” He stands and walks to the door. “I’m sure you’re busy. I’ll let you get back to wo —”

“You open that door, and I’ll ban you from Wednesday night bar-hopping.” “You wouldn’t.” He narrows his eyes to test me. I lean back in my chair and cross my arms over my chest. I can play hardball, too. “I so would.” “You don’t play fair, Hayley Girl.” “And you’re keeping secrets.” “Fine.” He holds the doorknob, ready for a quick getaway. I might need to prepare myself for what he’s about to say. “I’m thinking about asking someone out on a date.” I’m not prepared for that. “What? When did you have time to meet someone?” “New Year’s.” “You met someone from the party? Before you took me home?” “You make it sound so sordid.” He releases the knob and leans back against the door. I sit forward, surprised by his little bombshell. “I don’t mean to. I’m just shocked, I guess. I don’t remember you even talking to anyone else at the party. You know, before we left.” Suddenly, he’s defensive, and I’m not sure why. He crosses his arms and says, “That’s because the night was about you, Hay.” “What does that mean?” “It means that as soon as Alejandro left, it was all about you. I’m not complain —” “It sure sounds like you are.” “Don’t be this way. I’m just saying I was talking to someone before I had to leave.” “Leave to babysit me, you mean?” He opens the door. “I’m gonna go. This isn’t why I came in here.” “Why did you then, Nick?” “I need to go.” He walks out the door, but before he shuts it, he says, “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I just wanted to check on how you were doing.” My stubborn side makes an appearance, and I sit upright. I grab the papers in front of me and straighten them by tapping them on my desk. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine.” “Okay, fine,” he replies. He closes the door behind him. I close my eyes and spin around in my chair, my back toward the door just in case he decides to come back. “Damn it!” I drop my head into my hands. The tears come easily these days, and roll down my cheeks. I think of my boyfri… my ex, and I think about Nick. He’s always here for me. Always, and yet I just treated him so poorly. I jump from my chair and run out the door to search the newsroom for him. When I run to the back lot, I spot him. He’s packing his camera into the back of the news van. “Nick!”

Looking over his shoulder, he sees me then turns back to the reporter, Greg Grayson, who’s standing next to him. I overhear Nick say, “I’ll be right back.” He walks over to me. When he gets there, he doesn’t say anything, though I know he’s struggling not to. I apologize because I can’t stay mad at him, but more importantly, I don’t want to. “I’m sorry about that. You’re right. I’ve been selfish the last few days.” I nudge him and smile. “Give me a second chance? Let me buy you lunch.” He looks into my eyes before he responds. “I was just called out on assignment, so I can’t do lunch, but Hayley, you haven’t been selfish. You have every right to be upset over the breakup. I just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about asking someone out.” He looks down and pauses before looking up again. “I’m struggling with what to do here. You know I support you, but you also know how I feel about Alejandro.” I sigh. “He treated me all right, better than you were privy to most of the time.” “Hey, Nick. We’ve got to go,” Greg shouts. Nick waves to him then turns back to me. “I care about you. You know that, right?” “Yes. I care about you too.” I hug him, and it’s like being home, full of warmth and security. As soon as he lets go, I feel the cold winter air. “Be safe, all right?” He nods and smiles all cute and mischievous as he walks away. After a quick wave, he hops in the van and it takes off. I return to my office and attempt to work, but something inside me stirs—an unease in the pit of my stomach. My mind is restless with thoughts of Nick. He’s worked dangerous assignments before, but because of our argument this morning, I’m worried about him and what might go wrong. I walk back into the newsroom and approach the producer on-call. “Where are Nick and Greg going?” Without looking up from the assignments desk, Rick points to the whiteboard behind him. “They’re covering a fire in the Valley.” My heart races. “How bad?” “Two homes, but I hear the fire trucks just arrived. I’m thinking it’s going to be four homes because of the winds, though.” “Keep me updated, okay?” He looks up at me with his seen-it-all-newsman expression, but he softens. “Sure, Hayley.” “Thank you.” I walk back into my office and close the door. Then I grab my phone out of my purse and text Nick: Dinner at my place at eight. Making your favorite. Be safe and don’t be late. He doesn’t reply. I remind myself he’s busy and the camera is heavy, so he needs both hands. Two hours later, I run a hundred excuses through my head to justify why I haven’t heard from him, but none of them soothe me. I check the team stats every half hour. They’ve filmed two live shots, so I know he’s all right, but I’m still worried. The fire has gotten worse, and Greg is known to take risks for a scoop. Nick will follow to get the shot, but I hope he’s not led into

the danger. At three, I head into a meeting for a new account I’ve been trying to land. Their advertising dollars could boost my numbers and put me on top for the month. It’s hard to concentrate during the meeting. I muddle through my presentation then decide to give them a tour of the studio, so we take the elevator down one level. When the doors open, everyone is scrambling, and Rick is shouting out orders. “I’ll be right back,” I say, already running to the board behind Rick. I glance at it, but no new information is listed. “Rick?” “Hayley.” He walks around his desk, takes hold of my arm, and tries to pull me with him. “We should talk in your office,” he says in a whisper while eyeing my clients. I stand my ground. “Tell me now.” He stares at me for too long. Seconds feel like hours, and it makes me testy as my worry amplifies. “Is it—” “It’s Grayson. He’s been taken to the hospital.” He sits back down. “We’ve been told it’s minor and to stay focused on our jobs.” I want to feel sympathy for the injured reporter, but I’m still worried about my best friend. “Nick’s with him?” “He’s fine. He drove him to the hospital.” I nod before releasing a huge sigh of relief.

CHAPTER 3

fter work, I grab the ingredients to make Nick’s favorite meal and get to work A boiling the lasagna noodles. I seem to hear every tick of the second hand and can’t

stop myself from constantly checking my phone for any new messages. I haven’t heard from him, and that worries me. He’s safe. He’s just busy. I try to convince myself that’s all it is. By eight o’clock, I pull the lasagna out of the oven and open a bottle of red wine. I bring my glass with me and sit at the table to wait. 8:05 – I check my watch and see it’s only been five minutes since I last checked it. 8:10 – I’ve drunk more than half of my wine. 8:15 – After filling my glass up again, my mind tests my nerves by running wild. 8:30 – What has to be my tenth text to Nick is sent. My mind wanders, and I’m really worried. It’s not like him not to respond. 8:45 – Wanting to close my mind off to the dark thoughts, I rest my head on the table. 8:55 – A knock on the door startles me. I swing it open, and there’s Nick leaning against the doorframe all cocky smiles and dirty clothes from the events of the day. “Sorry, I’m late.” Throwing my arms around his neck, I close my eyes, and let myself cry. Although I know I’m acting a bit over the top, I don’t care. I’m just so happy to see him. I feel the urge to kiss him, to kiss him all over, but I suppress the feeling, assuming I’m just overemotional these days. But I do take out my frustration by hitting his chest. “You can’t do that to me! You can’t leave me like that! You scared the life out of me.” Even though I’m furious with him, I have tears streaming down my cheeks as every overwrought emotion exposes itself. He grabs my wrists and moves me backward as he kicks the door closed with his foot. Looking me straight in the eyes, he says, “I missed you too, Hayley Girl.” After I wrangle free, I walk across the room, needing the distance, needing time to cool down and process the feelings I’m having right now. “It’s not about just

missing you, Nick.” “Then what’s it’s about?” “Why didn’t you text me back, or better yet, call me?” “I was working and then when Greg got hurt, I took him to the hospital. They wouldn’t let me use my phone. The nurses said I could compromise the medical equipment.” “I was worried.” “I was, too.” I can’t be mad. I want to be, but what he did today was for someone else. I cross the room and hug him hard. He takes my chin between his fingers and angles my face up to him. “Don’t apologize. No need.” He hugs me this time and says, “I’m sorry I’m late. Do I still get dinner?” Through my tears, I burst out laughing. That’s just like him. He tells me not to apologize for getting angry with him, but he apologizes to me for being late because he took someone to the hospital. I look him in the eyes and smile, loving that my best friend can bring me out of my sad moods so easily. “Of course. Hope you’re hungry.” “I’m starved, but do you mind if I take a shower?” There’s soot on his clothes and dirt on his cheek, so I say, “You know where everything is.” He has a drawer of clothes in my dresser because he spends so much time here. Alejandro never understood the bond, the friendship I have with Nick, so he didn’t stay over here much. He preferred that I stay at his place. We only did that a couple times a week, if that, due to his crazy work schedule. Alejandro also would have flipped if he knew that sometimes I wear Nick’s shirts to sleep in. Nick doesn’t even know I do this, but I find them comforting, like him. Over dinner he tells me all that happened at the scene today and how Greg snuck under the police tape to get footage of a burning swing set. Nick didn’t follow with the camera but was the first one to help Greg when the winds changed causing the awning to blow down and wrap around Greg’s legs. “His burns are mild to second degree. He’s lucky,” he says. I rest my chin on my hands and look directly into his eyes. “He’s lucky to have you as his partner.” “Anyone would have helped.” “That’s not true. But what is true is that I’m lucky to have you in my life, and I’m glad you’re safe.” We hold eye contact until he looks down at his plate. “I’ll wash up, since you cooked.” After the dishes, we lounge in the living room to watch our favorite reality show and playfully argue about who should have been kicked off. Our laughter is a nice reprieve from the earlier scare. Only he makes me feel this good, this happy. Just after midnight, I follow him to the door, but before he opens it, I tug on the

back of his T-shirt until he’s pulled back to me. “Whoa!” he exclaims which makes me laugh as he turns around to face me. Pointing a finger at him, I say, “Don’t scare me like that again, okay?” He gives me a soft smile and takes my hand. “I’ll try not to. Am I still invited on Wednesday?” “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I hug him, needing to be as close as I can because I’m feeling sappy. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” His hands are warm as he rubs my back. “Get some rest. You look tired.” “Geez, thanks.” “You look beautifully tired. Is that better?” “Yes, much.” I push him out the door. “Go get some rest yourself. You’ve earned it.” “Night, Hay.” “Goodnight.”

CHAPTER 4

wo nights later, I’m sitting at the bar at the Golden Gopher on West 8 T when my phone buzzes. I read the text: Turn around.

th

Street

I spin on the barstool and see Nick walking towards me with a huge grin on his face. It’s contagious. He makes me feel giddy and happy, so I smile big and goofy, too. “Hey there.” I poke him in his side. He slides onto the stool next to mine, his blue eyes bright even in the dim light. Leaning forward, he kisses my cheek. “Hi.” That’s new. “What gives with the kisses, buddy? Usually you have to buy me dinner first for that kind of action,” I say, trying for a joke. He orders a beer from the bartender then angles towards me. “I think the other day made me appreciate my life and the people I have in it.” “Sounds like the job is getting to you. You’re not going soft on me, are you?” He laughs so hard his head tilts back before looking me in the eyes. “Two things you can never say to a man, Hayley, and this is important, so take notes. The first is, you can never mention if his forehead is getting bigger—” “Why?” “Because that means his hairline is receding.” “Yours isn’t.” “Thank you,” he says and runs his fingers through his hair as if double checking. “The second is, you never, under any circumstances, insinuate a man is ‘going soft’ on you. That’s just not good for the ego or the relationship.” Now I’m laughing, and I shake my head. “It’s amazing that no matter what a woman says, a man will make his penis the center of attention. That’s quite a talent.” “Eh.” He shrugs. “We guys consider it more of a skill than a talent.” I roll my eyes. “And on that note, I’m changing the topic now. Where are the others?” “They’ll meet us at that new bar down the street.” I finish my gin and tonic and hop off the stool. “I’m ready. Let’s get this pub crawl going.” “Guess I’ll pay the tab.” His tone is serious, but the sarcasm is evident.

“I already paid for both of us.” I wink at him. “I knew you’d order a beer on draft.” He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close. “And I knew I kept you around for a reason.” I elbow him lightly in the ribs. “Yeah, yeah. You’re buying the next round.” “It would be my pleasure.” He opens the door, and we walk down one block and up another to the next bar. When we get inside, I hear, “Hayley! Nick!” We look to our left and see Jennifer, a friend from college, and her older and very handsome brother, Chance, standing behind her. “Play nice, Nicky,” I whisper as we approach. “I always do,” he replies under his breath. “Jennifer! So good to see you.” He wraps his arms around her in a tight embrace, which seems to take her by surprise. “It’s been too long.” “Yeah, since New Year’s, Nick,” she mumbles. Her expression is confused as if she’s not in on the joke. I laugh. He’s ridiculous. We switch places, and I hug her. She whispers, “What’s with the greeting?” “He’s feeling sentimental these days.” “Ah, I see.” It’s funny how she’s good with that answer, as if that explains everything. Her lack of response makes me giggle. Chance is still standing there with a shy expression. He comes over, smiling at me. We’ve flirted in the past and kissed once when I was nineteen, but nothing more. Nick has never liked Chance and I’ve never understood why. “Hi, it’s been a while,” Chance says, taking my hand. We do this awkward dance where I move forward but he sticks his hand out, then he moves to hug me and I stick my hand out to shake. This is probably why we never dated. We were never in sync. Finally, we figure it out and hug. “Yeah, at least six months.” “More like eight,” he says, like it’s a fact. Maybe it is. “Are you keeping track?” I say, teasing him. “Yes.” “You are?” I’m surprised and flattered. “Mmhm. I thought about you more than a few times.” Interesting. My heart races, so I change topics by making a suggestion. “I might need a drink before we continue this conversation.” I turn and signal Nick toward the bar. “We’ll be back.” Nick hooks his arm with mine. As we weave through the tables, he whispers, “You guys can never date. Even I could see how uncomfortable that greeting was for you.” The words rush from my mouth. “I wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t awkward.”

He grabs my arm. “Who are you kidding? Shaking hands, fast-talking, and the most awkward of hugs I’ve ever seen. You two would be terrible in bed. You really need to distance yourself from him.” “You’re crazy. It was just… whatever.” It’s not worth it. I didn’t have to justify what that was. We get to the bar, and I say to the bartender, “Gin and tonic, please.” “Yeah, whatever.” Nick places his order and lets the topic drop like the good friend he is. I may frustrate Nick sometimes, but he gets who I am. As I lean my elbows on the bar, I turn to Nick. “I need the latest about this date. Did it happen? Is it ‘on’ as the teens say these days?” Nick avoids answering by handing the bartender his card and telling him to start a tab. We take our drinks, and he starts to head back to Jennifer and Chance. I take a sip and follow close behind. “You’re not sharing these days or what?” His silence is puzzling and equally worrisome. “I’m not gonna share if all you’re going to do is make fun of me.” I stop and think my mouth might be hanging open. Nick confirms it when he turns around, walks back, and lifts my chin back up until my mouth closes. “What’s up?” he asks. “But, that’s what we do,” I say, still shocked. “We mess with each other. That’s our modus operandi. You always pick on me about my boyfriends or guys I’m interested in.” I wave my hand toward Chance. “You were just making fun of how bad he and I would be in bed.” He takes a long drink from his beer. “Not in bed, having sex.” “Really?” I put my hand on my hip and tilt my head. “What’s the difference?” “You’d probably sleep fine together in bed, but as for any activities of the sexual kind—” I roll my eyes. “Get off of the whole Chance thing.” “As long as you don’t get on,” he replies curtly. I don’t know where this is coming from. He’s never been… Wait, who am I kidding? He’s always like this when it comes to me and men. He sighs as he looks around, avoiding eye contact. That’s when I see it. That’s when I figure it out. “You like this woman.” It’s not an accusation or a question. It’s just a statement. He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe, but I don’t know if it’s anything more.” Glancing over his shoulder, he says, “We should get back.” “I’ll drop this for now, but I want honest Nick back soon,” I say as I saunter past him. “You’re about to get so much honesty, you won’t know what to do with it.” I laugh, and it feels good. “Bring it on, baby.” We head toward Jennifer and Chance. Pretending nothing was going on five seconds earlier, I smile. “And lay off Jen. That was a little over-the-top earlier.”

“Who said I didn’t mean every word?” Nick’s comment makes me scoff and I practically spit my drink all over Chance. I know Nick’s always found Jen a little on the annoying side. He knows she’s crushed on him for years. Embarrassed, I discreetly wipe the drink from my chin. That’s when I really see what’s happening here. I thought I had it figured out. I didn’t. Nick and Jennifer are sitting next to each other talking, and suddenly it’s as if Chance and I don’t exist. “You want a seat, Hayley?” Chance pats the stool next to him. “Yeah, sure.” I sit down, but I can’t take my eyes off the scene playing out in front of me. Nick’s eyes meet mine, but not long enough for us to exchange any of our normal silent messages. Chance moves a little closer and says, “Jen told me about Alejandro. Sorry to hear about that.” “No worries,” I reply, waving my hand dismissively. “Jennifer? How’d you like the New Year’s Party? Did you have fun? Did you kiss anyone or hook up?” All three of them go quiet as she shifts uncomfortably. “Um, yes, I did have a good time.” I obnoxiously encourage her. “And? What about the other stuff?” I wink as if we’re confidantes. We’re friends as in ‘see each other once a month friends’ and we’ve always been good with that, but when she glances at Nick and shifts again, I know something is up. Something like I might be seeing her more than once a month if this relationship blossoms. Is that what’s happening here? Is this a relationship in the making? It’s wrong. They can’t be a couple. They’re my friends. He’s my Nick. Am I wrong for not wanting this? They’re both good people. Heck, they’re great people, so I should be happy for them, but… but… I need time to adjust. I take three big swigs of my cocktail before setting it loudly down on the table. “Are you all right?” Jennifer asks, because she’s nice like that. Nick is not smiling. Chance is rubbing my arm for some reason, as if the action will soothe me while I look between Jen and Nick. The attention is beginning to suffocate me. I jump off my chair and land on my feet, but wobble when I come down wrong in my high heels. I catch my balance as Chance catches me by the waist. “I’m fine. Thanks.” I know I’m being irrational. Nick has every right to date, and Jennifer is a nice girl. I notice a pattern when I describe her. It always involves the word “nice.” Nice is so not what Nick needs. Nick needs fun. He needs spontaneity. Nick needs… I shake my head as reality sinks in, and I silently began to chant, He’s allowed to date. We’re just best friends. She’s nice. “Sorry. As you were saying? New Year’s kisses or hook-ups?” I ask again, needing to know everything that has brought them to this moment. Her eyes widen, but she relaxes again. “Um, no, I didn’t kiss anyone.” She sneaks a peek at Nick. “Or hook up with anyone.”

I take a large swallow from my glass. “That’s too bad. Any good prospects though?” “Stop the interrogation, Hayley,” Nick says as he glares at me. He’s on to me and my dirty tactics. “I need another drink.” Chance stands, and asks, “You want to come with me?” His smile is much more inviting than Nick’s scowl, so I go. The bar area is crowded, and the only place we can find where we both can stand together is at the far end of it. Unfortunately, this spot is not optimum to properly spy on Nick and Jennifer. “I heard you were living in France?” I need a conversation that doesn’t involve me thinking about the two of them together. “It sounds a lot fancier when you put in like that. It was for work. We’ve opened a new flagship store in Paris. I’ll be commuting between L.A. and Paris for the next couple of months until all the kinks are smoothed out.” “That sounds amazing. The handbag business must be doing well.” “Better than expected at our price point.” “Parisians and Angelenos love their pricey purses.” “You should come by the store this week while I’m in town. Maybe you’ll see something you like.” I take a few sips until the ice rearranges. “Maybe. That would be great.” “Do you have my number?” His question makes me laugh. “That’s one thing I’ve never had.” He chuckles, eyeing me. “Yes, it’s very dense of me, but I could have sworn you had it and were choosing not to call me. How is it possible that we’ve never exchanged phone numbers?” “We’ve exchanged saliva but never numbers. Crazy!” Joking with him is easy. He laughs and if I’m not mistaken, he sounds a little embarrassed. “Well, I’m going to remedy that now. Let me have your phone.” And just like that, I see him in a new light. I’ve always been attracted to him because he’s cute, really cute, but now, he’s not just cute, he’s handsome. His brown hair is styled, but not stiff, and his clothes are perfectly situated to show there’s a nice body under them—not too tight, but fitted—trendy. I give him my phone and take a moment to look at Nick and Jen as he types his number. Chance’s hair is sort of like Nick’s, but Nick’s is more natural, like a surfer’s or a skater’s. I was always attracted to the skaters in high school. I see them whispering to each other, and it bothers me for some reason, so I stand up straighter to stare and torture myself a little more. When I turn back, Chance hands me my phone and a fresh cocktail. “I ordered you another drink,” he says, smiling. “Great. Thank you.” We clink our glasses together and both take a long pull while holding eye contact. “You’re eyes are green.” I state this surprised I never noticed the color of his eyes before. “Yes. You have green eyes, also. They’re pretty. I’ve always found them very,”

he says and pauses in thought as he stares into my eyes, “intriguing.” “Intriguing, huh?” Alejandro never gave me compliments after the first month of dating. I think I miss receiving compliments more than I miss him after five days apart. I’m starting to realize Nick was right about us. We weren’t meant to be. “For a girl who seems so open about everything, I sense a lot of secrets.” I smile, getting my mind back on the person in front of me, on the opportunity I’ve been given, and say, “I’m an open book. You have questions. I have the answers.” “What’s really going on between you and Nick, then?” I choke on my drink. As I cough and hack, I grab my throat. It burns when I try to speak, but the question is so preposterous that I feel the need to immediately clarify the situation. “We’re friends, close friends, best friends,” I manage to say. “Nothing more. Just friends. Frie—” “Wow! Okay, okay.” He puts his hands up. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Got it. Just friends. Good to know.” I take another long drink to stop babbling, needing the moment to recompose. After taking a deep breath, I calmly repeat, “We’re just friends.” My chest hurts as the words linger between us, feeling all wrong. He smiles as if a burden has lifted from his shoulders and his expression shows he’s amused, apparently by me. I’m not. I’m being silly and should appreciate what’s right in front of me, but instead I’m flummoxed by my rapidly changing emotions. “I’m rambling. Bad habit when I’m nervous.” “Do I make you nervous or did the question?” “Uh, maybe both,” I reply honestly. He looks over my shoulder, so I’m curious and also look back. Jen practically has Nick’s ear in her mouth she’s so close. And whatever she’s saying, it must be pretty damned amusing because he’s listening intently and smiling and I’m all of the sudden on the move. “We should get back.” When we reach the table, I slap my hand down loudly on it and surprise the happy whispering couple. “Hey gang, miss me?” I’m greeted with stunned stares then Nick smiles and everything feels right in the world again. “Always,” he says. I start in with my spur of the moment grandiose plan, feeling like we need one at this point. “So, I was thinking that I’m tired of this place. We should go somewhere less dark and warm and—” “With food?” Nick asks. “I’m hungry.” “Yes,” I say with a flourish of my hand. “Yes, food. Eating will be a good activity.” He laughs. He’s the only one that does. “I love that food is a sport to you, Hayley Girl. How about Tequila Taqueria?” “Great idea! Let’s go,” I announce as enthusiastically as I can while trying to bury my devious plot to stop this relationship from developing. That restaurant is bright and busy and serves good food and drinks. Yes, we should definitely go there.

I’m being a horrible person right now, and an even worse best friend, but I’m okay with that. Nick stands. “Let me close my tab and we can head out.” “I’ll go with you.” Jennifer stands as she volunteers. “I’ll go with him. I’ve got to ask him about a news assignment we have coming up. We’ll be right back.” Lies in the form of work. No one ever questions work details. “Oh, okay. We’ll meet you out front then,” she says with a smile, none the wiser. I follow Nick in silence. Once we’re at the bar, he signals the bartender to close his tab then turns to me. “What’s up?” “I was wondering if we could do lunch tomorrow.” Another lie, making something up on the spot. “Lunch? Um,” he scratches the back of his neck. “That’s what you wanted to talk to me about in private?” I’m at a loss, and he knows it. He lowers his voice and leans close. “Hayley, you’re going to be all right. I know it feels like I’m abandoning you right now, but I’m not. I’m here. I’m yours any time you want. Me and Jennifer,” he says and sighs, “we’re just getting to know each other better. Only friends.” He tugs me by the wrist. “You’re not losing me. You’re actually stuck with me, whether you like it or not.” “I like it.” That makes him smile. “I’m happy to be stuck with you, too.” He turns to sign the check, and I lean my forehead against his back. “Why do I get jealous?” He turns around and hugs me tightly. “I’ve felt that more times than I can count.” He kisses the top of my head and says, “Let’s go have some fun now.” “With Jennifer and Chance?” He nods, chuckling. “Maybe Jennifer. I still don’t trust her brother.” “Ha ha.” Things seem back to normal when we join the others outside. I walk with Jennifer, chatting about what we’ve been up to. Nick and Chance are behind us, and I hear Chance making an effort to talk to Nick, much like he does every time we see him. Nick has a wall up with him, and he’s not letting it down tonight. That much is obvious.

CHAPTER 5

hen we walk into Tequila Taqueria, I don’t even recognize the place. It’s been W renovated. It’s dark with colored mini-lights covering the ceiling, and it’s packed.

“I think the world has discovered our little secret,” I say to Nick. “Guess so.” A pitcher of top-shelf margaritas later, we’re sharing a plate of nachos. Chance is telling us a funny story of how he ended up at a modern-day brothel in the Montmartre district of Paris last month. “I hightailed it out of there. I may not always get the girls,” he says, looking at me, “but I don’t have to buy their attention, either.” Nick isn’t amused—not sure if it’s the story or the glances Chance keeps giving me that irritates him so much. He looks completely bored by the story but when Chance gives me direct attention again, Nick’s suddenly very interested. He’s on his second shot of tequila and decides to peer-pressure me to drink another. “Don’t make me drink alone, Hay.” Without missing a beat, Chance says, “We’ve had a lot already. Maybe she doesn’t want another.” He turns to me. “You don’t have to drink any more if you don’t want.” When I look back at Nick, I can see he needs this. He needs me to side with him, and I do. I always will. I pick up my shot, and we tap the glass together. Nick smiles and toasts, “Bottoms up.” I drink and close my eyes, shaking my head as it flows harshly down my throat. A loud chuckle draws my attention, and Nick is smirking with weighted lids. “Damn, Hayley Girl, we haven’t done shots in forever.” There’s a reason. We get horny when we drink and several times too many we almost hooked up. We play kiss and hug all the time, but not really on the lips and we keep it platonic. That gets skewed when we’re drinking. Nick’s a really goodlooking guy. He’s damn hot, actually. But he’s everything to me, and I’d hate for us to lose that to one night of drunken fun. I eye Chance as the effects of alcohol take over. “You feeling okay?” He asks, and I can hear his concern. “I’m good. I’m all good.” I smile, slow and carefree, and move out from the table. “I do need to visit the bathroom though. Jennifer, wanna join?”

“I’m up for some gossip. I mean, er, I can go with you,” she says, giggling. She’s a lightweight. I think she’s only had two drinks all night, and she’s getting goofy, but I drag her along anyway. The restroom is too crowded, and I don’t like the confined space. After I wash my hands, I yell to Jennifer, “I’ll meet you right outside the door.” I walk down the short corridor and stand at the corner so she’ll see me when she comes out. “Hayley?” The Spanish accent, the way my name lingers in the air between us, the way my body tenses and tears threaten without even seeing him. Alejandro. I turn around to discover him standing behind me. “Hola, hermosa mujer,” he says, the words rolling off his tongue with the smell of mojitos strong on his breath. I don’t speak much Spanish, but I remember enough from high school to know he called me “beautiful woman.” I’m not used to hearing terms of endearments like that from him. He drags his hand along the side of my body, his eyes following the line of my curves. “I’ve missed the smell of your perfume and your homemade plantain muffins. Have you missed me?” I don’t know if I can speak, if I’m ready to. Seeing him dredges up the pain of being dumped, and my chest aches as memories of good times flood my thoughts. I search for an escape to save myself from being hurt again, but my body is frozen in place. He leans close, oh so close, and whispers, “I’m sorry. I was rash when I broke up. I was drunk. Maybe we can talk?” “Alejandro?” I hear someone with a Spanish accent calling him, but it belongs to a female. He drops his hand from my side and smiles guiltily toward her. Just by looking at her, I can tell she’s a model. Damn models. Figures. Although he was fun, he wasn’t my forever, but he’d fooled me into thinking he could be. His photography career is taking off and as much as I’d rationalized that he loved me, currently under the haze of tequila, I question it. The truth hurts, and when he greets her with a kiss, I start to remember New Year’s and the pain of that night. He mouths that he’s sorry as she pulls him away. “My Alejandro,” she repeats over and over, loud enough to stab me with her words as she takes possession once and for all. I want to break down, and I’m on the verge of tears as my body begins to shake. My once broken heart doesn’t feel shattered. Instead, I’m hurt and embarrassed that I fell for his lies. “Hayley, come here.” I look up and my heart sparks to life, giving me strength in the form of Nick’s voice. He wraps me in the security blanket of his arms, and I hear him call Alejandro an asshole. That, I expect. Nick has never liked him and hates him even more now that he hurt me. But what I don’t expect is Alejandro to confront him. “Follas con ella ahora?” I knew I should have taken Spanish instead of French, but French seemed much

more glamorous to me at the time. But Nick knows Spanish, so he replies, “No te acerques a ella o te patearé el culo.” I have no idea what they are saying to each other, but I hear the venom in the words. Nick spins around to face me and puts his body as a direct barrier between me and Alejandro. “Don’t think about him, Hay. He’s not worth it.” I peek around him and see Alejandro walking away with his arm around the other woman. I don’t know what hurts more right now—that he dumped me for a model or that he just left me for another woman, again. I can’t stop the sob that erupts from me as I lean against Nick’s chest and my tears wet his shirt. He cares more about me than his clothes, so he tightens his arms around me and whispers, “Let’s go home.” I nod, unable to speak. The sobs will just turn ugly if I try. “I’m going to take her home,” he says. I hear Jennifer behind me say, “Okay, yeah, right. Um, call me?” He nods. “Sure.” There’s no conviction in his response, but thinking about his love life is more than I can deal with right now. I know I’m being selfish, but hell, it hasn’t even been a week. Why did I have to run into Alejandro tonight? With one arm protectively around my shoulders, we head for the door. Chance catches up with us and asks, “Is she all right? What happened?” Nick squeezes me tighter into his side, his body tensing just as mine had a few minutes earlier. “She ran into her ex. I’m taking her home.” “I can do that. I know you were hanging out with my sister—” “No, I’ll take her. I’ve already talked to Jennifer. She knows.” “Hayley?” he says, questioning if this is what I want. Before he says anything else, I step forward and put my hand on his chest to keep him at a distance. “I’m sorry. I need to go. Thank you for tonight.” I retreat back to the safety of Nick, and rest my hand on his stomach. I can feel the difference, the special connection I have with him. As I give Chance a faint smile, I realize I’d be settling if I dated him. Nick makes my heart skip a beat when we’re close, and I’m always anxious when we’re apart. I think about how he has one smile for everyone else, and a special one just for me. I think about all of these things on the cab ride home as I sit pressed against the door, hoping it gives me perspective on the situation. I had stopped Chance from coming closer while holding Nick to me. I wasn’t in love with Alejandro. I was shocked that he broke up with me. That was a low blow my ego couldn’t take, but he was doing my heart a favor. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but when I look over at Nick, I start to question the feelings he stirs within me, feelings that are stronger than a friendship and much deeper than buddies. He makes me feel protected and comforted and other sensations I always stopped my mind and body from delving into. He pays the driver, and both of us get out like we always do, and walk into my

apartment like we both live there. He tosses his keys on the entryway table, just like I do, before taking his shoes off. I go into my bedroom to change clothes, and he follows right behind and heads for his drawer. His drawer. Why does he have a drawer here? “You. Alejandro.” I say, not making any sense as I slip out of my dress. He stops and turns to me. “Me and Alejandro what?” he asks. He takes off his shirt and starts on his pants. “Wait!” I say. He freezes. “What are you doing?” “I’m changing clothes. What does it look like I’m doing?” “Changing clothes, but why? How?” He looks around the room as if he’s trying to interpret my words into some sensible order. “You have a drawer but Alejandro didn’t.” He shrugs. “He rarely stayed over.” “I know. Are you?” I hope I’m sounding clearer than the alcohol makes me feel. “I was going to crash on the couch. It’s late. Are you all right?” “I don’t know.” I grab my robe and put it on, suddenly feeling very exposed. “What did Alejandro say, and what did you say back?” “What does it matter?” “It matters to me.” He stares at me before he finally says, “Not much. Don’t worry about it.” He knows I don’t speak Spanish. I walk closer, gripping my robe closed. “No, I want to know. I need to.” When he shakes his head, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to share the information, but I know he will. He doesn’t like to lie or keep things from me. “He asked if I’m fucking you.” I’m taken aback by this. “Why would he ask that?” He comes closer and looks me straight in the eyes. “I don’t know, Hayley. Why do you think he asked me that?” This feels like a trick question, so I turn the conversation around and steer it back on course. “What did you say to him?” “I told him to stay away from you.” “And?” He laughs, knowing I’m on to him. “Or, I’d kick his ass.” I don’t know why this surprises me, but it does, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it. “Did you say that for my benefit or yours?” “Both.” No hesitation in that response. “You know I can’t stand that asshole. What’s going on with you?” I sit on the bed and run his words through my head. “Why would he care? We hadn’t had sex in months.” A second too late, I realize I just confessed I hadn’t been having sex with my boyfriend. Now humiliation fills me, and I drop my head into my hands.

After hearing a sympathetic sigh, I feel the bed dip next to me and a strong arm wrap around my back. I can’t look at Nick right now, so I talk into my hands. “Please don’t say anything about it. I know we weren’t good for each other. Alejandro and I were terrible together. Just, please no lectures, all right?” “I haven’t had sex in six months.” I look up and straight into the most trusting and wonderful eyes. “You haven’t?” “No.” “Why not?” He looks down at his lap. “It didn’t feel right, so I didn’t.” He chuckles under his breath. “It’s not like I didn’t want to. Trust me, I did.” That’s when I recognize it—his sweet smile, his funny lines, and his sincere eyes. He’s the problem. I’m the problem. This. Us. The lines are all blurred, and I’ve drunk too much. I take a deep breath then say, “You need to go home.” He shakes his head in confusion. I nod and stand then pace in front of him. “This. This between us—it’s right and it’s wrong at the same time. You’re here with your clothes neatly folded in a drawer that my boyfriend should have had all along. We undress in front of each other like we’ve dated for years.” I hold my hand against my forehead. “Maybe that’s what we’ve been doing all of these years. Maybe this is why all of our other relationships are so screwed up and never last. Maybe we’ve been dating each other without even realizing it.” “What are you talking about? That doesn’t make any sense.” He stands and stares at me with his pants and belt casually hanging open. I try to be clearer for both of our sakes. “We’re not dating. We’re friends, Nick. This right here between us is why neither of us can maintain a relationship more than six months. This right here is our hindrance. We are holding each other back.” “You’re tired. You’re upset—” “You’re right. I am tired and upset, but you know what I’m saying is true.” I stop and come toward him, wanting to be closer though I shouldn’t. He’s my best friend. I can be close, but there need to be boundaries within our friendship. “I don’t want you dating Jennifer. I don’t want you dating anyone, and I know that’s not fair for me to say, especially since I just got out of a relationship, but it’s how I feel. I shouldn’t feel that way, though. I know I shouldn’t. I should want you with other people, but I don’t.” He starts toward me then sidesteps and grabs his shirt before he heads for the door instead. Although confusion is written all over his face, he says, “You might be right. I should go. I need to think.” As he walks to the front door, he swings his shirt into the air and onto his shoulders, and he leaves with not so much as a goodbye. I stand there, watching the door, convinced he’ll be back to explain what that reaction was or discuss it more, but he doesn’t come back.

CHAPTER 6

see him for a week. I don’t He manages to switch to the nighttime shift at work, covering for a guy on

vacation, and he skips our regular hangout nights. I leave him messages, but they don’t get returned. I even show up at his apartment on Tuesday and Friday to catch him at home, but he’s not there or he doesn’t answer. I hang out for twenty minutes both times, sitting on the steps near his door. Even though I have a key, I respect his privacy. I’m too anxious to sit, so I pace near his terrace where I notice his planters have early buds that are starting to bloom. He planted the pansies last year. I smile when I remember how I teased him for picking purple flowers, but he said it was for me, because he was hoping I’d come over to his place more often. After knocking on the door one last time, I walk away, disheartened. I miss my friend. I miss my confidant. I miss my Nick. I may have been too harsh on him, but he said he’d be here for me, and he’s not. Yet I still find it hard to be mad at him. I’m equally to blame for this. It’s probably best to have some time apart and figure our lives out. Although I keep telling myself that, I don’t believe it, not for one second. Nine days, three hours, forty-two minutes, and sixteen seconds after Nick walked out my door, he shows back up unexpectedly. I’d been lounging in bed, sleepy and sad, but I hug him without saying a word because I missed him. When I step back, I can tell he’s drunk. He slurs his words. “Honey, I’m home.” Stumbling forward, I catch him and steady him. “Can I crash here?” I don’t understand why he’s here and why he’s so drunk. Needing answers, I ask, “You avoided me for over a week, Nick.” “No, no, no that’s not true,” he says and drags his finger lightly down my nose before tapping me on the chin. “I wanted to be here. You didn’t want me here.” “We were talking, and you left.” I help him to the couch. He lies down, and I start on his shoes, pulling them off one at a time. I’m used to having him in my life, and more importantly, I like

having him close. My irritation lessens, and my smile reemerges. I feel more my normal self again with him close. “Are you staying?” “Am I allowed?” he asks. “If you drop the attitude.” He returns my smile, and it’s that look, that exact look with the sweet expression and eyes that say too much about how he’s truly feeling, that gets me every time. I’m guessing he sees the same in my eyes when I’m not careful to cover it. “Attitude dropped. Were you sleeping?” “No, watching an old black-and-white movie.” “I’ll watch with you.” As I snuggle into his side, we watch the movie in silence, not needing to fill the room with long explanations. I can tell we’re both just happy to be together again. The credits are rolling when I open my eyes. “You should go to bed, Hayley. It’s late,” he says. His voice is gruff, his eyes are tired, and his expression is more serious than usual. There’s no room for arguing. I’m exhausted and just slept through the last hour of the movie. He takes my hand, places a kiss on my knuckles, and it makes me realize that it’s not normal. What we have. What we do. How we treat each other. It’s not normal compared to my other male friends. What we have is special and unique, and it always has been. He loosens his grip as he lies down behind me and stretches out on the couch. “Good-night,” he whispers. I’m suddenly not ready to walk away from him. I’m attached in more than ‘just as a friend’ way. “Nick?” “Yeah?” “Stay with me?” “I am.” He’s going to make this difficult. That’s us. I smile though he can’t see it before I ask, “In my room?” “I don’t want to sleep on the chair.” “You are so frustrating. In my bed. There? Are you happy?” I stop talking, already sensing his ego growing to mass proportions. “Stop smirking, you fool, and come to bed.” “You’re so demanding when you’re horny. I mean, lonely.” The room goes dark when he clicks off the TV. He stands and follows without further argument. I whack him on the shoulder. “I’m not horny and only a little lonely. Okay, maybe a little horny too, but you’re not getting any from me, so paws off the goods.” He chuckles as we enter the bedroom. “Oh, and what lovely goods they are.” “Maybe I should leave you on the couch,” I say, playfully threatening him. “I don’t want you getting any funny ideas or anything.” “Too late for that. I’ve already got a head full of funny ideas.”

“You’re incorrigible.” “And you’re hot when you use big words.” He climbs into the bed on the opposite side. “Only when I use big words, huh?” “Ha! Good try. I don’t show all my cards on the first date, Ms. Harper.” “Is that what we’re calling this? A first date? That sounds about right for you.” “Sounds less sleazy that way.” I pull the covers up to my chin and reply, “There’s nothing sleazy about two friends spending time together.” “Friends with benefits?” He sounds hopeful. “Friends with non-sexual benefits.” He sighs, but I can hear the lightness in his tone. “Let’s go to sleep. I can’t keep up. I’m too drunk to continue this conversation.” “Admit it. I’ve outwitted you.” “It’s a cheap victory. Now, come here and let me hold you good and proper.” I arch an eyebrow then realize it’s lost on him since he can’t see me in the dark. I slide to the right, and cuddle into his side. “I thought you were going to hold me good and proper? Doesn’t that include touching me?” “You sure you can handle this? Once I snuggle with a girl, she usually falls in love.” I smile against him. “I think I’m immune, or I would have fallen for you ages ago.” “Ouch! That hurts, Hayley Girl. And here I thought you were just kidding yourself all of these years.” I think I might have been kidding myself, too. His breathing deepens and slows as he relaxes. “At minimum, you don’t even find me irresistible? C’mon, you can give me irresistible.” I giggle. “You’re definitely drunk and forward. I can give you that. And just because it’s you, I’ll toss in ‘irresistible’ because you probably won’t remember in the morning anyway.” “You’re probably right.” He kisses my eye, making me inwardly laugh because I think he was aiming for my temple. Then he says, “Good-night.” The calm of the room surrounds us, and I hear his breathing steady with sleep. Happy he’s here, I want to confess more than just shallow mentions about his looks, so quieter than a whisper, I say, “I counted the seconds we were apart.” Smiling in the dark, knowing that he’d call me obsessed if he’d heard, I kiss him on the cheek. “Sweet dreams, Nick.” When did sleep become so amazing? I feel terrific and rested. I feel warm and wonderful. Lifting my head up, I suddenly become very aware that I’m in bed with someone. My body tenses until I see Nick next to me, looking peaceful. I relax and admire him for a few seconds before I pull my hand away from its cozy spot between his thighs and hope he doesn’t notice. “Be careful down there. You trying to ruin me for other women?”

His eyes are still closed, but his smirk is solidly in place. “I didn’t mean to touch, well, touch you like that. I’m sorry,” I say, stumbling over my words. “I’m not.” He opens his eyes. “No harm done.” He lifts the sheet up. “Look.” It’s like a dare. I can’t stop myself from peeking, but I get offended when I do. “Wow, so you find me so utterly unattractive that I can’t even give you morning wood? Don’t you get those from dreams? I’m real, and I can’t turn you on? Now you’ve destroyed the last shreds of self-esteem I held onto after Alejandro. Thanks.” I start to get out of bed, feeling a full on pout coming, but he grabs my arm. “Let me just say that I’ve spent the last thirty minutes willing away all of my embarrassing reactions to being in bed with you. You don’t even want to know the horrid and ludicrous thoughts it took to not scare you with all my morning glory. And Hayley, don’t ever compare me to your ex.” His tone is straight, not teasing any more, and it makes me look at his face. He’s serious, so I say, “I wasn’t. I didn’t mean to insinuate—” “He hurt you. I won’t ever hurt you.” “You won’t. I know you won’t. I trust you.” He pulls me back to him and holds me. My ear is pressed against his chest as I listen to every strong heartbeat and repeat, “I trust you.” I do too, so much. We leave it there. The whispered words are the glue holding us together. Nick takes off after breakfast and his absence is felt immediately. The day is long and quiet with him gone. The night is starting to take over as my thoughts turn to Alejandro. He’s my past. That much is apparent to me now. He was never meant to be my future. He hurt my pride on New Year’s, but we wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway. Maybe that’s what makes this easier to deal with. Someone who truly loved me wouldn’t have cheated on me. Love shouldn’t weigh us down, it should lift us up. Nick lifts me up. Alejandro and I never made a good couple. We fought all the time, and I got complacent. We broke up once before, but this time, it’s different. This time I don’t care because I’m willing to acknowledge the truth now. I’ve loved Nick all along, but suppressed those feelings because we were never available at the same time. We are now for the first time since college, but should we risk our friendship? I curl up in bed and flick on the television, but I don’t make it to the first commercial break before I think of Nick again and wonder if he’s with Jennifer tonight. The thought upsets me and the phone is ringing before I decide it’s probably best if I don’t bother him. I hang up quickly. Right when I set the phone down, it rings in my hand. Nick. “Hey,” I answer, trying for nonchalance. “Hi, you called?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Sorry for bothering you.” I’m about to say good-bye when he says, “No bother. What’s up?” I don’t know what I should say here. I miss you and want to know if you’re missing me? Are you with Jennifer? Are you alone? “I was just thinking about you.” I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. “I’ve been thinking about you, too.” “You have?” “That surprises you?” “Kind of. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not even sure why I called, Nick.” “I’m glad you did. It’s been kind of awkward between us this week.” “Yeah,” I say. I don’t like where we are with things, either. We’re in limbo. “This morning—” “Let’s not rehash that. I’m suffering from an extreme case of embarrassment. I shouldn’t have come over last night. Sorry about that.” “I liked that you did, and I want you to come over again if you want.” A wall begins to form around my heart, preparing me for rejection. “I’ll be over in fifteen minutes.” And he is. When I open the door, he’s standing there in an old and wrinkled concert Tshirt and well-worn jeans and sneakers. The vibe between us is more organic, changing with every breath we take. He steps inside then closes the door behind him. No words are shared between us as he moves closer. I stay still, anticipation building. This is my chance. This is the time to tell him how I really feel. “Nick—” He cups my face gently and kisses me as his strong arms hold me in place. He must not know how much I want to be here or realize how much I want us to happen. When our kiss ends, we open our eyes. I’m out of breath and a bit stunned, but smiling. I’m in love with him, and my heart leaps realizing it’s finally time for us to be together. “If you’re getting back with Alejandro, tell me now, Hayley.” “What?” I ask, taken aback. “What are you talking about?” His words are confusing and oddly demanding. His warm hands disappear from my cheeks and he begins pacing in front of me. The swiftness of his words match the speed of his feet. “You need to realize that you don’t have to be with him. He doesn’t deserve you, and you shouldn’t settle. He never loved you like—” I’m furious he’s ruining our moment. “Like what? What are you talking about? I don’t understand why you’re even thinking about Alejandro. Why is he on your mind when you’re kissing me? I wasn’t thinking about Jennifer when I was kissing you!” “Because you already know deep down nothing is going to happen with her. But what you don’t seem to know is that you’re better than Alejandro.” He raises his

voice as anger seeps into his tone. “You should expect more than a guy who doesn’t even care to try to be the boyfriend you deserve. Why can’t you see that? He’s just the asshole who didn’t realize what he had until it was gone. Open your eyes, Hayley!” I know this is coming from a place of concern. I can hear it in his words. He’s so caught up in what I might do that he’s not seeing what I am doing, who I’m choosing. “I may have originally thought we’d get back togeth—” He takes me by the wrists, leans down until he’s eye-level with me, looks me straight in the eyes, and says, “You have other options.” His words cut through the argument and hit me in the heart. Options. “I know what I want. My heart knows—” “You don’t get it.” He sighs. His voice is soft now, the pain of us fighting, evident. “And I wonder if you ever will.” He shakes his head and walks to the door. With his back to me, hand on the knob, and head angled down, he says, “I’m going. I think we’ve said enough.” I let him go, needing time to process what just happened and why we’re fighting. “My heart knows you’re the one.” I finish saying what I intended to, the words needing to be said even if it is to a closed door. He’s seen me through countless, faceless relationships and he’s hated every last one of them. Just like I’ve never liked his girlfriends. Well, I kind of liked Suzanne, but that’s different. They never got serious. The cycle continues. Our relationship plays over in my head for hours until I rationalize all of my worries of admitting my feelings for him were based on what I feared the most—rejection. That’s what that fight was about. Those were his fears surfacing as well. He’s afraid I’ll pick Alejandro over him. I need to tell him everything. I’ll put myself out there to wipe his fears away. That’s what he needs, and I realize now that’s what he wanted.

CHAPTER 7

“

His voice is tired, but I can tell he wasn’t sleeping. H ello?” “Can I come over?”

I hear him take a short and staggered breath. “Yes.” Driving to his apartment takes no time, which is convenient now that I’ve decided to throw caution to the wind and risk everything to confess my love to my best friend of the last seven years. The door opens and he smiles. It’s not huge, but it is reflective of the late hour and our current situation. “Hi,” he says then clears his throat to get the grogginess out. “You said I have other options.” Now he’s the one confused as I confess. I move closer, keeping my focus on his face, unsure of his reaction. “But I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong. I don’t have other options.” He gulps as he closes his eyes tightly then reopens them. They’re watery, so I decide to lay it all out there. I’ll expose my heart and my feelings for him because he deserves it. He’s worth the potential rejection. I step forward, fist his shirt in my hands, and pull him closer. I’m relieved he doesn’t fight me. He doesn’t fight this draw between us. “There is no other option for me. There never has been.” He raises his eyebrows and smirks. “Yeah?” I nod. My heart is filled with love and my cheeks heat from the excitement of wanting to share it with him. I just hope beyond hope that he understands what I’m getting at. Nick grabs me by the hips and smooshes me to him. “No other option, huh?” “You’re the only and the best.” “Best friends?” “The best of everything.” I take a deep breath. Here goes. “I don’t want to be just your best friend any more. I want more. I want to be your girlfriend and one day, I want to be more. I also don’t want to say the wrong thing here, so I’m going to shut up now.” “You’re more than a girlfriend could ever be to me. You’re my world, and it’s the only world I want to live in.”

My heart thumps faster as he takes my hands. His Adam’s apple bounces from the two gulps he takes while moving closer. “I want to kiss you now. I want to kiss you—” “Good and proper?” He chuckles. “Yes, absolutely. Good and proper like you deserve.” He wraps his arms around me. “I love you, Hayley. I’ve been in love with you for what feels like forever.” Yes, it does feel like forever, because I love him a million times over. I blurt it out, not able to contain my excitement any longer. “I love you, too. I’ve always loved you so much.” “You’ve always been the prettiest girl I’ve ever known. I think you’re the sexiest, too.” “I like your honesty.” “I like your everything,” he replies. I tug him even closer as his lips almost touch mine. “Kiss me.” He does, and it makes my whole body tingle. The emotions of the moment overwhelm me. “When did you start blushing?” “It’s new, like us. The way you look at me makes me blush.” “I’ll never look at you any differently. You’re the most beautiful woman to me. You always have been.” I hear the sincerity in his tone when he says that. The playful banter we have, the teasing we do, I don’t hear that at all. He’s genuine and true, vulnerable to what the future holds for us, just like I am. I want to ask him so many questions, but it’s three in the morning and I’m coming down from the adrenaline rush of earlier. “Let’s go to bed,” I whisper. “You work fast. Did I ever tell you I like fast girls?” “You’re right.” I laugh as he kisses the top of my head. “Seven years might be moving a little too fast. Maybe we should slow it down a bit.” Pressing his lips against my ear, he whispers, “Never. I’m never going to take it slow with you.” I turn and kiss him again, loving the feel of his lips against mine. “I’m counting on that.” He picks me up, making me squeal, and carries me into the room where he gently places me on the end of the bed. “I want to do this, Hayley. I don’t want to build up to it. I want to cannonball right into the deep end of this relationship with you. I’m in love with you. I have been since you walked into freshman orientation in that white sundress.” “You remember what I was wearing?” “I’ll never forget.” “You always did know exactly what to say to make me feel special.” “They’re not just words. I need you to feel them like I do.” He sits down next to me and rests his hand on my thigh.

I kiss him on the cheek, letting my lips linger on his skin. “I want so much more with you, too.” I kiss him again then move down to kiss him on the corner of his mouth. He weaves his fingers into my hair as he holds me there. He closes his eyes, enjoying this as much as I am. “Mmmm.” When I stand up, he falls sideways onto the bed. “Don’t leave me,” he says with his face against the blanket. “I’m right here.” I situate myself at the top of the bed where I lean against the headboard. He’s happy as he settles in next to me, but I see him watching my every move. “Come closer. I want to hold you,” he whispers. I move closer and so does he. We meet in the middle, something we’ve always been good at. Words aren’t needed. I close my eyes and move forward until our mouths meet again. His lips are soft, feeling, and loving. Everything I knew they always would be. But the kiss ends too soon. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says as his rough breath hits my skin as he moves himself lower down my body. No lies, no walls, no barriers or obstacles standing in our way. “I’ve wanted you, too. God Nick, I’m on fire right now.” Desire burns on the inside, flaming the fire I feel for him. With that confession revealed, he kisses over my chin and down the side of my neck. His hands are all over, tempting, taunting. He squeezes my breasts then slides his hand down over my hips and lower where he drags my shirt up. “I want this off.” I lift up and he pulls it off me. My hands are on the buttons of his jeans, and I open them in quick succession. “I want these off.” A deep chuckle vibrates from his chest, and he unzips my jeans. Slowing down, he ever so carefully pulls my jeans down my hips and takes them off me. Only my bra and panties cover me except for his gaze taking me in, and his fingers, light to the touch, as he strokes my thigh. He’s seen me in my bra and panties many times before, but this time is different. We both know it as the air between us flairs with passion. His shirt comes off, then his jeans before he hovers over me, keeping our bodies apart. I run my finger under the waistband of his black boxer briefs, appreciating every sit-up and push-up he’s done to mold his body into the art it is. I’m the opposite. I’m lean, but soft with curves. Slowly, so slowly, his hand runs over my shoulder and down my arm. “Lift up,” he says, and I do. He slips his hand under my back and pops the clasp on my bra open. After dragging the straps down, he drops the bra over the edge of the bed then takes hold of the sides of my panties. He slides them down my legs and resumes his position above me. “You’re so damn sexy, Hayley. This might not be slow.” I squeeze my thighs together, feeling the way my body is reacting to him and his seductive words. Indulging in the feel of his muscles and strength, I encourage him.

“Come down here.” His arousal is prominent. Stroking over his large bulge twice, he says, “I can’t believe you’re real right now.” “I’m here and I’m real and sometimes I get lonely.” “You’ll never be lonely again.” He strips his briefs down, exposing himself to me. I’ve never seen him fully naked before, and he’s a sight to behold—all hard lines and muscular dips with that sexy V that leads the eyes straight to his large erection. His erection. I sigh, unable to stop myself from staring. I want to touch him, taste him, and feel him deep inside of me. I wrap my hand around him. Nick remains steady as he watches me grip and flex my hold on him. He closes his eyes and relaxes on top of me. His knees on either side of my hips trap me as he takes hold of my wrist and places it above my head. He uses his tongue to explore my collarbone and his breath against my wet skin makes it goose bump. He releases my hand and glides his across my stomach to my most private place. He’s no longer tentative, but wanting and demanding. His fingers slip down farther causing my back to arch up and my eyes to close. I moan as he rubs between my legs. His mouth covers my breast and his tongue sweeps over my nipple as I hold onto his shoulders. I say, “I want you inside of me.” I know he can hear the plea in my tone. Sliding my hands down his rib cage and lower to his hips, I reach around and dip my hand into the muscular indention on the sides of his buttocks. I squeeze his ass while pressing him harder against my center for friction. “I need you,” I whisper, followed by a whimper when his fingers slip inside of me for the first time. That’s what this is. It’s a first time, erasing our pasts and starting our future. I lift up, needing his lips on mine, but he moves lower and drags his tongue between my breasts and over my belly button where he swirls it around. He slides to the right to gently bite my hipbone, which is punctuated with a playful laugh from me. “Baby, your body is incredible,” he says, the words are deep and meaningful, full of lust. I want to say something, but my words would be nothing but fillers in the moment we’re sharing. So, I don’t speak and let my breathing, my body’s restlessness, and racing heart speak for me instead. He leaves my stomach and kisses his way even lower. His eyes are locked on mine as his mouth reaches my lower lips. His tongue dips between them as his fingers move further down. I feel drunk, and I haven’t had any alcohol tonight. I’m drunk on him and how he’s making me feel. His fingers push in as his tongue begins to work a rhythm of torturous pleasure, making me beg for more. My thoughts are blurred into sweet oblivion as my body frenzies under his attention. The sound of my bliss can be

heard as he stays down there until I’m quaking in ecstasy beneath him. I call out the name that will be the only one to ever escape my lips again in the throes of passion. “Nick!” When I open my eyes, he’s above me. He looks delighted and has an irresistible smile. “That was amazing,” he says. “I fantasized about watching you come. You’re even sexier than I imagined.” “Kiss me,” I reply, wanting to feel his weight on top of me again. He complies, and the tip of his erection waits at my entrance while he makes small adjustments until we’re comfortable. After a long kiss full of meaning, he looks me in the eyes. I give the minutest of nods, and he pushes in, watching my every reaction as I watch his. My eyes begin to close, but he says, “I want to see your eyes.” His voice is deep and husky with yearning. I focus on him and take a deep breath while both of us acclimate as our bodies meld together. “I love you.” I say needing to reveal this passion, the sensation of finally feeling him inside of me, engulfing me whole. “I’ve loved you forever, and I always will.” He kisses me again, starting a slow gyrate with his hips—in and out, up and down, push and pull. I spread my legs farther apart, wanting him deeper and deeper. He fills me, my body, my mind, and my soul with his presence and his love. His fervent kisses cover my neck as my nails scrape lightly across his back, not intending to leave marks, but enough to express the ardor I’m feeling for him. My hips meet his, thrust for thrust. We let go of ourselves and move on instinct until we’re both erratic. We continue in this sexual tug-of-war until I lose myself once again just as his hands still on my shoulders. With three final thrusts, he reaches his own peak. He drops down on top of me, and I wrap my arms around him, caressing him to me. After placing small kisses behind my ear, he whispers through jagged breath, “The only option.” “The only. Always.” He kisses me slowly, giving me all of his love. “Always.”

CHAPTER 8

he next morning, I wake up to the smell of pancakes, coffee, and something T else, something fresh. There’s a bouquet of purple pansies lying on the bed next to

me. The flowers are straight from his garden, and I smile because I know they were always meant for me. Just like Nick. I hop out of bed and dash into the kitchen, not caring about morning breath or lack of clothes. I just want to hug him, kiss him, and convince him to return to bed with me so I can show him how much I love him all over again. I throw my arms around his waist and startle him as he cooks. While I rest my cheek on his back, he covers my arm with one hand and holds the spatula in his other. Glancing over his shoulder, he smiles and raises his eyebrows. “Good morning, baby.” “This is the best morning ever.” He tosses the spatula onto the counter and turns to face me; my bare chest is against his bare chest. He slides his arms around my waist and his fingers apply a gentle, loving pressure on me, keeping me close. “Do you remember the first thing I ever said to you back in college?” I lean my neck back to see his face. “No. I just remember we were friends from day one.” “We were sitting next to each other in the auditorium. I don’t think I ever told you that I paid some guy ten bucks for the seat next to you.” I giggle, but I’m too anxious to say anything because I want to hear more. “I whispered in your ear like this.” He leans down. “You’re hot. You want to go out tonight?” I burst out laughing because I was expecting to hear something sweet and sentimental, not a bad pickup line. I’d forgotten all about that. He’s laughing and I’m sure it’s over the embarrassment of his youthful arrogance. “After all of these years, I’ve realized that was where I went wrong. Even back then I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, and it was very intimidating.” “Are you still intimidated?” “Yep, but I’m older, and I know better than to use awful pickup lines on you

now.” I stare into his eyes, holding onto his shoulders to ground me to earth as my heart soars. He says, “I also know that you drink hot chocolate when you can’t sleep and eat peanut butter M & M’s when you’re stressed. And when you’re worried about someone you love, you wear that gold necklace with the little bluebird on it that you got when you were seven.” I lean my forehead against his chest, and he holds me tighter. “Why are you talking about the past?” I’m starting to choke on my words, a poor attempt to keep myself from crying. “Because I also know that you would have never married any of your exes. Not because you’re scared to commit, but deep down you’ve always known we were meant to be together just like I knew that first day. I’m finally where I’ve always wanted to be, and instead of paying ten bucks, I’ve paid seven years to be next to the hot girl. I have one question, and it’s not a marriage proposal, though I’ve thought about that a few times this morning already.” I laugh and he says, “You’re hot. You want to go out tonight?” I want to be with him, but I don’t want to go out. “No, I want to stay in, preferably for the rest of the weekend. Oh, and no marriage proposal?” “Not yet.” I’m not disappointed. “I can live with ‘not yet.’ ” He cups my face and kisses me sweetly. Leaning back to look me in the eyes, he says, “Hayley Harper, I’m madly in love with you, and I want you to know that I also count the seconds we’re apart. You should prepare yourself now, because one day, I will propose to you and make you my wife.” I love that romantic notion. “I’m going to hold you to that.” “Promise?” “I promise.” I lift up, he leans down, and we meet in the middle, sealing that promise with a kiss.

The End.

Part Four

ALL I WANT - A TRYST WITH A TWIST

INTRODUCTION

rom New York Times Bestselling Author, S.L. Scott, comes this contemporary F holiday romance. Christina can’t stop fantasizing about the guy who works down at the Christmas tree lot. Lawson spends a lot of time at the local coffee shop, not for the coffee, but for the view of the pretty barista who works there. Christmas holds more than presents for these two as they unwrap a fantasy making their tryst with a twist a reality. This sexy short story will captivate your imagination while capturing the holiday spirit. ©2012 S.L. Scott

CHAPTER 1

L

awson’s back hurt and his face had three new scratches—one above his left eyebrow that stung, and two other smaller ones on the right side of his jaw. He had just finished debating with a customer—politely, of course—who insisted that an eight-foot Christmas tree could fit into the back of her small hatchback. After measuring the inside of the vehicle to prove that it could only fit a six-footer without damage to the top of the tree, she still insisted they try to fit the larger tree. The next ten minutes were spent maneuvering the tree at an angle inside the car while still trying to protect the pristine point from being damaged. The owner of Winter Wonderland, his boss, walked up and collected the money for the tree from the customer just as Lawson hopped out of the car. After the business-side was handled, Lawson waved his arm in front of him, giving the car owner the honor of shutting the back. He knew it wouldn’t shut and gave one last warning. “I really think we should trade this out for a shorter tree. We’ve got some beautiful six-foot Firs in the back corner.” She shook her head defiantly, feeling smug in her insistence. Just as she slammed the hatchback closed, they all heard a snap. “Oh no!” she exclaimed. Pressed against the window was a broken tree top. From behind the cash register, his boss shouted, “Sorry. No refunds. Lawson, it’s your break time.” Lawson stepped closer then looked back over his shoulder. As soon as he saw his boss leave the area, he said, “If you’d like, I’ll reshape the top of that tree for you. It will look like it was always meant to be six feet.” “Really?” “Yeah, sure. It’s the holidays, after all.” He spent twelve minutes of his lunch break helping the customer out—a customer who drove away from the Christmas tree lot with a smile on her face. She had tipped Lawson five dollars, and he knew exactly how he’d spend it. After tossing his work gloves on the shelf next to the register stand, he rubbed the fresh wound above his eyebrow again, and told his co-worker, “I’m taking off. I’ll be back in a bit.” He hoped he still had enough time to grab a coffee from his favorite coffee shop. There was a chain coffee place closer to the tree lot, but he liked the one two

blocks farther down best. He didn’t like it for its coffee, though theirs was quite good. He liked the staff there and found them friendly. But a petite brunette barista was his favorite, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. As Lawson started for the coffee shop, his buddy on the lot began teasing him. “Going for another cup of Joe? How many times have you gone over there this week? Four?” “Maybe… maybe five.” Lawson turned, and began walking backwards so he could jab back. “You still stalking that bartender down at O’Sullivan’s?” “Changing the subject is a sure sign that you have it bad.” “Have what bad?” His co-worker belly-laughed, leaning his elbows on the counter. “That’s either the best damn coffee in town she’s serving over there, or you’re a goner.” “I was a goner the first time I ever laid eyes on her, my friend.” The playful taunts continued, and Lawson should’ve been paying better attention, but with his back to the world, he ran right into someone. He turned quickly with his hands out, losing his balance and struggling on the slick ice. Hearing a scream from behind him, he reached out to help, but ended up toppling them both over. After falling right on top of the person, he soon realized there was a woman beneath him. Though it was freezing outside, both of their faces heated as they stared straight into each other’s eyes. He instantly recognized the green-eyed girl as the barista from the coffee shop, and her eyes went wide as she lay beneath him. He hoped she couldn’t feel his excitement to see her and how he considered their current compromising position quite the turn-on. Scurrying to get up, he slipped on the icy ground again, landing next to her. They both laughed, nervously, and tried again. This time, he paid special attention to his footing and stood, planting his feet down firmly before offering to help the pretty girl up. Apologies abounded as she staggered to her feet. She looked down and he wondered if she was hiding her pinking cheeks. “You’re him,” she said softly. “Him?” Looking up, she glanced towards the manmade forest to their right. “From the tree lot… from here.” “Yeah, I guess that’s me.” They stood together, facing each other, still holding hands, neither knowing if it was for stability on the slippery ground or because they just wanted to be holding the others hand. An awkward moment later, they released their grip, not because they wanted to, but because society dictated that as the proper thing to do. She blushed, and he looked down at his feet with more awkward apologies following. “I’m sorry for knocking you over. I should’ve been watching where I was going.” He paused then said, “But I’m not sorry for running into you at the same time. I was heading over to the coffee place—”

“Oh, I’m keeping you. Sorry about that. I’ll let you go, so you can get your coffee.” “No, it’s okay. I was heading over to see you anyway.” “You were?” She didn’t wait for him to answer and took advantage of his attention. “I’m Christina.” His eyes stayed fixed on her bright and gleaming eyes. Her soft smile revealed she was happy to see him, too, so he smiled and stuck his hand out. “I’m Lawson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” This time, they allowed the discomfort of politeness to wash over them, and they held each other’s hand tightly and selfishly, just because they wanted to. The wind blew and strands of her light brown hair floated over her face, hiding her smile from him. Without thinking, he took hold of her knit hat and straightened it then very gently pushed the fluttering hair off of her cheeks. She remained perfectly still as his hands caressed her face, watching him. He coughed, breaking the moment. “I’m heading home for lunch. Would you like to join me?” he asked, hoping she’d say yes, though he knew it was a risk being this forward. “I have a salad with my name on it waiting at my apartment.” With a devilish smile playing across her full lips, she added, “Maybe we can eat together. Do you want to come over? I can make you a sandwich.” “Okay,” he said, feeling on top of the world that his dream girl had just invited him over. There was something about this girl that felt so right, and he wanted to be wherever she was going. But the effects of having his crush in such close proximity were starting to engulf him, so he shifted his stance, hoping she wouldn’t notice his growing affections. He nodded his head to the side. “You ready?” “Yes.” On that acceptance, they walked the remaining block chatting about the weather. They approached a somewhat dilapidated five-story walk-up, and in sync, pointed and said, “Here we are. This is me.” She jerked to look at him. “I live here.” He chuckled. “So do I.” With a smile gracing her face, she said, “Well, what a coincidence.” “Quite the coincidence, indeed.” Through a shared laugh, they walked inside and stood at the landing of the stairs. Lawson took the lead this time. “How come I’ve never seen you before?” “Maybe you just never noticed me.” “Oh, I would have noticed you all right.” She shrugged. “I’ve been here all along.” He looked at her sweet expression and watched her sigh as if her beauty escaped the world’s notice. “I’m well aware of you now.” “And so you are.” She started up one stair, but turned back. “Maybe we work different hours. Most days, I’m at work by six a.m. and home by four or five.

Apartment 3B is right up here.” “I get to work around noon and work until ten. Yeah, it must be the different schedules.” They climbed the rest of the stairs to the apartment and went inside. Lawson liked the hominess of the small place, but also noticed the room lacking something very important. “No Christmas tree?” Christina tossed her keys down on the console by the door then slid her coat down her arms. “No, unfortunately. I don’t have a lot of spare money this year, and my family can’t afford to help out.” She hung her coat on a hook on the back of the door then walked into the kitchenette. “You’re always at the lot looking at the trees though?” He hoped his confession that he had seen her there on countless occasions wouldn’t turn her off. He shed his own coat and hung it on the empty hook next to hers. With coffee mugs in hand, she stopped what she was doing, slowly turned around, and asked, “So, you’ve seen me?” “I’ve, uh, noticed you at Wonderland a few times,” he said, knowing he was busted, but trying to play it off. She set the mugs on the counter, walked over, and, stopped right in front of him. “Just a few times?” He could feel the heat emanating from her closeness and wanted more. She was like the sun on a cold winter’s day. He took a step closer, needing more of that warmth, suddenly needing more of her, the woman that was so unaware of her beauty and what it did to him. He gulped. “You’re really beautiful.” Taking a chance, he stole one more step between them, closing the gap. Finally, taking her by the hands, hands that were still chilly from the walk home, he leaned into her. With her eyes closed, she waited, lips slightly parted. He knew she thought he was going to kiss her and could tell that she really wanted him to. Instead, he whispered, “You’re incredibly sexy, too.”

CHAPTER 2

ll of the fantasies she had of him were about to be realized, so she took a deep A breath, and molded her body against his as the warmth of his breath covered her

neck. That combined with his voice and smell, shot straight to the center of her existence. She turned and found his mouth, taking him, forthright. As they showed just how attracted they were to each other, Lawson’s thumb grazed across a ring on her left finger; a gold band alerting him to her marital status. She held her breath, waiting for his reaction. “You’re married?” he asked, his tone revealing his shock. Not wanting to hide the truth, she nodded. “I should’ve told you.” “Why? W-why did you invite me here?” he stammered, confused. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first time I ever saw you. I shouldn’t, but I do. He’s controlling and unreasonable.” Losing all sense of self, she spewed any reason she could think of to help convince him to stay and make love to her. “Possessive and …” She needed him like no other and couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving after having already tasted him. “I shouldn’t be here—” “I know you want me as much as I want you,” She beckoned him, fisting his shirt and pulling him even closer. “Don’t think about the consequences. Just think about the here and now.” She laid a kiss on his chin, her lips staying put. “I shouldn’t be doing this…” After a too long and very uncomfortable pause, he took a deep breath, grabbed her by the waist, seeming to throw caution to the wind, and said, “Ah, fuck it!” She wrapped her hands around his neck as if holding him in place; neither of them wasting any more time. Their lips united as if made for the other. The rhythm of their tongues circled and swirled becoming needier as they worked each other into a frenzied sexual state. Christina’s body slid in a small gyration against his erection, and she knew she had gotten to him. He was all hers now. Without losing contact with her mouth, he walked her backwards to the nearest hard surface, a column that divided the kitchen from the living room, and pinned her securely against it as he pressed

himself firmly against her. She moaned into his mouth, and that seemed to be his complete undoing. There was no possibility of them stopping now. His hands were firm as he slid them under her shirt and removed it, flinging it behind him. Christina was clawing at his shirt as well, desperate to press her bare skin against his. There was something about this earthbound sex god that made her drop her guard and her panties, instantly. And dropping her panties was exactly what she started doing. They struggled through their winter layers, cursing in-between kisses at the inconvenience of living in the cold Midwest. When they finally managed to remove all the offending apparel, Lawson said in an insinuating whisper, “I’ve had fantasies…” he started between heated kisses along her neck, “…of you serving me naked at the coffee shop.” His lips continued pressing wet goodness along her collarbone. With her neck tilted back and to the side, she opened her eyes. “Where I work?” she questioned, not really wanting to interrupt his attentions, but wanting to hear more about his fantasies. “Yes, I only go there because you’re there.” Lifting her head, she looked right into his hazel eyes. “I don’t remember serving you coffee and I would definitely remember you.” He bent down and scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. After depositing her on the bed, he positioned himself between her bent knees. “I’ll make sure you never forget me.” He didn’t restrain his desire, or hold back. Instead, he rubbed his hard length between her soft folds eliciting an unabashed moan shooting straight from her core. “I need you,” she said. “I want to feel you inside of me…now.” He attacked her mouth trying to swallow her breath and she let him. She let him consume all her worries because it felt good to feel this free from burden, to run on instinct and desire instead of daily stresses and caffeine. A bit breathless, she said, “Condoms…left...side...nightstand.” He understood her stilted command and lunged toward the nightstand. She watched as he felt wildly around the drawer as if his salvation depended on it. When he finally found the foil package, they both smiled. Kneeling between her legs, he rolled the condom down his large erection then bent down over her. He kissed her twice before lowering his middle to hers. She took a deep breath in anticipation and a bit out of nervousness as he pressed down on top of her. “Are you sure?” he asked. She nodded, too caught up in the blissfulness to verbalize her answer. He positioned himself and slid inside, his own breath catching and his eyes shutting. “Beautiful,” he mumbled. When his pelvis met hers, he dropped his head onto her shoulder, allowing her the moment to adjust to him, his heavy pants signaling he needed the time, too. Without warning, he pulled back and slowly

pushed forward again. Christina’s nails gently scratched his shoulder blades, and she moved to further both the feeling for herself and for him. The resounding groan in his chest made her even more wet, and the need for him to go faster, harder, and deeper greater. She tilted her hips when he pulled back and met him full force when he thrust forward. Their rhythm became erratic and pushed them closer to the ecstasy they both desperately craved. Moving his hand to her most sensitive bud, his fingertips worked her. It didn’t take long and only two or three intense circular swirls with his thumb before she finally fell from the ledge, letting herself freefall into sexual oblivion. She tightened and squeezed around him causing him to plunge, joining her in rapture. Afterwards, they didn’t move for minutes, neither wanting to rush back into reality. They continued laying there, holding each other while their bodies touched as much as possible. An annoying alarm sounded from the living room. After a sigh, he said, “That’s me. Wish I didn’t have to go, but I have to be back at work in ten minutes.” Christina smiled, relaxed from their activities, and still feeling confident. “Well, now you know where to find me. I hope you won’t be a stranger.” Lawson didn’t scramble from the bed. He was hesitant as he sat up. She could see the battle brewing in his eyes as he looked at her sprawled across the queensized bed. “You can stay,” she said, already well aware he wouldn’t or more sadly accurate, couldn’t, but wanting him to know how she felt. “I’d like you to.” “I can’t afford to lose my job, but looking at you here, your beauty, how sexy you are, and how good you feel.” He ran his hand over her stomach and upwards. His thumb slid across her bottom lip and stopped when her tongue dipped out to touch him. “You make me want to stay and do very bad things to you.” “Bad or good?” “Bad, but they’ll feel so good.” “Stay.” He chuckled. “I can’t.” He rolled to his side and got out of bed, walking into the living room where they had discarded their clothes. When he returned to the bedroom, he set her clothes neatly at the base of the bed and began to get dressed. Resting her arms behind her head, Christina admired his body as he pulled his jeans up his legs and felt a pang of disappointment when he fastened the belt. He was too sexy for his own good, she thought, appreciating his muscular physique, and definitely too sexy for her good. Their time was coming to an end too soon for her liking. “Don’t you have to return to work, too?” he asked, staring at the siren lounging in bed. Images of spending her day with him in bed, laughing, making love, and sleeping crossed her mind. They were images that made her think she should consider skipping work the rest of the day, convincing him to stay, and spending it with him in bed instead. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she said, “I have

time. I have an hour break.” Once completely dressed again, he crawled over her sheet-covered body. Lifting the sheet up, he kissed each of her breasts then kissed the swollen lips he’d already fallen in love with. Running her fingers through his brown hair, she went lower and ran the tip of her index finger lightly over the fresh scratch above his eyebrow. “Does this hurt?” “No.” “Take care of yourself.” “The Christmas tree business is very dangerous,” he replied sarcastically. “Your face is too handsome to be scarred by an over-priced pine tree.” He chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Lifting her head up, she brought her lips to the wound and kissed it. His eyes were closed, as if he was savoring the feel of her lips on his skin. With a sigh, he stood up. “Get the decorations ready because I’m going to bring you a tree, beautiful.” Her lids were heavy and her voice was raspy with exhaustion. “Only if you help me decorate it, and we do this again.” “What about your husband?” “He leaves me alone all the time and a woman has needs.” Her tone was suggestive as if he wasn’t even a factor in the equation that was now Lawson and Christina. He arched an eyebrow, and replied, “You’ll be seeing me sooner than later… to help you out with those needs.” “I count on it, and look forward to it.” He left her naked and lying in her marital bed, happy and satisfied with no regrets. A few minutes later, Christina hopped in the shower and cleaned her body. As she lathered, she caught sight of her gold band and cleaned it, too. She smiled, feeling warm and loved as she turned the band around on her finger under the warm shower spray. With the weather taking a turn for the worse, the coffee bar was packed with customers the rest of the day. She finished her workday at a quarter after eight, calling it a day after a ten hour shift. Although her feet were throbbing, and she had just gotten her third steam burn today from the frothing spigot while making an extra-large soy milk mocha latte double foam, she didn’t mind the extra hours because she knew she’d be returning to an empty apartment. She clocked out and grabbed her coat. Walking out into the cool December air, she soothed her newest burn by rubbing gently over the mark near her thumb. But, the cold won out, and she slipped on her gloves. Since there was no rush to get home, she could take her time on her walk home and maybe ogle a certain tree salesman for awhile. Her husband worked ungodly hours during the holidays. They needed the extra money for the next semester of university, so they sacrificed their time together temporarily.

When she approached the tree lot, she slowed her pace to make sure Lawson saw her. Their eyes connected and she sent him a small wave and a smile. He was busy talking to a family of six who couldn’t decide between a flocked Fir or a Blue Pine, but he couldn’t help the smile that covered his face, and waved back. She didn’t linger tonight and went home, knowing that’s all he could give her at the time. When she entered her apartment, she clicked on the lamp nearest the couch, and unwound her scarf from around her neck. Tossing her purse and coat down on the arm of the couch, she started to undress and get more comfortable. In hopes of having a tree delivered especially for her, she went to the hall closet and pulled the boxes of decorations from the very back and set them in front of the TV. Wanting to remember the feel of Lawson and his hands on her body from earlier that afternoon, she lay down on the couch, pulled a blanket over her, and grabbed the remote. After turning on the twenty-four hour Christmas music station, she closed her eyes, and let the vivid memories of his touch cover her. At ten-thirty, she heard a light knock on her front door, waking her up. She had fallen asleep bundled up on the couch. The knock was soft, but insistent, and she scampered from the warmth of the couch, opening the door wide. “Hi.” She stood in her panties and tank top with her hand on her hip, tilting her head and questioning Lawson. “You’re back sooner than I expected.” “I hope you don’t mind, beautiful. But I saw this tree and wanted to give it to you,” he said, presenting the sad, little, sparse-needled Fir to her. Her heart swooned at the sweet gesture. “You remembered.” “How could I ever forget? You say the same thing every year, bring me the tree that no one else wants, and we’ll give it a good home.” Christina wrapped her arms around her husband’s neck, and hummed. “Happy anniversary, honey.” He kissed her with all the love they have shared over the last five years. “Happy anniversary, my beautiful wife.” As he dragged the tree into their tiny living room, he noticed she had pulled their two boxes of ornaments out of storage in preparation of their Christmas Eve ritual. Christina turned the music up a little louder and brought her husband a cup of spiked eggnog. As they decorated the tree together, he teased her about something she had said earlier that day. “Controlling and unreasonable, huh?” He smirked and cocked his eyebrow up. Christina returned the same smirk, a smirk she had picked up from her husband over the years then shrugged. “Don’t forget possessive.” Wrapping her tightly in his arms, he chuckled. “Oh, I could never forget possessive, my love.” He kissed her three times on the neck as they looked at their decorating handiwork. They sat down when they finished decorating their tree and smiled because even a sad, sparse-needled Fir had managed to brighten the whole apartment up with Christmas cheer. He pulled a piece of mistletoe from his pocket and held it over their heads. “Tell

me what you want for Christmas.” She never kept him waiting, and wouldn’t tonight either. “All I want is you. Only you.” When she leaned forward, he cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her sweet and gentle. Sitting in front of the little tree covered in a hundred colored lights, he waggled his eyebrows. “When I returned to work today, I was thinking that this time next year, I’ll have my law degree. It will be fun to figure out what game we’ll play for our next anniversary?” All the ideas that entered her head were naughty, and so very nice. “The rugged lumberjack fantasy has been fun these last few years, but maybe next time, I can be your client and you can show me how you’ll handle my case.” His lips maneuvered down her neck as his hands slid under her tank top. “I love our role-playing trysts.” “I love you,” she said, straddling his lap. “Merry Christmas, baby.” With his lips pressed against hers, he whispered, “Merry Christmas, baby.”

THE END.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR For more information on New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author, S. L. Scott:

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Living in the capital of Texas with her family, Scott loves traveling and avocados, beaches, and cooking with her kids. She's obsessed with epic romances and loves a good plot twist. Her favorite color is blue, but she likens it more toward the sky than the emotion. Her home is filled with the welcoming symbol of the pineapple and finds surfing a challenge though she likes to think she's a pro. @slscottauthor S.L. Scott www.slscottauthor.com

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