That thought alone should scare the hell out of me.
But it doesn’t.
It thrills me.
I glance over at her, eyes glued to whatever’s lighting up her phone. “What are you looking at? What’s got you so focused?”
“Working on a little project for my boss’s app,” she says casually, not offering another detail. Which only makes me more curious.
“How’d you get into tech?”
I leave out the part where I’ve practically stalked her socials and LinkedIn like a man possessed. The woman’s got degrees and certifications in things I can’t even pronounce. Tech ninja. Paralegal. Hell, probably could moonlight as an assassin if she wanted to. The combination almost makes me laugh.
“Growing up, I wasn’t drawn to the same toys other girls were. I got more satisfaction out of taking things apart—cracking them open, rebuilding them just to understand what made them work. That curiosity stuck. It pushed me toward tech, toward the idea that systems could be reimagined, repurposed. Used for bigger things like causes and cures.”
“Wow,” I say, and it isn’t filler or politeness. It lands honest. Earned.
“Why are you so content with the way you live when it comes to women?”
I guess it’s her turn to be curious.
I frown. “What do you mean?”
She shrugs, thinking it through out loud. “I don’t know. You move like this sensual superhero sent to fill women up like a human charging station, and you don’t seem bothered if feelings get involved.” A pause. “You have to understand—coming from someone obsessed with how things work—you’ve got me completely confused.”
I smile, because honestly? I confuse myself more often than I’d like to admit.
“I’m not some jilted gigolo,” I say. “Despite what my mother and Drake would tell you. I’m simple in that I know myself. I know what I like. I don’t deviate from that. I’m complex in that I feel everything deeply—but I don’t hold people hostage to myfeelings or my needs.” I glance at her, reaching over and placing my hand on her thigh—the connection sparking and settling. “And I’m passionate in that I believe every woman who has the privilege to share space with me should leave having gained something unforgettable.”
I can hear her eyebrow lift. “Every woman who has theprivilegeto share space with you?”
I smile, but there’s no ego in it. “I protect my peace and my energy harder than you’d believe. I don’t let anyone close who doesn’t carry the same intention. And I can usually tell pretty quickly when a woman won’t…fit.”
“And me?” she asks softly. “Do I fit?”
I shake my head. “Not even a little.”
Her mouth curves. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s the worst part,” I admit. “Because knowing someone doesn’t fit is usually what keeps me detached and able to walk away from a beautiful woman without losing myself.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “First of all, I saidbeautiful. Second—keep up, Lil Mama.”
“Sorry,” she says lightly. “You were saying? About me being beautiful.”
I meet her gaze and decide to be honest. One week. I’ll share my full truth with her.
“You’re someone I never saw coming,” I say. “You frustrate me. You fuel me. You unsettle things I thought were locked down.” A beat. “And maybe I’ve got more tech nerd in me than I realized, because Maxine fucking Palmer—I want to take it apart. Understand it. Interrogate why you do this to me.”
I don’t say the rest.
That a week won’t be enough.
But I don’t believe in holding people hostage to my need. I won’t make her responsible for what I want or what I feel. So I give her the space to leave. I’ll release her when the time comes.
It’s the only way this works.
