I pause before I reply, "I've run into him a few times since then. He came to my office and then we ended up having a burger together last night."
"You went on a date with him after all?" She squeezes my shoulder through the thick denim shirt I'm wearing. "You neglected to mention that you actually did said yes to him at least once."
I swat her hand away in jest. "We talked about my design business. He has a friend who is going to look over my website and tell me what I need to do to make improvements to it."
"So it was a business dinner, not a pleasure dinner?"
"Exactly," I say firmly. "We talked about websites, my designs and then we said goodnight."
"You like him, Soph." She jerks her thumb at me. "You smile when you talk about him."
"I don't." I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. "I'm smiling because I'm talking to you."
"You're so full of it," she chides. "If you like him, give him a chance. What's the worst that can happen?"
"I'll feel like an idiot," I answer quickly. "Wait. No, I'll feel like a used idiot."
"Sex with a rock star in the literary world is not a bad thing. Besides, if he's still chasing you, maybe he's interested in more than that."
My gaze drifts to the stunning engagement ring on her left hand. Den was never a romantic before she met Tyler. That's all changed now that she's found her soul mate. She may want to believe that Nicholas sees me as more than a random fuck, but I know better. "I don't want to get hurt. I know how I am with men. If the sex is good, I'm going to be twirling in circles for weeks after when I stop hearing from him."
"You can't predict the future." She reaches for my hand. "If you like him, give him a chance, Soph. Maybe he'll surprise you."
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nicholas
My cock is a bastard.Normally, I'd never think that. It's served me well. It's also served the women I've fucked well. Very well, in fact.
I love sex. I crave it. I'm aching to have it.
The last time I did was five days before I met Sophia. I went to a club in midtown and picked up a woman who had no idea who the fuck I am. She liked my face she said and an hour later in the cramped bedroom of her tiny walk-up in Hell's Kitchen, she screamed that she loved my cock as I was barrelling into her from behind. Natasha was the name she gave me. Apparently, it was part of the fantasy for her.
I saw her mail piled up on a small table next to the apartment door when I went to leave after she'd fallen asleep. Every envelope was addressed to the same person. Sherry Sinclair.
She'd dropped her clutch, phone, and keys on the table when we first walked in. Her hands were too busy trying to unbuckle my belt for her to notice the symphony of chimes that were signaling missed messages.
As I stood next to the table, I ordered an Uber to take me home and my eyes dropped to her phone as another chime filled the air.
The message that flashed across the screen was simple.
How was he, Sherry?
I smiled as I quietly exited the apartment I'd never set foot in again. If she answered whoever sent the message, truthfully she'd tell them the fuck was mind blowing. It was for her. It was at best average for me.
Average. It's always been average except for the first two times I made love. That was a lifetime ago and nothing's compared to that since.
I adjust my erection as I slide the zipper of the black trousers I'm wearing up. It's media day for me today. Cheyenne booked me a sit down with the host of one of the lifestyle shows that shoots in New York. She's taking a few weeks off which means she's pre-taping segments that will air during the month whenAction's Causeis set to release.
After choosing a light blue sweater, I run some product through my hair. I glance down at my glasses on the bathroom counter but push them aside. I'm wearing contact lenses today, my preference most of the time, but too much time spent staring at the screen of my laptop tends to dictate that decision for me.
Not today though. I know how I want to look during the segment and I've nailed it. My hair is a deliberately styled mess, I haven't shaved in two days and the sweater matches my eye color. The majority of my fans are female. I give them what they want and that's the person I see reflected back in the mirror.
I'll turn on the charm for the interview, compliment the female host and by the time the segment does air, my book should be sitting pretty at the top of the charts.
"You're an incredible writer, Nicholas."Pamela, the host of the lifestyle show, touches my forearm with a little too much force. "Do you ever offer private readings? I bet if you did, the demand would be high."
Judging by the look in her eye, private readings is a euphemism for private fuck.
