“We kissed last night.”
“I knew it!”
Like usual, you were right.
“He wants to keep seeing me—” Tyler yanked the phone from her ear as her sister shrieked on the other end. “Calm down,” she hissed. “I’m supposed to have breakfast with him this morning.”
“Yeah, that sounds awful.” A dog barked in the background and Dylan shouted, “Shut the hell up, Samson!”
“Aw, poor Samson.”
“Yeah? Want to trade dogs? Yours doesn’t bark, and mine won’t stop—hold on. Goddammit, Samson! Fucking shut up already!”
She smiled at Rory, now lying on her chest, his loving eyes looking up at her. “Not in a million.”
“So, what are you going to do?”
That was the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question. It was Grandma Mary’s favorite saying, but it didn’t seem like a lot of money in today’s economy.
Tyler closed her eyes and rubbed her left temple. “He’s been on the Most Eligible Bachelors list for twenty years. I must be a fucking masochist.”
“You’re being an idiot,” Dylan scolded her like Samson. “What if he hasn’t met the right person yet?”
“Look at all the women he’s dated.” She shuddered at the thought: a literal catwalk of models and actresses. There wasn’t one regular woman in the lot.
“Some people never find their person, Tyler.”
“I suppose. Okay, what am I going to do about Sebastien?”
“Fuck that guy.” Dylan didn’t mince words. “You’re always saying you want to quit, so pull the plug already.”
“I wish I could afford it.” Not that she was getting paid a king’s ransom at SDM, but her base salary covered her rent. “Oh, and Cary did something weird last night.”
“How weird?”
“He insisted on wearing the shirt he wore at soundcheck.”
“You’re making excuses.”
Dylan was right.
She stopped petting Rory for a second and he pawed at her hand. “I’m going to cancel.”
“Don’t be such a baby. Have breakfast with him. I’m dying to know what his house looks like.”
“Should I Stay or Should I Go” by the Clash played in her head.
Tyler hung up the phone and changed into her usual weekend attire: a Skull Skates hoodie and black leggings. It was the same thing she’d worn on their coffee date, and she hadn’t washed her hoodie since, kind of accidentally on purpose.
She pressed the sleeve to her nose and inhaled like it was contraband. That kiss? Yeah, it had rewired her brain. His tongue had taken a damn tour and left no corner unexplored. Regret might be on the horizon—but so was his bed. Only one way to know which came first.
An hour later, she clipped Rory’s leash to his harness and headed toward Yaletown. The skies were clear—a November miracle—so she stopped atthe bakery to grab the croissants she reserved for special occasions. Her father had always insisted she never arrive empty-handed. Manners were practically a religion in her family.
A friendly concierge with a thick Eastern European accent opened the door to his building.Am I making a terrible mistake?Would it be like dating Dave all over again? No. She was pretty sure he wouldn’t show up with a duffel bag and move in.
She knocked on his door at exactly nine-thirty.
“Welcome.” Cary kissed her on the cheek and she handed him the bakery bag. “Thanks,” he said. “You didn’t need to bring anything.” He glanced at the floor. “Except Rory. Hi, Rory! How’s my boy?”
