Page 88 of My Real Love Affair

“I know he’s trying,” I said quietly. “But trying isn’t the same as trusting. And I don’t know if I can trust him again.”

Cleo squeezed my arm. “That’s fair. You don’t have to trust him. You don’t have to give him another chance. You just have to do what’s right for you.”

We turned a corner, heading toward the subway station. And stopped dead.

Because there, parked at the curb, was a very familiar red sports car. I knew that car. I had driven that car. I watched like things were happening in slow motion.

The brake lights went off. The door opened.

Oh God no. Please no.

I couldn’t see him. If I saw him, I was going to be sucked back into his orbit.

He stepped out of the car looking like every fantasy I had tried to suppress for the past three weeks. He wore dark jeans and a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal those forearms Cleo had just been rhapsodizing about. His hair was slightly messy. From the wind or intentional, I couldn’t tell. Sunglasses hid his eyes, but I could feel his gaze on us.

On me.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Cleo muttered. “Can this man take a hint?”

“How did he even know we’d be here?”

“Your Instagram story this morning? The one where you were like ‘so excited for this podcast interview’?” Cleo’s tone was dry. “Yeah, that might’ve been a clue.”

Austin straightened as we approached, pulling off his sunglasses. And damn, those dark eyes that had haunted me for weeks locked onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.

Oh, I had it so bad for the man.

CHAPTER 27

AUSTIN

Ilooked up and spotted them walking toward the curb, and my breath caught in my throat. Melody.

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since I’d seen her in person, and somehow I’d forgotten just how beautiful she was. Or maybe I had forced myself to forget because remembering hurt too much. But now, seeing her again, all those carefully constructed defenses crumbled.

She wore a beautiful dress that highlighted her hourglass figure. Her boobs were cradled in fabric, but they looked absolutely delectable. Her hair was different. Shorter, maybe? Or styled differently. It fell in these soft waves around her face. I wanted to run my fingers through it. Wanted to see if it was as soft as I remembered. I just knew she would smell like oranges. Like walking in a Florida orange grove on a sunny day.

And her lips. Dammit, her lips were glossy and full and I could still remember exactly how they tasted.

I forced myself to breathe. To act normal. I did not want to look like a desperate man who’d been counting the days since he’d last seen her. I slapped on my most dashing smile—the one that usually worked on everyone—and walked toward her.

“You look incredible,” I said, because I couldn’tnotsay it. “That color is perfect on you.”

Her eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t expected the compliment. Like maybe she’d thought I’d forgotten how to see her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, and there was something in her voice. Wariness. Suspicion.

Anger.

“I have a podcast interview,” I said, gesturing vaguely toward the building. “Stylin’ with Stacy.”

Melody’s expression shifted. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed. She looked almost disappointed?

“Of course,” Cleo muttered beside her. “Of course she’d stagger you two like that. How predictable.”

I frowned, not quite following. “Stagger us?”

“You didn’t know Melody was here?” Cleo’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.