“You did not.”
“Yep, I did.”
“With airport lounge Candy Man?”
“In first class, yes.”
“Oh my God!” She grabs both my arms now, staring at me as though I’ve confessed to armed robbery. “I have known you for years,” she says. “You once returned a library book before it was due because keeping it too long made you anxious.”
“That’s unrelated.”
“And now you’re telling me you had anonymous plane sex with a man called Ace who seduced you with chocolate.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds impulsive.”
She just stares at me.
I shrug. “Fine. It was, but he was irresistible.”
Clio presses a hand to her chest. “I’m obsessed with this version of you.”
“I’m not sure she’s stable.”
Clio’s grin turns wicked. “Was he good?”
Heat rushes up my neck so fast it nearly knocks me sideways. I give her a flat look. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Don’t hide the juicy details from me.”
I glance away, which is apparently answer enough.
Clio lets out the most delighted noise I’ve ever heard in public. “Oh, he was magnificent.”
I cover my face with one hand. “Please lower your voice.”
“I physically cannot lower my voice.”
I’m laughing now, helplessly, and I hate that she’s enjoying this so much. “He’s gone,” I say, quieter. “It was just the flight.”
She sobers a little at that, enough to really look at me. “But you’re still thinking about him?”
Yeah. Obviously. I think about the way he stared at me obsessively. Like he saw right through the armor and what was underneath. About that rough, velvety voice in the bathroom, the way he took his time and made me feel wanted without asking for anything after.
Which probably makes him more dangerous than the men who do.
Clio’s expression softens. “Oh, honey, come here.” I let her tug me toward the register, still warm from embarrassment, caramel, and memory as she buys some candy.
Outside, the air is soft, thick with salt, traffic, and dinner somewhere nearby. Inside my chest, Ace is still there. Annoyingly. Vividly. One bag of chocolates and a filthy smile, and apparently I’m ruined.
Clio glances at me as we walk. “You think he’s your scent match?”
I glance back at the shop one last time, convinced he might be my scent match, and that’s the part that hurts the most. “He lives on Oahu, and I got off that plane while he was asleep because I panicked. I’ve searched ‘Ace on Oahu’ and found absolutely nothing useful. He doesn’t have my new number, and I don’t have his. Maybe that’s just how this goes.” I shrug and try to ignore the ache in my chest.
“Or,” Clio says.
“No.”
“I’m just saying?—”
