Page 61 of Beg Me

“Bye.”

I’ve never ended a call so fast in my life.

“That’s never happened to me before,” he says, falling back into the cushions again.

I toss my phone on the chair by the window. “What’s that?”

“I’ve never had someone have a conversation with me but not to me.” He grins. “You’re a woman of many skills.”

“The likes of which you’ll never know because you’re too … nice.”

He sits up quickly, reaching for me. Unfortunately for him, I’m prepared. I step back, out of reach, before he can grab me.

“Stop it,” he says, his jaw twitching. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, me too.”

He runs his tongue across his bottom lip. “You’re the one who told my child that we were dating.”

“I said we were kind of dating,” I say, appreciating the way the front of my dress chose this moment to droop. The lacy edge of my bra emphasizes the curve of my breasts, and the fact is not lost on Jory. “But I came over here to tutor your child, and he’s gone, so I should probably go, too.”

“Fine. But I have one question before you go.”

“Let’s hear it.”

A smug grin plays on his lips. “Did you really show up here tonight with no panties?”

My blood floods with heat and it licks my veins as it flows through my body. Wetness coats my thighs as he undresses me with his eyes. The way he looks at me, like he wants to devour me, is my catnip.

“Maybe I never wear them,” I say, wearing a smug grin of my own.

“Maybe you did it to taunt me.”

“Maybe.” I shrug. “Maybe not.”

He folds his hands together between his knees, working them back and forth until the knuckles crack. His eyes never leave mine as he chooses his next move. Because the next move is his. What he decides to do makes all the difference.

“You said earlier that I’d be sorry today for turning you down last night,” he says, his voice low. “And you were wrong. I was sorry I did it as soon as you walked out.” He unfolds his body and stands, blowing out a breath as if he’s trying to slow himself down. “Just like you didn’t need me to save you from Jasper last night, you sure as hell didn’t need me making decisions for you either—regardless of my intentions. So, for that, I’m sorry, too.”

His words, and the sincere way he says them, make me feel wonderfully off-balance. It’s quite possibly the first apology that I’ve ever received from a man, and I believe he meant it. And it’s for sure the first time I’ve ever felt heard and understood, specifically without having to put a PowerPoint together to drive home why how I feel matters.

Wow.

I didn’t quite know what to expect when I arrived here tonight. I imagined there would be an apology, and I figured things would be fine before I left. What I didn’t anticipate, but should’ve, was for him to be so genuine, so honest, and so … right.

Jory Plath is a wonder, and being in his orbit makes it hard to breathe. But listening to his maturity, his care—it steals any breath I could manage to take. And the only place I want to be is wrapped up in his arms again … the first place in a very, very long time where I felt like if the world fell apart, it wouldn’t all fall on me.

“I think, in retrospect, that I was trying too hard to prove that I wasn’t like the guys you know,” he says. “I didn’t want you to think that I wanted anything from you, and I wanted you to know how much I respect you. How seriously I’m taking things that I know are important to you, like winning the tournament.”

My throat tightens at his sweet words and the honesty embedded in every one of them. I believe him. And for me to believe anything that comes out of a man’s mouth is wild in and of itself.

But if anything else is true besides knowing that Jory means what he says, it’s that Jory means what he says. And he’s not about to touch me if I don’t make it absolutely clear that I want him to.

It’s a damn good thing that I speak that language. And it’s also a damn good thing that I’m okay with having a fling with this man. He might be a unicorn among men, but he’s a temporary unicorn—a fake boyfriend who will pay off in more ways than one. And I’ll take that, thank you very much.

My patience, or stubbornness, maybe, has paid off.

“Here’s the thing,” I say, as my teeth catch my lower lip. His gaze falls to my mouth—right where I want it … for the time being. “I know that you respect me and that you’re taking the tournament seriously, and I appreciate that. But I’d really, really like for you to want other things from me, too.”