Page 11

Something in his expression stills, but he doesn't interrupt.

I turn my glass slowly between my palms. "And I'm not looking for another one."

"I don't want promises. I don't want expectations."

His gaze sharpens.

"And I don't think I want names."

For a moment, he says nothing.

"No names?" he asks.

"Not tonight." I hold his eyes. "I want this to be simple."

"Simple," he repeats, like the word means something different coming from me.

"One night where I don't have to be anyone's girlfriend," I say. "One night where I can want something without it becoming another thing I have to hold together."

Then he nods once.

"Okay."

That's it.

No questions. No pressure. No attempt to convince me that I should want more.

The tightness in my chest loosens.

"You're not offended?" I ask.

"I'm not interested in taking something you don't want to give."

My breath catches.

For once, I don't feel like someone is using me.

Mark wanted my body as payment for waiting.

This man hasn't asked for anything I haven't freely offered.

The difference is everything.

Maybe, for one night, the direction can be the other way around. I can want a man for his hands, his mouth, the way he looks at me. And ask for nothing beyond the pleasure we both choose.

The thought doesn't make me feel guilty.

It makes me feel free.

He rises from the stool and buttons his jacket.

My eyes follow his hands.

I imagine those fingers undoing something other than a button and immediately need another sip of my drink.

"Come upstairs with me," he says.

My pulse skips.