Page 10

Pushing off the bed, I slip into the walk-in closet and hang up the dress I was looking at before padding into the living room and absentmindedly gazing across the room. I need something to do—something to distract me from the fact that each tick of the clock feels like an eternity as I wait for his reply. My phone dings in my hand and I’m unlocking it before I can even tell myself what a bad idea this is.

Chance:

Just fine?

Chance:

Anything I can do to make it better?

I picture him storming across the room and pinning me up against the wall as he slips his inked hand between my thighs before I remind myself to get a grip. Shaking my head, I stare down at the screen, unable to come up with an answer that wouldn’t require a triple-X warning. God, this man gets to me.

Me:

Why exactly are you texting me?

As I blow out a breath, I turn into the kitchen and set my phone on the counter before grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Twisting the cap off, I lean against the island and survey the place I’ve been living in for the past six years. It’s a two-bedroom penthouse just a block away from downtown Baton Rouge and a gift from my mother and husband number four for my college graduation. She also spent a small fortune decorating it to her exact tastes and I hate everything about it. From the lavish furniture no person straight out of college should be able to afford to the marble countertops and Brazilian walnut floors, it screams money. And not in a subtle way, but in the ostentatious way that makes people hate those who have a large bank account.

Truthfully, I envy Alison and the way she’s been able to completely renovate her own home to make it exactly how she wants it. My phone’s chime pulls me out of my thoughts and I sigh as I glance down.

Chance:

I wanted to talk to you.

Me:

That doesn’t sound like an emergency.

I shouldn’t be smiling right now. Or encouraging him by texting him back but I can’t seem to stop myself either. Another text lights up my phone.

Chance:

Seemed urgent to me.

Rolling my eyes, I swipe my phone off the counter and mosey over to the couch before sinking into it with a sigh. Of course, he thinks it’s urgent. I can imagine him saying it, too, like he has every right in the world to get to know me. And why would he think any differently? He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t understand the demons that make it difficult for me to even think of starting something with him. Then again, I am in the market for a new “friend” after ending things with Sam. But there’s something about him holding me back. The attraction between us was so strong that I would almost assume I imagined it except each time I think about him, I’ve got butterflies dancing around in my belly. My phone chimes again and my heart rate picks up as I open the message.

Chance:

Come on, Darlin’. Just talk to me.

I promise I don’t bite.

Chance:

Unless, of course, you’re into that kind of thing.

A giggle spills out of my mouth before I can stop it and I clamp my hand over my lips, trying my damnedest to not picture him sinking his teeth into my skin. A shiver races through me and I sigh. I stare down at the phone screen for a moment before tossing the phone next to me on the couch and crossing my arms over my chest to resist the urge to reply to his message. It’s insane. I recognize that it’s a terrible idea and yet, my fingers twitch to reach over and text him back. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve spent thirty minutes with the man, but I haven’t been able to get him out of my mind for the past two days. Has it only been that long? Why can’t I leave it alone? This is a terrible idea and it can only end badly but even knowing that, I’m still fighting to not pick up the phone and continue this playful flirtation he seems intent on pursuing.

The screen lights up with another text from him and I turn away from it, slowly releasing a breath. As I peek back over at it, I wonder what he said this time. Whatever it is, it’s sure to make my heart race just like anytime I think about him. It’s been so damn long since I’ve felt like this, but my resulting heartbreak is as real today as it was twelve years ago. In one swift moment, I was changed from a sweet, innocent girl who believed in things like love and forever before the world taught me how vicious it could be.

Needing a distraction, I grab the remote and turn on the TV, flicking through channels as I try to forget the things from my past. Every so often, I glance over to my phone, eyeing it like it’s a bomb about to go off before I huff and turn back to the TV. I’ve flipped through two hundred channels and I still have no idea what’s on. As I turn to the next channel, I resolve myself to just watch whatever is playing but as soon as the commercial ends and I recognize a scene from The Notebook, I turn it off and lay my head back on the couch.

My eyes drift closed and Chance’s face pops into my mind, smiling at me with that dimple popping out in his cheek. Warmth trickles over my skin as a smile spreads across my face. I can still feel his touch where he brushed his fingers over my neck and I suck in a breath as my flesh tingles at the memory. What is it about him that gets to me so much? I mean, sure, he’s gorgeous but it’s more than that because I’ve met gorgeous men before and never experienced this. Like he already owns a part of me.

No.

I shove off the couch and walk out to the kitchen, my hands shaking. I absolutely cannot go there—with him or anyone else. It’s been twelve years since I was stupid enough to let a man into my life and I won’t survive another heartbreak. Bracing my hands on the countertop, the calendar on the wall catches my eye and I suck in a breath. I should have just taken this whole week off and gone to Fiji or something. I could be lying on a beach, sipping a cocktail instead of obsessing about the one night I wish I could forget.

Rounding the island, I walk back over to the couch to grab my phone, contemplating if I should call one of my past hook-ups but I’m greeted by a text from Chance.

Chance:

I know you felt it, too.

Goddamn it.

He’s right and I hate it. Of course, I felt it. Was there anyone in a one-block radius that didn’t sense the electricity between us? I should just dismiss the text, call someone to scratch this itch, or go to bed but the pull is too strong. Even as I tell myself to ignore his message, my fingers are already tapping out a reply.

Me:

So, what if I did?

Sinking into the couch, I wonder if I just made an epic mistake and sold my soul to the devil.

Or if I even care anymore.