“I’m acting as her PA, and I sometimes model for her online catalogue. It’s only temporary until I get a big break, but she needs all the help she can get to launch her business and I like having something to offer.”
He scrutinizes me in silence, his hands linked behind his head. “What’s this business called?”
“House of Sass.” I grin, stroking a finger along his chest, down the line of hair that leads to my happy place.
“Your idea?” he asks, brows raised.
“No.” I laugh. I prop up to my elbow. “But I like it.”
He reaches out, stroking his thumb along my bare arm. My body tingles. God, I’ve never had sex this mind-blowing in my life. I’ve never craved a guy the way I crave this one.
“I’m getting us coffee before round two.” I grin sheepishly and rise from the bed, stealing the sheets away from him and leaving him with only the duvet. “How long are you staying in New York?”
He lifts his brows.
“So I can make time to see you again.” I smirk. “Get a little more out of you.”
He shifts forward in bed, his expression darkening.
“I can’t offer you more than this.”
I stare. “I know,” I whisper. Do I?
“Do you really, Sara?” He watches me.
“Yes. I mean, you never called. But I know you wanted to.” I wink. “You just showed me in numerous ways how very much you wanted a redo of our night at 1103.” I smirk again and turn back for the coffee.
“I’m in the middle of a divorce.”
I freeze, my fingers clutching the sheet so tight my knuckles turn white. My eyes fly back to his dark ones, and though his are narrowed, mine are wide and round. My vision blurs. I can barely breathe.
I look at my Dirty Workaholic, his mussed-up hair. Mouth reddened by me. Hell, he’s got claw marks of mine on his biceps and shoulders. And he’s… taken?
“What? You’re married?”
I drop the sheets, my body going lax with fear and horror. Because am I this girl? Am I the girl who sleeps with other women’s men? Oh my God!
He kicks the duvet off and starts to stand. “Only technically. Not in any way that counts. Not for a year and a ha—”
“You’re fucking married?” I repeat, storming forward.
I make out to punch him somehow, but he catches my wrist and halts me, his voice a warning. “Sara.”
I turn away, so hurt I feel an instant sting in my eyes.
He squeezes my wrist, gently, tugging my face back to his. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, rough, and apologetic as he turns me around. His eyes glimmer with regret and frustration. His forehead hovers over mine as he tugs me closer. “Actually, I’m not sorry,” he says, searching my eyes as if hoping to find that I am not sorry, too. “I’m not sorry about that night at the Four Seasons. And I’m not sorry about tonight, either.” He takes my chin and rubs my lower lip with his thumb when it starts trembling with panic.
I remember how elusive Ian was when we met. How he didn’t “do this,” he’d said. I admire that he didn’t make any false promises. I still like him. But I’m scared.
“What am I doing here?” I ask, suddenly pushing at his chest. Mad at him. At myself. At this whole situation.
“Fuck,” he swears behind me as I start getting dressed.
“I can’t do this.” I shake my head. “I don’t have torrid affairs with married men.”
“I’m not married—not in any way that counts.”
“Wow. I’m such a stupid… ugh. Now it all makes sense. Why I never, why you never…” I look at him, and he looks distraught. His jaw clenched tight, his eyes gleaming in frustration, hands fisted at his sides.
I don’t know why, but I just stare at him. Ian. He has a name now. And why does that just make it worse? He’s the guy I’ve dreamed of for forever, it feels. I wanted to know more of him, everything about him. But I’m not sure what the hell has happened that ended up with me here, drinking in my last glimpse of him, because my parents are going through a divorce, and I don’t want to be the woman on the sidelines.
“I’m sorry I never reached out. I can’t offer you more. I didn’t want to give you false expectations.”
My eyes sting a little, but I blink back the tears. “I had no expectations. Or actually, I had plenty, but you fulfilled all of them exceedingly well.” I smile and finish dressing, hating how emotional I’m getting. This isn’t me.
“Goodbye, Ian,” I whisper, fetching my purse.
“Sara.”
I quickly grab my bag and head out, praying that he doesn’t come after me. He didn’t after the first time we had sex, so I’m sure this time it will be no different.
I’m probably just his way of getting over another woman.
I’m trembling on the ride back to Nolita, feeling him on my skin. On my taste buds. In my sex. In my stupid heart. No matter how much of a cynic busy city life makes a girl, I guess there’s always that tiny little romantic inside of us that survives.
Well, survived. Past tense. Courtesy of Ian Ford, who just confirmed what everyone knows. If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.
Hot. Hardworking. Interested. And available?
Oh yeah, I was dreaming for sure.
* * *
I find Bryn awake when I arrive at our Nolita apartment, and I don’t even know what to do with myself, I’m so confused and restless.
“What happened? Did the whole city get lost last night?” Bryn rants, pacing the living room when I shut the door behind me. She looks at me expectantly, and I can read the question in her eyes clearly.
She wants to know if I found my one-night-stand guy. I jump into the shortest explanation I can, because I can’t bear to talk about this out loud.
“We got a hotel room. We fucked, okay? End of story. He’s gone again.”
I can’t bear to give her the details, but Ian is definitely gone from my life now. Unless I’m a masochist, which I suppose is a possibility. But nope. Not today. I’m fixing my life, remember?
“Sara!” Bryn says in excitement as I stomp determinedly to my room. She sounds hyped about me having found him. “You have his name now: Ian Ford.”
“Yes. And I couldn’t resist him, but it’s done with.”
Trying my best to push him out of my mind, I stop at the threshold of my room and regard Bryn more closely. She’s dressed for clubbing, or at least a fancy dinner, and yet there are circles under her eyes as if she either didn’t go or spent all night there. “What happened to you?” A frown pinches my forehead, and something about this feels odd. Didn’t she have a date last night?
“I got… I got stood up.” Her smile fades and she almost chokes on the words. “God, I can’t believe he stood me up.” Bryn is distraught, more than I’ve ever seen her affected by anything before. “Something is wrong. I can feel it.” She whispers her concern and clutches her stomach.
“You’re just paranoid. He’ll call,” I softly assure her. I know that a guy doesn’t pursue a girl the way Christos has pursued Bryn just to drop off the face of the earth in a second.
Or do they?
Fuck all of this. Why does love and romance need to be so damn complicated? I walk into my room and slide back in bed only to punch my pillow into submission, the only thing that apparently goes my way.
He scrutinizes me in silence, his hands linked behind his head. “What’s this business called?”
“House of Sass.” I grin, stroking a finger along his chest, down the line of hair that leads to my happy place.
“Your idea?” he asks, brows raised.
“No.” I laugh. I prop up to my elbow. “But I like it.”
He reaches out, stroking his thumb along my bare arm. My body tingles. God, I’ve never had sex this mind-blowing in my life. I’ve never craved a guy the way I crave this one.
“I’m getting us coffee before round two.” I grin sheepishly and rise from the bed, stealing the sheets away from him and leaving him with only the duvet. “How long are you staying in New York?”
He lifts his brows.
“So I can make time to see you again.” I smirk. “Get a little more out of you.”
He shifts forward in bed, his expression darkening.
“I can’t offer you more than this.”
I stare. “I know,” I whisper. Do I?
“Do you really, Sara?” He watches me.
“Yes. I mean, you never called. But I know you wanted to.” I wink. “You just showed me in numerous ways how very much you wanted a redo of our night at 1103.” I smirk again and turn back for the coffee.
“I’m in the middle of a divorce.”
I freeze, my fingers clutching the sheet so tight my knuckles turn white. My eyes fly back to his dark ones, and though his are narrowed, mine are wide and round. My vision blurs. I can barely breathe.
I look at my Dirty Workaholic, his mussed-up hair. Mouth reddened by me. Hell, he’s got claw marks of mine on his biceps and shoulders. And he’s… taken?
“What? You’re married?”
I drop the sheets, my body going lax with fear and horror. Because am I this girl? Am I the girl who sleeps with other women’s men? Oh my God!
He kicks the duvet off and starts to stand. “Only technically. Not in any way that counts. Not for a year and a ha—”
“You’re fucking married?” I repeat, storming forward.
I make out to punch him somehow, but he catches my wrist and halts me, his voice a warning. “Sara.”
I turn away, so hurt I feel an instant sting in my eyes.
He squeezes my wrist, gently, tugging my face back to his. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low, rough, and apologetic as he turns me around. His eyes glimmer with regret and frustration. His forehead hovers over mine as he tugs me closer. “Actually, I’m not sorry,” he says, searching my eyes as if hoping to find that I am not sorry, too. “I’m not sorry about that night at the Four Seasons. And I’m not sorry about tonight, either.” He takes my chin and rubs my lower lip with his thumb when it starts trembling with panic.
I remember how elusive Ian was when we met. How he didn’t “do this,” he’d said. I admire that he didn’t make any false promises. I still like him. But I’m scared.
“What am I doing here?” I ask, suddenly pushing at his chest. Mad at him. At myself. At this whole situation.
“Fuck,” he swears behind me as I start getting dressed.
“I can’t do this.” I shake my head. “I don’t have torrid affairs with married men.”
“I’m not married—not in any way that counts.”
“Wow. I’m such a stupid… ugh. Now it all makes sense. Why I never, why you never…” I look at him, and he looks distraught. His jaw clenched tight, his eyes gleaming in frustration, hands fisted at his sides.
I don’t know why, but I just stare at him. Ian. He has a name now. And why does that just make it worse? He’s the guy I’ve dreamed of for forever, it feels. I wanted to know more of him, everything about him. But I’m not sure what the hell has happened that ended up with me here, drinking in my last glimpse of him, because my parents are going through a divorce, and I don’t want to be the woman on the sidelines.
“I’m sorry I never reached out. I can’t offer you more. I didn’t want to give you false expectations.”
My eyes sting a little, but I blink back the tears. “I had no expectations. Or actually, I had plenty, but you fulfilled all of them exceedingly well.” I smile and finish dressing, hating how emotional I’m getting. This isn’t me.
“Goodbye, Ian,” I whisper, fetching my purse.
“Sara.”
I quickly grab my bag and head out, praying that he doesn’t come after me. He didn’t after the first time we had sex, so I’m sure this time it will be no different.
I’m probably just his way of getting over another woman.
I’m trembling on the ride back to Nolita, feeling him on my skin. On my taste buds. In my sex. In my stupid heart. No matter how much of a cynic busy city life makes a girl, I guess there’s always that tiny little romantic inside of us that survives.
Well, survived. Past tense. Courtesy of Ian Ford, who just confirmed what everyone knows. If it’s too good to be true, it probably is.
Hot. Hardworking. Interested. And available?
Oh yeah, I was dreaming for sure.
* * *
I find Bryn awake when I arrive at our Nolita apartment, and I don’t even know what to do with myself, I’m so confused and restless.
“What happened? Did the whole city get lost last night?” Bryn rants, pacing the living room when I shut the door behind me. She looks at me expectantly, and I can read the question in her eyes clearly.
She wants to know if I found my one-night-stand guy. I jump into the shortest explanation I can, because I can’t bear to talk about this out loud.
“We got a hotel room. We fucked, okay? End of story. He’s gone again.”
I can’t bear to give her the details, but Ian is definitely gone from my life now. Unless I’m a masochist, which I suppose is a possibility. But nope. Not today. I’m fixing my life, remember?
“Sara!” Bryn says in excitement as I stomp determinedly to my room. She sounds hyped about me having found him. “You have his name now: Ian Ford.”
“Yes. And I couldn’t resist him, but it’s done with.”
Trying my best to push him out of my mind, I stop at the threshold of my room and regard Bryn more closely. She’s dressed for clubbing, or at least a fancy dinner, and yet there are circles under her eyes as if she either didn’t go or spent all night there. “What happened to you?” A frown pinches my forehead, and something about this feels odd. Didn’t she have a date last night?
“I got… I got stood up.” Her smile fades and she almost chokes on the words. “God, I can’t believe he stood me up.” Bryn is distraught, more than I’ve ever seen her affected by anything before. “Something is wrong. I can feel it.” She whispers her concern and clutches her stomach.
“You’re just paranoid. He’ll call,” I softly assure her. I know that a guy doesn’t pursue a girl the way Christos has pursued Bryn just to drop off the face of the earth in a second.
Or do they?
Fuck all of this. Why does love and romance need to be so damn complicated? I walk into my room and slide back in bed only to punch my pillow into submission, the only thing that apparently goes my way.
