How many other people—and creatures—had pressed their bodies against this grimy wall? When was the last time I washed my fucking hands? What if I’m not good enough?
“What if…someone sees us?” she asked, too self-aware for her own good.
“Don’t worry, nobody’ll come back here.” With his free hand, he undid his belt and unzipped his fly. “This is my spot.”
Of course.
This was as routine as tuning his guitar or cold beers with the boys on Fridays. This was routine for the Heartbreak Prince, a persona. And apparently, the man.
No, Brinton couldn’t do this.
Her body went slack and she pressed her hands against his chest.
Immediately, he dropped his and set her back on the ground.
Jamie put a good three feet between them as she readjusted her shorts. When he looked down at her this time, worry clouded his eyes.
“Is everything okay?” He was still catching his breath. “Did I do something wrong?”
“This isn’t something I do,” she said, practically wheezing. Brinton circled her hands around the darkened alley. She was a fool to think she was somehow special, that they were each inching out onto a precarious limb for one another.
“I’m not just another girl you folded in half in a dark alley.”
“Fold you in—slow down a second…”
“And you wouldn’t know that because we barely know each other.”
“But I want to know you—more than I can even say. I like you, Brinton,” he said, gently cupping her jaw again. “Is this about the article?”
Brinton angled her face away. Now that he’d said it, she couldn’t ignore it, as hard as she had tried all night.
It was one thing to be a number in his sisterhood of traveling groupies. That indignity lanced her heart.
It was worse that she was also putting her article at risk. Sleeping with a source was an ethical quagmire. While not illegal, it could slash the single thread of integrity holding her together, especially as a female journalist. As a Black woman fighting for opportunity.
What shewantedand what sheneededhad finally collided in spectacular fashion.
She didn’t know what to say. Yet, she had to say something. “We’re so wildly crossing a line, I can’t even comprehend it.”
He twisted that signet ring around his finger, then smoothed a few errant waves from his eyes. For the first time, they appeared dull.
“Okay.”
“So what do we do now?” she asked, perhaps more to herself than him.
“Try to behave ourselves, I guess?” He laughed humorlessly, eyes cast down to the sticky asphalt.
A moment later, his eyes found hers again.
“I don’t regret any of this, for what it’s worth,” he said.
She didn’t either. But she couldn’t tell him that, not when the wound was so fresh. “Thanks for the dance,” she said.
Jamie nodded and texted Michael. Neither Brinton nor Jamie spoke a word the entire drive home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Michael dropped Jamie off at home hours ago, but he was as wired as he’d been in that alley, his hands on Brinton and his heart aching for her light.
