Page 12 of One Last Thing Before You Go

“Yeah, that’s great.” Knox smiles. “Now there’s just the question of the apartment. D’you mind showing me where it is?” He takes a step closer, his scent filling my nostrils, weakening my knees. For a moment there, I sway. Jenn, the little traitor, stifles a giggle.

“Of course, Lottie will take you,” she tells him. “Meanwhile, I’ll just head out. Leave you two alone to… catch up. See you guys tomorrow.”

She winks in my direction behind Knox’s back while I restrain the urge to murder her.

I attempt to swallow the knot in my throat, and nod once. “Okay. Let me show you around, then.”

“You weren’t at the funeral,” I point out as we climb the stairs to the loft, the steps creaking under our weight.

“Couldn’t make it in time. I’d just made it to town from an assignment in South America when I met you at the bar.”

“Mmm,” is all I can manage as I try to keep my focus on taking the stairs one step at a time, and not on the delicious man behind me.

“This place is…”

“Old?” I finish his sentence, smiling.

He lets out a soft laugh. “Yes.”

“It just needs some TLC.” I shrug casually, keeping my eyes in front of me. “Be careful with the stairs; they’re super narrow. You definitely can’t have two people go side-by-side.”

He laughs, deeper this time. “I can’t say that I mind it right now, actually.”

I stop briefly to consider his words, looking over my shoulder at him only to catch his eyes on my ass. “Were you just⁠—?”

“No,” he says too quickly. That trickster grin is back, ice-blue eyes warming every inch of my body. I glare at him, hating the effect he has on me. Jesus, why does he have to be so… So… Hot.

God, Lottie. What the hell is wrong with you? He was just blatantly staring at your ass. What kind of feminist are you? You should be angry. You should be yelling at him. Telling him to respect your body.

Except… We had such a good time when he was disrespecting it in bed. Wink wink.

I groan, rubbing my eyes under my glasses.

“You seem… conflicted.” I hear the smugness in his voice, and I grow frustrated with the way his grin tugs at something beneath my ribs.

I look up at him, irritated. “Can we just focus?”

“Sure.” But I narrow my eyes at him, holding his gaze until his smile falls. “I promise to keep my eyes on the steps.”

Once we reach the landing, I stick my hand out palm up. “Keys.”

He places them in my hand, his fingers grazing my skin with the lightest of touches, and I hate myself for the small gasp that escapes my lips.

I turn my back on him, fingers shaking as I try to fit the key in the lock.

“Are we going to talk about it?” He asks, his deep voice close to my ear, sending shivers down my spine. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, warming mine.

“Talk about what?” I try for my most innocent voice, but the shakiness betrays me. I pray to god, to Taylor Swift—to anyone who might hear me—to help me open this goddamn door as quickly as possible. Anything to avoid having this conversation right now.

“You know what. The amazing night we had. How you snuck out without so much as a goodbye. No way to contact you the next morning.” His voice is low in my ear as I struggle with the lock of Walter’s door.

Jeez, this key. What the hell is wrong with it? Maybe if I⁠—

“Lottie.”

I groan. “Fine. Let’s talk about it in the cramped landing of your dead dad’s⁠—”

“Walter’s.”