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My brother and a guy I’ve barely seen twice in the last decade. That’s the entirety of my social circle. Pathetic. Maybe Shilo was right, I really am boring.

“Oh.” Darius nods, then his eyes widen, lips parting. “Oh. Wait, you’re involved with an employee? Are you serious, Ry?”

“Technically, we got involved before he became an employee. It just kind of… happened.”

“Well, this is some shit.” He chuckles, raising a hand to get the waitress’s attention. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”

“You and me, both.”

We order another round of drinks, and while he flirts with the waitress, I stare at the table, turning over my next words.

“Truth is, I could use your help. Women have never been my forte, and I have no idea how to date one.”

He grins, winking at the waitress as she walks away. “And you think I do?”

“You’re handsome and charming. Women flock to you.”

“Holy shit! Playboy Callahan needs a wingman?“ He doubles over in laughter again as I scowl.

“Fuck off. Forget it.”

Sobering quickly, he claps a hand on my shoulder with a genuine smile. “Of course, I’ll help you, man. Remember when my momma kicked me out for throwing that party, and you let me crash in your dorm?”

“I didn’t let you do anything. You broke in and made yourself at home.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t kick me out, so it counts.”

Rolling my eyes, I stifle a smile and take another shot. “Whatever. So how would you go about something like this?”

He leans back, lifting the napkin under his drink. “Depends. How long you in town for?”

“A week.”

“I can work with that.” He smirks, holding up the napkin, which has a number and the waitress’s name scrawled across it. “Come by my place tomorrow. We’ll shoot some hoops, and I’ll scare you straight. Literally.”

I snort, shaking my head. Of course.

Called it.

Unfortunately, I never made it to Darius’s place the next day—or the rest of the week, for that matter. On top of everything I already had to deal with out here, Dad threw even more shit my way. If I wasn’t with our client making sure everything ran smoothly, I was glued to my laptop or phone, stuck on back-to-back calls. By the time I collapsed into my hotel bed every night, I was too exhausted to even think about meeting up again. With the holidays upon us, everyone’s scrambling to cram everything in. Declan’s schedule has been just as hectic, so I know it’s not Shilo piling on extra tasks just to fuck with me.

Speaking of which…

I haven’t heard from him all week. Not that I’ve texted, either. As much as I fucking hate to admit it, I miss my little doll. I miss seeing his face every morning at work, hearing that cute squeak he makes when he’s surprised, and the way he acts out when he’s craving attention.

Now that I’ve had several days of space to reflect, I’m beyond appalled with myself for the way I acted after we fucked. It wasn’t right. He didn’t deserve that, and I intend to make it up to him the second I get back to town. Aftercare isn’t exactly in my wheelhouse, but maybe we could have dinner together post-sex or something, just… a way to make him feel less used.

I fucking hate that I probably made him feel that way. Again.

When the week finally ends, I’m irritable and downright antsy. Chomping at the bit to get home.

It’s raining when my flight touches down in Seattle, the skyline painted with orange hues of autumn leaves. As much as I enjoyed Florida’s warmth, there’s something about Washington’s seasons that call to me. The crisp, damp air carries a memory of my mother’s smile and the warmth of her hands back in Ireland, before Dec and I were separated. Before everything turned to shit.

It feels like a home I lost long ago.

Riding the elevator up to my condo, I pull out my phone and fire off a quick text to Declan, letting him know I’m back. My fingers hover for a moment before I send one to Shilo as well.

I need to see him. Feel him. Apologize.