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“I’m sorry, Thalia,” he answers, and this time he sounds sincere. “But I really wanted a chance at a real date with you,” he confesses. “I haven’t gotten you out of my mind since we met in Zanzibar.”

Jesus. This is veering into dangerous territory.

“And after I saw you again in that meeting, I tried to find a way to talk to you,” he adds.

Ugh. Seriously?

I hadn’t thought about him even once. And yet, looking at him now, I can see he’s the kind of man I usually go for. But he’s not Ethan, and that’s precisely why he doesn’t stir anything in me. No reaction. No pull. No desire.

And that’s a problem.

Because whatever this with Ethan is, it isn’t real, and if I shut myself off because of him, I won’t meet anyone I could actually build a relationship with.

I agreed to a strictly sexual relationship with him and no one else, but that doesn’t mean I can’t talk to other men or go on dates, right?

Of course it doesn’t.

It’s not like Ethan won’t notice other women when he goes out. And when he finds someone who sparks his interest, he’ll end our agreement without hesitation.

A soft smile forms on my lips as I give a small shake of my head.

“What you did wasn’t okay, John,” I say, my tone light but firm. “But since we’re already here, we might as well make the most of it, right?”

His face lights up at my words, and for the first time, I find myself smiling genuinely.

He really does seem like a good person—open, easy to talk to. And from what I remember, he’s the kind of man you can have a real conversation with. Not dull in the slightest.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he replies, winking at me.

A few hours later, I’m in the car, driving home.

The date with John had turned out surprisingly pleasant once I allowed myself to relax. We talked about the unexpected coincidence of seeing each other again at that meeting, about how we first met, and about his sister’s event. He promised to arrange a proper meeting soon to go over all the necessary details.

The evening slipped by faster than I anticipated—light, easy, genuinely enjoyable. Before we parted, he asked for my number so we could communicate more freely, without him having to resort to tricks to reach me.

I’m only a few minutes from home when I start switching between radio stations, searching for a song to fill the last stretch of the drive.

“…as already exclusively reported here on our radio station, Ethan Hardy is a single man.”

The words hit me instantly, my heart jolting hard against my ribs.

What kind of news is this for the radio? And how do they know? I don’t remember Ethan or Antonia making any public statement or releasing anything to the press.

Curiosity burning in my chest, I pull over and reach into my bag for my phone. I had left it on silent ever since the meeting with John, and when I walked out, I hadn’t checked it—I didn’t want to risk seeing another message from my mother.

The moment I find it and see the screen, I freeze, my stomach dropping at the sight of several missed calls from Sierra, two from Theo, and even one from Zayn.

Messages.

Ethan: Where are you?

Ethan: Thalia.

My pulse spikes.

What are these messages? They were sent two hours ago.

Jesus. Why didn’t I check my phone?