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“Seventeen!” she shouted into the otherwise empty salon, and I stopped myself from covering my ears. “That was a hundred years ago. Who cares anymore? And promise? What promise?”
“My brother made Saint promise he’d never touch me. Ever. Not even as adults.” When I said the words out loud, to someone other than myself, I realized how ridiculous they sounded.
“First of all,”—Cori held up a single finger—“that’s stupid. Second”—another finger—“everything makes so much more sense now.”
“Explain,” I demanded with just one word.
“I always knew that Saint was into you, but I never understood why he didn’t make a move. Why he tried so hard to pretend like he wasn’t. And now, I get it.”
“The promise,” I said as I tried to accept it.
“Davey would have killed him back then,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I get it. Big brothers are crazy people when it comes to their little sisters. They’re irrational and insane.”
“You can say that again.”
The sounds of a car beeping and doors slamming shut diverted my attention outside. Both of our clients had arrived at the same time… albeit early. I hadn’t even prepped yet, but that was my own fault, not theirs.
“Hey”—Cori reached into her pocket and pulled out the keys to the front door—“Saint’s a big boy. And if last night was even half as great as you’re making it out to be, he won’t be able to stay away from you for long. And he’ll lose Davey in the process if he has to.”
She sounded so damn sure of her assessment of my situation. I was far more uncertain as I pulled my phone from my back pocket and checked it again. Still nothing. No texts, no missed calls, and no messages waiting in my DMs.
“And don’t do that,” she added, pointing at my phone as she walked toward the door to let our guests inside.
“Do what?”
“Give him all the power,” she explained, and I put the phone back down. “By waiting for him to text you or call you, it mentally puts you in a position of weakness. You’re allowed to text him first. And you don’t need permission to do it. All waiting is going to do is make you feel bad. And make you obsess.”
The door swung open, and our two clients waltzed inside, shaking the freshly fallen snow off of their jackets as we all said, “Hello,” and, “Good morning,” at the same time.
Cori wandered back in my direction before whispering one final nugget of advice. “I know it sucks, waiting for the guy to reach out when all you want to do is talk to him and make sure you’re on the same page. Or at least heading in the same direction. We let them make the first move because we don’t want to come off as needy or clingy. But, Ivy, if a guy can’t handle a little communication after a night of insanely hot sex, then he doesn’t deserve you.”
“Amen to that!” one of the women shouted.
I was mortified that she’d overheard, but I knew better than to engage. Thankfully, it was Cori’s client and not mine, so I wouldn’t be subjected to her fifty questions during our session. My client was too busy, texting on her phone, to eavesdrop or even know what we were talking about.
Must be nice, I thought to myself as bitterness tore through me. I was competing with my client, who was most likely sending a text to her kid or a friend, for Pete’s sake!
If I was already behaving this irrationally after only a couple of hours, I was never going to survive. So, I grabbed my phone and sent Saint a text before I could talk myself out of it. Cori was right; I needed to take initiative and at least attempt some semblance of self-control.
Did Davey kill you, or are you still alive?
I held my breath and waited. He read it almost instantly, but there were no dancing dots or any indication that he planned on responding.
And when almost three hours passed with not even a single word from him on any platform, I started thinking that he might be avoiding me.
He was definitely ignoring me. It took two seconds to respond to a text message, and I’d learned that when a man wanted you, you knew how he felt.
What the hell did it mean if Saint stopped talking to me?
LOSING MY BEST FRIEND
SAINT
Istood there, bracing myself for the hit I’d convinced myself I deserved, but it never came. Like I’d said, I was going to give Davey the first punch before I started swinging back.
“Do it already,” I shouted, definitely creating a scene for those who were, unfortunately, still in the office.
“You want me to hit you?” he questioned loudly, his eyes blazing fire.
