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Anything with balls, I’m bad at. Which reminds me . . .
Note to self: research how to correctly play with a man’s balls so you have something new to show Graham tonight.
“Hey, G-man,” the woman purrs, eliminating any doubt that she’s exactly what she looks like—one of Graham’s women. I’ve only met a few of his former girlfriends, usually in passing at a reception or event, and they’ve all been stunning to the point where other women feel like trolls in comparison.
“Lucy.” Graham’s voice is clipped, brimming with irritation. I glance up at him, my eyes wide.
So this is the woman Graham said turned stalker on him after their breakup a few months ago.
Ouch.
I glance back at her, trying to hide my knowledge of her past misdeeds—who buys an ex-lover a plane ticket to Barbados or takes up running solely for the opportunity of bumping into him on his morning jog, for goodness’ sake? Running is abhorrent. But I school my expression, keeping my face neutral, since I don’t want her to feel embarrassed. I’d be deeply embarrassed if I knew an ex of mine had been talking about me with his new lover.
“Hey, I know this is kind of out of the blue.” Lucy’s eyes flit from Graham to me and back again with a nervous laugh. “And I’m sorry to, um, interrupt your morning. I just, I think I left my scarf at your place. You know, the black silk I always wear with this outfit?”
She motions down at her décolletage—which is impressive, borderline inappropriate if she’s on her way to the office, and could definitely benefit from a scarf tied at the neck to help conceal some of the extra boobage going on—but Graham’s eyes remain fixed firmly on her face.
“I don’t have anything of yours in my apartment, Lucy,” he grinds out through a tight jaw. “It’s all gone, and I would appreciate it if you would honor the boundaries we talked about.”
Her brows pinch. “I know you said I shouldn’t come over,” Lucy says, her voice creeping half an octave higher. “But I was just a couple blocks away and I thought—”
“Think again next time,” Graham says. “You should know by now I don’t say things I don’t mean. So I would appreciate it if you would take me at my word. Like when I texted you the other day, and asked you to stop contacting me. I meant it.”
Hurt flashes across Lucy’s features, her emotional pain so obvious, I can’t help but flinch in empathy. God, this poor woman. She’s a wreck. Like a very beautiful, well-put-together addict hunting for a fix she’s never going to be able to lay her hands on again, no matter how finely she dresses or how hard she tries.
The thought sweeps through my head followed by an eerily clear mental image of me standing where Lucy is now, clutching my suitcase and thanking Graham for a great seven days, when all I really want to do is cling to his leg and beg him to let me stay a little longer.
Maybe a lot longer.
My stomach churns at the thought. This is precisely what I promised myself I’d avoid. This is what I’ve been determined to keep at bay.
Lucy apologizes softly, her eyes shining with tears, and as she hurries toward the door, I realize how easy it would be to get hooked on Graham. Hooked just as hard. I already crave his touch, ache for his laughter, yearn to be wrapped up in his arms at the end of the night and wake there in the morning.
“Sorry about that,” Graham murmurs, lifting a hand to the man behind the lobby desk as we move toward the revolving doors. “She doesn’t seem to be getting the message that it’s over.”
I force a sympathetic smile. “Well, hopefully she will now. You were pretty firm.”
He grunts. “I have to be firm. I was pretty damn clear the other day too. We moved past the let-her-down-easy phase a long time ago.”
“I get it,” I say, though of course I don’t. I’ve never had that kind of relationship before, the kind that leaves you so desperate you’ll keep rolling over and showing your vulnerable underbelly, no matter how many times you’re kicked to the curb. I cringe at the thought, and the stark realization that I don’t want to experience that kind of devastation. I don’t want to become Lucy. “See you tonight?”
“Tonight.” Graham leans down to kiss the top of my head. “I’ll be home by six thirty. I’m going to skip the run today.”
“Same here. I’m too beat for biking. I’ll probably be back around six thirty as well. Thanks for letting me stay.”
“Letting you stay.” He chuckles as we emerge into the cool spring morning and he starts toward the town car parked at the corner. “You say that as if it’s some sacrifice on my part. You know I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He pauses, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder as his brow furrows. “Do you need a ride? We can swing by your office first. It’s no trouble at all.”
