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I wave a hand and continue backing toward Chelsea, buttoning my jacket. “No, it’s fine. I want to walk. It’s not far, and I do my best brainstorming while walking.”
“Are you sure?” He narrows his eyes with a smile, looking so handsome, so tempting, that I almost reverse direction and hurry into the car beside him.
But in the end, I shake my head and wave. “I’m sure. Have a great day.”
I need to walk, to think about the work ahead and what to tackle on my agenda. The cool air usually helps clear my head. But by the time I reach the door to the space Love Cycle shares with several other up-and-coming designers, I’ve barely been able to think about sample shots or inventory. All I can think about is Graham, and how deep into the water I’ve waded with him already, so deep I can barely keep my head above the surface.
Needing advice I can trust, I whip out my phone from my purse. It’s early on the West Coast, but luckily the California branch of my family gets up insanely early. Comes with raising hops for a living.
Dylan answers on the second ring. “What’s up, Trouble?”
“I am in trouble. How did you know?” I murmur, stepping into the stairwell for privacy. “You got a second?”
“I’ve got as long as you need. You okay?”
My breath rushes out. “No, I’m not. I told you I was seeing someone, right? But that we absolutely had to keep it casual? Well, I think I suck at casual. So what now?”
“You give me this guy’s number, and I call him and tell him to treat you right or I’ll fly out there and break his face.”
I roll my eyes, but the alpha male thing is deeply ingrained in all the Hunter boys, and Dylan is no exception. “I don’t want his face broken. I like his face. I just need tips. Tricks. How do I take an emotional step back while still enjoying…you know?”
Dylan clears his throat. “We’re talking about ‘you know’ now? Can we go back to when you used to call me for tips on getting to the next level in your video game?”
“Sadly, no.” I lean back against the cool concrete wall. “I’m grown up. No going back.”
Dylan sighs. “Yeah, me too. It’s tough out there in the dating jungle. I won’t lie. I guess…” He’s quiet for a beat that gives me no comfort. “I guess all I can say is be careful, be honest about what you want, and don’t settle for less than you deserve. You’re a damned fine person, CJ. Any man worth your time is going to realize that.”
Touched, but no closer to a game plan than I was before, I tell Dylan, “Thanks, cous. Love you,” and sign off.
I head up the stairs, hoping the exercise will aid in clarity, but all I get is more warning prickles buzzing at the back of my neck.
It would be dangerous to tread any deeper into this thing with Graham. My gut is issuing a red alert, and my heart is hammering out a careful, careful, be careful rhythm that makes it impossible to focus on my to-do list.
I know what I need to do. As soon as I reach my desk, I lock myself in my office and search for a hotel room for the next week.
15
Graham
At work, the run-in with Lucy weighs on me more than I expect. I grab my phone and send a text to my buddy.
Graham: Lucy showed up at my place out of the blue this morning.
Campbell: Whoa. What happened?
Graham: She was in a trench coat.
Campbell: Jesus, man. That’s not good.
That's exactly what it was. So not good we can’t even joke about it.
Graham: And I was with someone.
Campbell: Someone? Who’s this someone?
I’m not ready to dive into the details, but I need to get the Lucy encounter out of my head.
Graham: Someone I like spending time with. That’s why it was, to say the least, a fuck ton of annoying to find my ex lurking in the lobby.
Campbell: Did you make it clear she needs to stop that shit?
Graham: I did.
Campbell: How did the new lady handle it?
Graham: She was cool. She’s honestly kind of all-around cool.
Campbell: Awww, someone has a crush.
A crush? I don’t think it’s a crush. But it’s something. That’s for sure. And maybe that’s what’s weighing on me more than Lucy’s lack of boundaries.
That afternoon my phone bleats with a code red text.
That’s Luna speak for a massive shopping emergency.
Even though I have a shit ton of work on my desk, I won’t ignore my friend. I call her while tapping out the last line of an email to our design team, approving the quick garter fix they worked up this morning. “Talk to me.”
“I’m stuck.” It comes out in a long, needy whine, and I strain to make out the sounds behind her, the clicking of shoes, a few can I help yous, the ding of an intercom.
