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“I guess we’re going slow. His sobriety. My broken heart. Us being back together. It’s a lot.”
I’ve told Penny our history—every young-love detail up to that day.
When Penny asked why we broke up, I had to lie. I told her that Redix wanted to go to Hollywood and didn’t want to be tied down to me.
That story protects her because I can’t get her involved, not in my deal.
No one can know.
Especially Redix.
“That sounds like a recipe for devastation.” Penny doesn’t sugar-coat. I love that about her. “Are you happy? I need to hear you say it with no bullshit.”
I look up and consider my reflection.
A light is in my eyes. A genuine smile is there. I’m glowing, looking through the note Redix left me.
“Yes, I’m very happy.”
“Okay. I’ll holster my weapon for now. But he’s dead if he hurts you again. And clean this up with Jameson. I got enough shitty diapers at home; I don’t need them at work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I smile. “Speaking of—work your magic at that nail salon this evening. Ask if someone was hanging around the same afternoon as Kayla and her friends.”
“Copy,” Penny replies. “What are you working on?”
“I got a Bar Manager to schmooze Tuesday.”
“Please,” Penny huffs, “just smile at him, and he’d confess serial murders to your gorgeous face.”
I take my time getting ready after our call ends.
Penny’s just protective over me. I am a bit too, but God, I’m so ready for this. Every part of my body, I prepare it for Redix, for whatever we’ll do, I can handle it. Besides, it makes me happy and horny, and time flies.
My doorbell rings promptly at seven. My hands shake, opening the door, and every reason why stands before me.
Fuck me now and always.
He takes my breath away.
No shoes on groomed feet. Perfectly tailored black trousers. A matching dinner jacket. A tissue-thin white V-neck T-shirt showing off his smooth, carved chest. Hair tumbling down. One hand in his pocket and a “The Devil’s Here for Your Soul, Ladies” smile on his face.
This is Redix Dean.
From behind his back, it stutters my breath; he hands me a pink tulip.
“Sorry.” His grip was so tight he broke its stem. “Guess I’m a little nervous.”
My ankles go weak. If I cry, I’ll mess up my makeup. “I don’t have a gift for you. Sorry.”
“Yes, you do.” His hand reaches for mine. “It’s this.”
“Wait.” I tug at our tender grasp. “Is this a date?”
“Yes.”
“Not until you ask me.”
His grin back; it reaches between my thighs.
