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“It’s the champagne.” I shrug.
“So, is he cute?”
Shit.I feel the blush deepen.
“Yeah,” I say with a smile. Brett’s one of my closest friends and has been for over a decade. He was there for me when I found out I was pregnant, and when shit hit the fan with Caleb, and he’s never once been judgmental.
“Ohhh, so any potential for something fun?” He leans forward and grabs his glass, finishing it before popping up to grab the bottle and come back to the couch.
“No.”
“Oh, boo, why not?” He tops off our glasses.
“Because the last time I hadsomething fun, I ended up pregnant and a single mom. I can’t just let random guys into my life with a child to consider. She gets attached. The last guy broke both our hearts.”
“The last guy was an ass. Maybe you need to go for something totally different.”
“I don’tneedto go for anything. Chloe and I are perfectly happy with how things are.” I try to sound confident, but I’m not sure if I’m convincing either one of us. The truth is, I do get lonely. I long for the connection and intimacy that I see others have. In reality, I don’t think I’ve ever actually experienced it.
“Well, what if it’s just something casual? Aone and done, get it out of your systemtype of thing? And before you say something about ending up pregnant, you are far wiser at 30 than you were at 19.”
Am I, though?is what I want to say. I let his comment marinate for a moment. For the past three weeks, I’ve had countless dreams about Alex Rockwell, all of them preceded by fantasies of him pleasuring me instead of the vibrator he gave me—the same one I swore I’d never use and would promptly throw away. It sat on my nightstand, taunting me for days until I finally gave in to the urge.
He’s right that I hate that I’m attracted to him, but what I hate even more is the fact that he was right about the reasons why I want him. He is completely different from the men I’ve gone for in the past. Even Caleb was an uptight finance bro. That’s why it was so hard for people around us to believe me when I said he was a degenerate drunk who gambled away our savings, and a deadbeat dad with zero interest in his daughter. He wore $3,000 suits and had a high-power job. Men like him get away with it.
But Alex, he’s approachable. He’s anormalguy in the sense that he doesn’t seem to be driven by power and money. I have no doubt that he’s successful. From what Blaire and Harper have told me about marrying Four Forces men, they’re very well off, but you’d never know it from looking at Alex or the way he presents himself. He’s rough around the edges, tattooed with a constant five o’clock shadow and calloused, scarred hands. Hands that I’ve imagined cupping my breasts and gripping my thighs.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Hmm?” I look up from my glass just as the doorbell rings. “Food’s here!” I exclaim as we both jump up.
“I’m starving,” Brett says as he opens the front door and takes the food. “Oh, thank you.”
“Is Juliette here?” I hear Alex’s deep voice.
“Yeah, she’s right in here. Wait, who are you?”
“Alex.”
“Ohhh, Alex . . .”
I rush to the front door before Brett makes it any more obvious that we were just talking about him.
“Hey, you get a job delivering food?” I smile, but the look on Alex’s face tells me he doesn’t think it’s very funny.
“Can I speak to you?” He looks over at Brett. “Alone.” I lead him into the hallway away from the kitchen while Brett plates our dinner. “Who is that?”
“My friend Brett. Why? You jealous?” I don’t know what has gotten into me. Must be the two glasses of champagne with only four almonds swimming in my stomach.
“Next time you decide to order food or have someone over, I need to know beforehand so I can run a background check.”
“A background check? He’s a lawyer at my firm and I’ve known him for over a decade. I think he’s safe.” I roll my eyes. “And I have to run my eating habits by you now?”
“If you’re having a stranger deliver food to your house, yes. I intercepted this delivery, but you have no idea who’s monitoring your activity and what they could do.”
I want to tell him to chill out—that he’s sounding paranoid—but I guess he’s probably right. “Okay, sorry, won’t happen again.”
“Is he staying for dinner?” Brett appears behind us, a smirk on his face.
