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Maisie pulled her phone from her coat pocket and brought the screen to life. The most recent text came from Rhys. She opened it and smiled.
Rhys
Tonight was fucking amazing. Thank you for taking that ad out in the paper. Don’t forget, this weekend.
“What has you smiling?” Dorian asked curiously.
“Rhys.”
“Rhys?”
Maisie nodded and then she ran to her roommate and hugged her. “Thank you for tonight.”
“Uh . . . you’re welcome? I take it things went well.”
“You have no idea.”
Dorian shrugged. “I sort of do by the looks of ya. If I had to guess, you hooked up.”
Instantly, Maisie’s cheeks flamed. “How can you tell?”
Dorian cocked her eyebrow at her friend. “You look like you’ve been sexed up good.”
Maisie was embarrassed but she wasn’t going to hide it. “So good,” she said, laughing. “Like, he could make me come just by kissing me.” Maisie took Dorian’s hand, and they went into her room. Dorian sat on the bed, while Maisie shimmied out of her dress. “Rhys is a dream.”
“Where’s he from?”
“Here,” Maisie said. “He lives on the island but in Easton.”
“Did you go to his place?”
Maisie blushed with embarrassment. “No.”
“Hotel?”
She shook her head.
“Oh, Jesus, Maise. Seriously? You fucked him in the car?”
“If it matters, he asked me out for the weekend before he fucked my brains out in the back seat of his Range Rover. Twice.” Maisie thought now would be a good time to get a high five from her friend. Dorian paused and then held her hand up high.
“Is he rich?”
Maisie nodded. “I think so. He paid for dinner, in cash.” She walked to her bathroom and then took her panties off. She needed to shower, but washing his scent off was the last thing she wanted to do.
“What’s his last name?”
“Wayne something?”
“Wainwright?”
Maisie’s eyes lit up. “Yes, Rhys Wainwright. He’s in print advertising.”
Dorian shook her head and opened an app on her phone. She typed “Wainwright” into the search bar and then showed Maisie. “Is this the guy you went out with?”
“Yes, that’s him!”
“That’s Rhys Wainwright. The most eligible bachelor in New England, and the owner of that store you always want to shop in but don’t want to spend the money—Wainwright. The one on the Wharf. You just bagged the hottest man this side of the Mississippi, and you have another date with him. Lucky, bitch.”
