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My memory is excellent, and I can’t help thinking about what’s under his shirt. The urge to skip talking and start kissing almost overrides my good sense.
I take a few steps into his apartment and stop abruptly. It’s exceptionally clean. It always looks like this when I leave, but never when I arrive. The shades are open and there are no empty cups or discarded clothes. Where are his dirty shirts? And the empty containers?
I feel decidedly off balance.
“You cleaned up,” I say. It’s a bad sign when someone starts a conversation by stating the obvious. I shake my head, and blow out a breath.
“I’m leaving in the morning,” he says before I can say anything else.
“Leaving? For where?” He never mentioned travel, but if I’d spent any time thinking about it, I would have realized he doesn’t spend all his time here.
“I have some meetings in New York. And a photo shoot. Then I’ll be in L.A. for the Grammys. I might go directly from there to see my family. It depends on what happens with a couple of my endorsements. I’m not sure when I’ll be back in town.”
He rubs the back of his neck like he’s uncomfortable. I’m pretty sure he was going to leave without telling me, which is kind of a jerk move, but I’ve been avoiding him as hard as he’s been avoiding me, so blaming him is probably unfair.
“I…uh…” Screw it. I’m just going to say it. “Kelsey lied to Cam. I don’t need money. Cam thought you were lonely and she thought I was lonely.” I don’t confirm that Kelsey was right because I’m pretty sure he already knows. “According to her, I’m your type, and the guys I date are losers. She thought if you and I met, we’d hook up.”
“You are my type and we did almost hook up.” He shrugs. “I’ll take her word for it about the guys you date.”
I ignore the last part because I am not confirming that my taste in men can be questionable. And I ignore the first part because I need a minute to think about what that means. “You’re not mad?” Shouldn’t he be upset that my sister wanted us to hook up?
He leans against the wall. “I thought Cam sent you to be my babysitter. Knowing that it was more of a setup makes me feel less pathetic.”
His logic doesn’t make sense to me. Being set up by my sister does make me feel pathetic.
Although, if he isn’t averse to a setup…and I’m his type…and he’s leaving.
Maybe a hookup is exactly what we both need.
It isn’t my finest idea—I do not necessarily excel at keeping emotions away from sex—but my day has been shit, and he’s leaving tomorrow. I won’t be able to make things weird even if I try.
For the second time in minutes, I decide to just say what I’m thinking. “Do you want to have sex?”
He jumps like I’ve shocked him. His mouth opens and his eyes widen as he stares at me. It’s not the reaction I was hoping for.
I take a deep breath. On the exhale, I don a mask of indifference. This isn’t my first rejection. I can take it. I think of my father leaving. I think of my mother retreating. With very little effort, my old shields slide into place. When I’m sure neither my face nor my voice will betray me, I say, “On that note, we might as well say goodbye.”
“You can’t leave now,” he says, rocking back on his heels.
I start to speak, my reply ready, when he lunges forward. He hits me with a full body press, propelling me right into the wall. I’m plastered between it and his rock-hard body, and it feels glorious. He might be a quarterback, but he obviously knows how to tackle. Time seems to slow as his lips descend. Maybe it’s a minute, maybe it’s an hour. Who cares? I’m getting exactly what I want.
I slide my hands inside his shirt. He’s warm and hard and he feels even better than he did last time. The kiss is tentative, as if he’s waiting for me to shove him away. I’m not making that mistake again, so I grab his shoulders and wrap my legs around his waist.
Taking that as an invitation, he walks us down the hallway and into his bedroom without breaking the kiss. I’m too busy to notice anything more than the utter disarray of his room.
He drops me on the bed, follows me down, and then braces himself on his arms so our bodies aren’t touching.
“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says between sloppy kisses.
“I know,” I mutter as I arch my back. He’s hovering over me, and I want to feel his weight. I tug on his hips but he doesn’t budge.
His lips trail kisses along my jaw.
“I don’t do relationships,” he says. “I’m not sure when I’ll see you next.”
I don’t expect anything beyond today. “You might not see me at all.”
He stills. “Never?”
