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Blinking back tears, I jump off my bed and pace my room. Have to get my head out of this funk. Doesn’t help that Corey’s currently obsessed with his tattoo guy and boyfriend number X, and is never around.
At least one of us is happy.
Selfish, Pax. Not nice. You want Corey to be happy.
I do. And I also want to see Riot. How can he be so busy? He’s not...
Nah. I stop pacing, stand stock still. He’s not avoiding me.
Why would he? I thought we had a good time, and—
With sudden clarity I remember how cold he was when he arrived at my apartment. How distant. How he wanted it over with, until I told him my plans for the night.
It can’t be...Can it? Crap, this will eat me alive, this awful doubt.
I need to ask. Will they tell me?
My heart is thumping in my throat as I grab my cell and dial the agency. The phone rings and rings, and then finally a male voice answers.
Not the usual one, though. “Good evening. Bad Boy Escorts. How may I help you?”
“Hi. Uh.” I cock my head to the side, rub the crease between my brows. “This is Paxtyn Page. Look, I called a few times, asking for an appointment with Riot. Riot Gallagher? I was told he doesn’t—”
“Would you like an appointment tonight?”
I open my mouth, close it. “Er, yes?”
“He’s free after nine, if that suits you.”
I pull my cell at arm’s length, gape at it, then put it back to my ear. “Are you sure? I was told two hours ago that Riot’s fully booked and—”
“Maybe there was a cancellation,” the guy says smoothly. “It happens all the time.”
Only not to me, not until today. I have been trying for days. “Okay then. Yeah, nine’s fine.”
“Excellent. Which address? I have here a hotel and an apartment.”
“The apartment, please.” I swallow. “Listen, are you sure he can—?”
“I’ll let him know. He’ll be there. Have a wonderful evening, Ms. Page.”
“And you,” I say automatically as the click of the disconnect sounds in my ear.
Wow.
I stand there for a few moments, trying to wrap my mind around this. I’m meeting Riot. Tonight.
In fact, quite soon. It’s seven already. Have to tidy up and get ready. My heart’s beating so hard I’m afraid I might break a rib. All my doubts, all my fears take a backseat as I run to my closet and start throwing clothes out on my bed.
A backseat to excitement and joy.
***
The doorbell rings kind of late. It’s almost half past nine, and I was about to call the agency, make sure I didn’t misunderstand.
Rushing to my room to check myself one last time in the mirror, I pat my loose curls and check that my eyeliner hasn’t run. All looks good—my blue dress, a narrow belt cinching my waist, my high-heeled pumps, the black choker around my neck.
As ready as I’ll ever be.
