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The next day, I take matters into my own hands, turning up at her office. The receptionist informs me she’s out and won’t tell me where. I slip her a twenty and she stares at me with an insulted frown.
“C’mon, please,” I beg for a solid ten minutes.
“I’ll tell you, but I can lose my job. So, don’t you dare tell her I told you.”
I drive over to the address she gives me. Leaning my head forward, I look at the surroundings. It’s a park. My eyes graze over the piece of paper again—this is definitely the right address.
Parking the car in a tight spot, I step out and walk through the gates. It’s not too busy, a few kids playing at a playground and some ladies walking their dogs. None of these people are her, though. I’m wondering if the receptionist has sent me on a wild goose chase.
Toward the back of the park there’s a basketball court, and I can see someone shooting hoops. I move closer until I’m at the fence.
It’s her.
Wearing tight shorts, Nike sneakers, and a black tank, as she nails a three-pointer.
I clap, loudly, watching her turn to face me.
“Noah, what are you doing here?” she says out of breath.
“It’s been three days,” I merely say. “I didn’t know you played ball.”
She smiles. “This is what I do for fun.”
“I don’t know whether to be happy or disappointed.”
“Why would you be disappointed?”
“Because I was hoping your idea of fun was whips and chains. You know, some light bondage.”
This time she laughs, throwing me the ball. “Mind out of the gutter, Mason. I actually coach a kids’ team.”
“Really?” I pass her the ball. “Then show me what you got, Bentley.”
Unpinning my cuffs, I roll up my sleeves and move in closer. She backs up into me, and when I reach to steal the ball, she beats me with a spin move and nails the layup.
“Damn girl, you got skill.”
Standing only a few steps away from me, she catches her breath. In a serious, apologetic tone, she says, “I’m sorry.”
I pull her arm toward me. Placing my hands on her face, I kiss her lips. I fucking missed her. And it felt like forever. I don’t want to be apart.
“What other hidden talents do you have?” I question her playfully, my hands wrapped around her waist.
“I can drink a gallon of milk in less than a minute.” Her eyes light up proudly.
“You cannot.” I smile.
She nods her head. “Sadly true.”
I laugh, kissing her again. “So, tell me, Morgan, where do we go from here?”
“I don’t know, Noah,” she speaks quietly. “I have a meeting I need to get to, but I promise to call you afterward. I would try to reschedule but these businessmen have flown in from France offering Scarlett a big endorsement. I need to be at the Four Seasons in less than an hour.”
Why am I not surprised she has to be somewhere? I can feel the anger and frustration slowly building inside of me, my fists clenching to control the unnecessary outburst. Factoring in someone else’s behavior, especially someone I’m growing fond of, is new territory for me.
God, why the fuck is she making this so damn hard? Patience is a fucking virtue.
“You live close to here?” I ask to distract myself. I look around. There’s many houses but nothing like Scarlett’s home. Smaller townhomes all bundled together with communal yards.
