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“Same.” Joar looks over at me and slides his hand across the seat. I take it. He threads his fingers with mine.
In this moment, I decide to let go of my past. Take a leap of faith like I did on the pole.
Give in to what I want.
Because even if he’s been going about his pursuit of me all wrong…
Right now, all I want is Joar.
Chapter eighteen
Joar
The Same Night
Clover and I are parked at the Griffith Observatory, looking down on the lights of downtown Los Angeles.
I called an Uber for Victor at In-N-Out so we could spend some time alone. If you had asked me six months ago if I thought watching a beautiful woman devour a fast-food hamburger would be the biggest turn-on of my life, I’d have said a most definitive, “no.”
Tonight? I’m so aroused just being in the vicinity of Clover Callahan, I’d go through every drive-thru in the area if it meant the night wouldn’t have to end.
“Do you seriously hate fast food?” Clover is sprawled out next to me in the passenger seat. “I once postponed a flight to get In-N-Out.”
I pat my flat stomach. “I don’t indulge that often. Though, it was surprisingly delicious. I can see missing a flight for it.”
“Yeah. Nothing like a double-double food baby.” She cups a small swell of her belly and sighs contentedly.
She’s relaxed. Gorgeous. Happy.
I have so much I want to say. Things I want to ask her. Apologies I’d like to make. History I’d love to share with her. I learned so much about her that night in the elevator. When we were naked. Isolated. Free.
A big part of me regrets not telling her the truth that night. Or opening up more. Maybe we could have talked it out. Gone deeper. Perhaps we wouldn’t have wasted these past few months.
I push these thoughts away.
The past cannot be changed. It’s my number-one rule of business and I need to apply that logic here. Tonight, thanks to the “hate date,” I have a chance to get us back on track. Which is hilarious because the concept was born out of desperation. An emotion I haven’t felt in nearly thirty years.
The idea came about when Clover posted a poll on one of her Instagram stories about whether she should join celebrity dating app, Raya. When the results were overwhelmingly “do it” I had to take charge, and fast. I pulled in a connection to fast track my own profile—using Seth’s photo—and tailored it to pique her interest.
The activities I purported to hate are things I’m fairly indifferent to but are most definitely activities I learned Clover loves from either her Instagram posts or from our conversations in the elevator.
Three days went by with a fuck-ton of women trying to connect, but no Clover. On the verge of deleting it, I checked one more time to find she’d swiped “yes.” I was fucking pumped, but disciplined. I waited a few days before I accepted the match—to build anticipation, and all that.
It worked.
What can I say? I shot my shot and scored a direct hit.
A few DMs later and she agreed to meet “me” at The London. I figured once she saw it was the real me, there was a miniscule chance I’d convince her to go on my so-called “hate date.”
But, she did. The idea of pole dancing might have thrown me for a minute there, but we had a blast.
I swear I’ve won the lottery.
She’s here. With me. Tonight.
Only one problem: now that I’ve got her here, I’m not sure what to do. Take control or let her lead? On the one hand, I’m dying to throw her over my shoulder caveman style and fuck her on the hood of my car. Shit. The memory of her tight, hot pussy… I’ve been semi-hard most of the night. On the other hand, maybe I should just follow her lead.
I’m a decisive man in every respect of the world. Why is this such a dilemma?
