“I do.”
“I’ve got a full schedule for weeks. If you stop by 6:30 we can discuss some more,” he says then.
My stomach dips in excitement and dread. “Okay. Yes. 6:30 p.m. on Monday.”
I purse down on my smile and bite it from the inside, trying not to let my nerves and joy show too much.
“Can’t believe you still do that,” he mutters.
“What?”
“Bite down on your lips like that—from the inside. Beneath your top lip.”
I release my lips. “I don’t do that,” I counter.
“You just did.”
“I didn’t.”
He signals with his index finger. “You just did again.”
“Ugh! I’m so annoying,” I cry, laughing.
He chuckles. “You’re adorable,” he says plainly.
We are laughing one second—and the next we are sober.
“So you’ve been with her for long?”
“Miranda?” he asks. “Six months, give or take.”
“A record for you?”
He shrugs. “You could say that.”
“Soul mates?”
“I don’t believe in that.”
“Really?”
“Come on. I’m practical.” He frowns. “Do I look like someone who gets caught up in the fanciful stuff?”
I shrug.
“I’m thirty-two, bit.”
“So? One can be romantic at any age.” I laugh when he doesn’t even smile in agreement. God, this man is gorgeous. Gorgeous and very hard to read. “My best friend Becka and I discovered a site called the Soul Mate Site. I love reading it. It preaches that you won’t meet your soul mate until you’re on your soul’s path—so we all better do what we came here to do.”
“What did you come here to do?” he asks. He sounds interested.
“I suppose what makes us happy is a good indicator.”
“Sometimes it’s what we’re good at,” he says.
I laugh. “Yeah. Maybe. But then you’re not thinking you’re with your soul mate. You might not be on the right path yet.”
“It’s the only path I’m going to be on.”
I smile. “I heard about you when you made your first million. I was happy for you. You deserve it. While everyone partied you worked, but when you got to the parties you partied hard.”
He leans back and crosses his hands behind his head. “I like going all out on everything,” he says cockily.
“So are you going all out with your girlfriend?”
He drops his arms. “We’ll see,” he says. Gruff.
He scrapes his jaw as he stares at a spot past my shoulder in frustration. I realize it’s little Missy coming back from her walk.
“I better go. I should probably go to bed early, catch some rest,” I say. “You too. I mean. Not together. Alone.”
“I know what you mean,” he says, taking care of the tab and handing a bill to the waitress.
We head out of the café. I lead Missy to the sidewalk where I see his car is pulling over.
It’s a cool night. I feel like curling into him for warmth. My nose feels red, and it’s only fall. Christos looks tall and powerful and so warm that it is a feat not to throw myself at him.
“See you Monday,” I say.
“Does Missy want a ride?” he asks.
“Oh no, she’s good,” I say.
“How about Wicked Miss Kelly.”
I laugh, blushing so hard the cold fades away.
“Hop in, I’ll drop you off,” he says.
“I’m fine, thanks. Really,” I insist. “Let’s keep it professional.”
His eyebrows pull down, and he takes a step, looking down at me in a mix of confusion, frustration, and amusement. “I offered you a ride, Bryn. Not a hotel room.”
I laugh. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” I take a step back and trip over a break in the sidewalk. “I’m within walking distance.”
He frowns and steps forward, putting his hand over my waist to keep me from falling. His hand feels so warm I suck up the warmth like a junkie. “You really frustrate me sometimes,” he confesses. “You always have.”
“What do you mean? Always?”
He smiles, and his hand remains on me for a heart-pounding second. He gradually pulls it free, and I walk away as reluctantly as he removed his hand.
Christos
9 years ago…
“So what’s her name? The girl back home?”
“Bryn.”
“She’s nice?”
“She’s a little thing.”
Leilani puts my hands on her tits and presses them to my chest. “I’m nice too. I can be nice to you.”
She wants my dick.
But here I am, months after leaving Austin, still thinking of Bryn Kelly.
“I’m sure she’s with some guy now. It should’ve been me.” I get pissed thinking about it. About having to leave to become…well, better. At least good enough.
“There’s no should’ve. You’re here with me now, and I really want a piece of this gorgeous mouth. I want to feel this big nose…between my thighs.”
She squishes closer, and she feels good—warm, giving, her mouth moist as she presses it to mine.
“See, you might pretend I’m her—the first few times—but then you’ll forget her. Princess Bryn can go fuck herself.”
I let go, incensed. “Never, ever talk about her like that.”
“Christos! Come on, please. Christos!!”