Mr. Park Lane (The Mister)

She came in and hopped on my sofa, tucking her legs under her. “A doctor from the hospital. Gerry set it up.”

“Right, and how was it?”

She groaned. “He seemed like a nice guy but . . . I’m just so hopelessly awkward in those situations. Or any situation, really.”

“What was the problem, he didn’t want to talk about cake?”

She laughed and that pull in my stomach just wouldn’t let go. “Any chance of a coffee, or do you have to order up for that?”

“Very funny,” I replied, moving behind the kitchen island. I switched on the espresso machine and brought out two cups.

“And do you have any cake?”

“I can order something in. You want me to?”

She scrunched up her nose, making her freckles bunch. “Maybe half a cupcake.”

“Hartford, are you eating your feelings? Tell me what happened tonight.”

I quickly ordered cupcakes, pulled two espressos, and sat down beside her on the sofa. She obviously wanted to talk, and I was here to help her settle in. This was all part of my promise to my mum—nothing more.

“I’m hopeless at dating,” she said. “And I’m okay with that. I really am. It’s just that Gerry set it up and he’s so adamant about this whole work-life balance thing that I feel like I should give it a shot. And Jacob is . . .” She scrunched up her nose and twisted her mouth as if she were about to sneeze. “He’s good looking,” she said. “Everyone else at the hospital swoons when he walks into a room.”

“Not you?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m just not . . . comfortable with him.” She paused like I was supposed to say something. But what?

Hartford always seemed one hundred percent, relentlessly herself when she was with me. In contrast, I’d witnessed her discomfort at the cocktail party firsthand. I’d assumed it was the number of people in attendance that had forced her into her shell, or maybe the pressure to impress Gerry. Once again, my assumption proved incorrect. “I’m not sure I’m the guy to advise you on stuff like this.”

“Right. The girls say you don’t date. You just get laid by Miss Tuesday Night—whoever that is.” She shrugged. “Getting laid would be good, I guess. Not sure I’ll earn marks from Gerry for that, though.”

It irritated me that my mates’ girlfriends were talking openly about my sex life. I’d learned by now that if I tried to tell them it was none of their business, I would just sacrifice thirty minutes of my life I’d never get back while I listened to them lecture me on why I needed to be in a relationship.

“They shouldn’t be talking to you about me. They don’t get it. My sex life isn’t a joke. It’s a choice.” I pulled in a breath and tried to soften my jaw. I’d tried the relationship thing and it hadn’t worked out. I was happy with my life now. What did anyone else care what I did? They didn’t have to walk in my shoes.

“A choice?”

“Never mind. Anyway, getting laid is always good. It’s an excellent stress reliever.”

She laughed and kicked my leg like we were teenagers again. “Wouldn’t it be good to get laid by someone I’d like to talk to afterward? I have no idea. I kinda missed the whole ‘relationships’ thing. It passed me by when I was studying. I’m not a virgin or anything. I’m just not . . .”

I tried not to smile. Whatever she was thinking seemed to fall from her mouth when she was with me. She had zero filter and was arguably too comfortable. Understanding I was the exception to the rule lifted my chest and my stomach settled.

“So, how do you pick the women you sleep with?”

I groaned. I didn’t want to get into this with Hartford. “You make it sound like there’s a catalog.”

“But is it only physical? You don’t want to talk and stuff?”

When had this become about me? Weren’t we discussing her?

She didn’t wait for my answer. “And the women you’re with don’t want to talk either?”

“I don’t insist on silence, but you know . . .” I’d never been embarrassed by my sexual relationships with women. They were entirely consensual and mutually satisfying, and I didn’t play games or pretend I was interested in something more than I was. “We don’t spend time together because of each other’s scintillating conversation.”

She looked at me, trailing her gaze over my face, down my neck, to my chest, my waist, my cock. “You like each other for your bodies.” Her voice was softer now. Like it had been when I’d seen her emerge all done up before dinner at Gerry’s. Then, the room around us seemed to disappear. Now, there was nothing here except Hartford and me. “So, you just undress and . . .”