“What happened?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in suspicion as I reach behind to zip my dress. “With you, I mean?”
He lowers his head, studying his shoes. “We didn’t . . .they, well . . .they changed their minds.”
Laughter bubbles up from a deep well in my belly and overflows. I cover my mouth, but there’s no use. Hysterical giggles spill between my fingers. “They changed their . . .”
I can’t even get the words out, but bend over a little, clutching my middle.
“You didn’t get . . .” I wheeze at this boon the universe granted me. “Fucked. I got fucked and you didn’t.”“No,” he admits stiffly. “This was a bad idea. This whole night.”
I slide on my shoes, glancing over Trey’s shoulder to where Harper leans against the wall, wearing his clothes, now fully restored, and a mocking smirk.
“The night actually turned out great for me.” I grab my purse, take the keys from Trey, and start walking toward the office door, leaving him agape. When I reach Harper at the wall, his expression sobers and he reaches for my hand, ignoring the outraged sounds coming from Trey behind us.
“I want to see you again,” Harper says.
“That’s not how this works, man,” Trey growls. “It’s one night. You’re not supposed to ask for more. It’s part of the agreement.”
“Oh, he didn’t agree to anything,” I turn my head to tell Trey. “He didn’t come for the swing party. He’s just some random man I fucked.”I turn back to catch Harper’s stare. “No offense.”
“None taken,” he replies, but the set of his shoulders stiffens. Something goes tighter in his face, and I regret my words. I lay my palm flat to his strong, muscled chest.
“It was exactly what I needed,” I tell him. “It was special, but it was just this once, right?”
Some irrational part of me that doesn’t understand the rules of hook ups or doesn’t want to abide by them, shouts in my head it doesn’t have to be one night. I silence it, though. That would be hella complicated. Harper lives across the country in LA. This was a chance encounter. Even if Trey doesn’t realize it yet, I’m about to get divorced. There is a lot ahead to navigate in my life. Trying to see if things could work out with a random who busted my back at a swing party? Doesn’t sound wise.
So despite a nagging voice in the back of my mind hissing are you sure???
Despite the heavy, satisfied ache between my thighs taunting that I may never find another man who can lay pipe like this.
Despite the tiny prick of my heart that asks . . .who knows what this could become?
Despite all of that, I tip up on my toes, kiss the muscle flexing in Harper’s jaw, and walk out the door never glancing back.
Harper
Eighteen Months Later
I kinda hate New York.
Inconvenient since it’s my new home.
I shouldn’t complain, but I do miss LA, the literal opposite of this city in every way that counts. A year ago I was still writing drivel pieces for travel blogs. Not the best use of my MFA. There was no way I could have known the turn my life would take. No way I could have predicted I’d be attending a Christmas party in New York hosted by my new agent.
I have an agent.
I have a publisher and a debut novel releasing soon.
The only constant in my life lately has been my family, and right on time, my phone vibrates with a call from my brother Carl as I climb the stairs from the subway to the street above.
“Yo,” I answer, orienting myself to gauge how close I am to my destination before striding swiftly, navigating the crowd out for Christmas in the city. “What’s up?”
“What’s up with you, big time author?” Carl asks. “Just checking on my little brother since the holidays can be depressing, even for budding literary superstars.”
“Kind, but unnecessary.”
“Young man sets off for the Big Apple in pursuit of fame and fortune. It’s lonely at the top. Or so I’ve been told. I’m stuck selling cars here in the Chi.”
“We all have our crosses to bear. I’ll be home for Christmas next week.”
“You better be!” Kelly yells from the other end.
“Do you have me on speaker again?” I ask, rolling my eyes.
“We have no secrets from each other,” Carl says.
“Oh, I found that out the hard way. Had any more orgies lately?”
“They are not orgies. It’s usually couples choosing other couples or individuals. We never—”
“Well there was that one last month that got out of hand,” Kelly reminds him . . .and unfortunately me. “That was a big ol’ group, and we all—”
“Okay, okay, okay,” I cut in, needing to bleach my ears after this conversation. “I know you don’t keep secrets from each other, but it’s perfectly fine if you don’t share all the details of your sex circus with me.”