Halftime Husband (Sassy in the City 5)

Holy hotness, he was really good at this. This was definitely better than fighting. Even if he had flipped the script and given himself control, and now I was a massive quivering blob of desire who couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response.

If he fake asked me to marry him or make a baby, I would fake say yes, and might not even remember it wasn’t real. I felt pregnant just by the way he was looking at me.

Time stood still, or maybe sped up. I wasn’t even sure. I couldn’t even recall what he said to me after that. I just knew that his piercing green eyes had me hypnotized and my tongue felt stuck to the roof of my mouth. He’d claimed he wouldn’t use voodoo but I wasn’t so sure. It felt like he’d cast some kind of seduction spell on me.

I was actually shocked when the driver announced we were at my apartment.

Shoving the door open, I jumped out, needing the cold air to slap me straight. I was actually really glad we were at my place, not his. I needed to be in familiar surroundings, on more stable footing again. At his place, he would totally have the upper hand.

As if he didn’t already.

I dragged my key out of my purse as he shut the door and smiled at me.

“That was much better than fighting.”

“You’re a shockingly good liar,” I said. “I think you could have run with any one of those fight scenarios, easily. You underestimate yourself.”

“Nah. It was totally different. I wasn’t really lying. I am attracted to you and I do feel lucky.”

I opened the door to my building and gave him a skeptical look. “So I take it the gift is your cock? Be careful here, you’re treading into douchebag territory.”

Brandon laughed. “Okay, fair enough. I apologize.” He held the door as I stepped inside. “I would never refer to my dick as a gift.” He grinned. “Even if it is.”

I rolled my eyes as I started up the stairs. “You are enjoying this way more than you should.”

His laugh cut off. “In all seriousness, I am. I don’t get out much, honestly. I’m too busy for much of a social life. I like your company, Dakota.”

Part of me wanted to be flippant. To protect myself. Because this was one night, most likely nothing more. But for whatever reason, I was honest with him. “I like your company, too.”

Something about Dakota’s expression as she turned away from me to her apartment door made my chest tighten. I had been telling the truth in the cab. She was gorgeous and I wanted her. Fucking desperately.

Briefly, I wondered if I should mention that I wasn’t looking for a relationship, but instantly dismissed that thought. That would just come off as rude. People had hookups all the time and didn’t feel the need to discuss what it was. Besides, I wasn’t even sure I didn’t want to see her again. Was it impossible to date Dakota? Maybe. Maybe not. If I kept seeing her separate from the rest of my life, it might be something more than one night. I didn’t know. She made me laugh, made me feel carefree, totally lacking in responsibilities. She was upbeat, spontaneous, and I wanted more of that. So I kept my mouth shut.

It would play out naturally.

Like everything between us had so far.

“Welcome to the apartment Elijah refers to as the place where hopes and dreams come to die,” she said, as I followed her into a crowded and very small room.

Between the two of us, we consumed half of the space that didn’t have furniture in it. It was basically a narrow room with a couch on one side, a kitchenette on the other, and we were standing in the aisle between the two. That’s all it was—an aisle. “This is, uh, definitely tight.”

“And still overpriced. Welcome to New York.” Dakota took her coat off and hung it on a hook by the door where several other coats were piled on top of each other. “Where is your coat, by the way?”

Before I could answer, she said, “Oh, never mind. You run hot. I remember.”

It seemed we both remembered a lot about the night we’d met. Because I had mentioned that. I was glad to know I wasn’t the only one who had been affected by our meeting.

“This room doesn’t have any windows,” I said, suddenly realizing why it felt so stuffy and closed in. Aside from its size, that is.

“Technically it does,” Dakota said, reaching out and removing a piece of art of a dancer on a bridge. “But I cover it up because as you can see, the view leaves a lot to be desired. I’m not sure it adds any light anyway.”

The window was small, and as I took a step closer, I could see that the brick wall of the building next door was no more than two feet away from the window, and the neighbor’s window was clearly visible. I could see a man standing in front of his kitchen sink. We made eye contact and he looked startled. Probably because n

ormally the window was covered. I turned back to Dakota. “I don’t blame you. I just made eye contact with your neighbor.”

“Exactly. It’s awkward.” Dakota opened one of her two kitchen cabinets and pulled out two glasses. “What do you want to drink? I have vodka, wine, and gin. I might have a beer or two in the back of the fridge.”

“Whatever you’re having.” I didn’t even need another drink. I was content just to watch her maneuver that ridiculous space masquerading as a kitchen. I leaned against the wall since there was nowhere else to go. “How long have you lived here?”