“What? God no! . . . Um . . . I did call for another reason, though.” My smile turns to a frown with the uneasy sound of her voice. “I found a couple of photos of you with your son in his room. I left them on your desk.”
The pictures she’s referring to are from the day I took Javier to the zoo. It was one of the best days of my life. “Throw them away.”
“Are you sure? . . . I mean . . .”
“I said throw them away.”
My yelling makes her fall silent, which surprisingly makes me feel like shit.
“Are you okay?” The hesitation in her tone gives away how nervous she was to ask.
“I’m fine.”
“Okay, you don’t have to tell me, but I’m a pretty good listener.”
I sigh, wishing I’d never answered the phone. Her attempt at conversation rattles me more than I want it to because I know it’s sincere. I wish it wasn’t. It’d be easier if Peyton was just some busybody trying to attain the details about my dead kid. Or at the least the kid she assumes is dead. Still it’s her sincerity that really stirs my always present anger and I do what I always do.
“I’m not interested in talking. Too messy, which only leaves fucking, and wasn’t it you that insisted our relationship stay purely professional?”
“It was, but what can I say? Your constant flirting is wearing on me.” A hint of laughter filters through the line.
Is she serious? Hell yeah! Jackpot!
“Is that so?” I ask, sounding a little too hopeful. “I can be there in thirty minutes.”
“It is. Oh . . . I mean . . . Not the sex part, but I might be willing to buy you dinner, or take you to a movie.”
“Did you just ask me on a date?”
“Yeah, I guess I did.”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “So you want dinner and a movie before I get you into bed?”
She sighs and giggles at the same time. “It’s going to take more than dinner and a movie to get me naked. I have too much self–respect to end up as a hash mark on your headboard, but I do like you. I thought we could go out and see what happens from there.”
I stroke my chin as I do my best to not feel happy. Where was this girl years ago when all I wanted was a nice girl and a white picket fence? “Oh, Peyton . . . I wish I could say yes, but . . .”
“Oh, wow. Okay stop. Seriously, this is so embarrassing. Forget I said anything.”
“I don’t want to forget. It’s cute.”
“Oh, God, that’s even worse . . . Cute? Kittens are cute, babies are cute . . . gah . . . it’s fine. I get it . . . You have a type and I’m more like that type’s cute little sister. So, let’s stick with the professional relationship bit before I completely die of embarrassment. K . . . sound good?”
“Whoa . . . that was a mouth full . . . If I was looking to date, you’d definitely be my type, but I recently left a bad relationship and . . .”
“Of course, and . . . Oh, your son . . . too.”
Her voice drifts off and all that remains is a faint hum in the line. For what feels like forever, I remain quiet and think about all that I’ve lost and who I really am. I’m not sure I know who Aidan Hunter is. All I know for sure is he’s not good enough to go on a date with a woman like Peyton.
Finally, Peyton says, “So, the loft will be ready tomorrow morning, and I’ll be here to do a walk-through whenever you arrive.”
I end the call without another word. She’s exceptional and smart and everything I love in a woman. She’s also one heartless bitch and a huge mistake too late.
On the way home, I think about Peyton as I did most of the night. She shouldn’t have asked me out. I should have asked her. That’s what a man does when he’s attracted to a woman, like I am to Peyton. Maybe if I quit trying to control things in my life, I’ll find peace. I chuckle out loud. Right . . . fucking peace might be a stretch, but I am going to ask Peyton out on a date. A typical, ordinary date that doesn’t involve her lips on my dick—where for one night, I pretend I’m normal.
I know I should leave Peyton alone, but I can’t fight the attraction pulling me to her. There’s a sick feeling in my gut that won’t go away, a sensation that can only be soothed by getting to know this woman. It’s more than physical, more than my dick pointing in her direction and enthusiastically shouting, “Yes . . . Her!” I like Peyton as a person. She makes me laugh, and more so, she makes me feel good. In truth, when I talk with Peyton, I actually like myself. She obviously has magical fucking powers.
I park and practically run to the elevators. Now that I decided to ask her out, I can’t wait to get to her. I tap my foot anxiously as the elevator stops on what seems like every floor to let people out. Once at my floor, I sprint down the hall as a smile forms. Maybe this can actually work. Perhaps Peyton is the woman I’ve been waiting for all along.