Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)

Dean: Did you think about me?

Think about him? Only four hundred times in the past hour. But that’s not what he means, and my internal organs do a dance-off at the prospect of answering his question the way he means. I could put it off—take my shower and reply later—but I don’t want to. I want to answer so he’ll tell me if he thought of me. It’s heady stuff, imagining Dean Jacob getting off to thoughts of me. If it were a weather forecast, it’d be in the zero to one percent range, but he said he would, didn’t he? And he wouldn’t be doing this if he weren’t at least a little attracted to me, so . . .

I hold my breath as I type my reply.

Abbi: I’m always true to my word.

I bite my lip as I imagine him reading my almost-coy response.

Dean: . . . and?

Abbi: And what?

Dean: How was it?

I roll to my stomach and grin down at my phone, my cheeks burning as if we’re having this conversation in public.

Abbi: I know my way around pretty well at this point.

Dean: Jesus. Serves me right for having this conversation right before a meeting. That’s one hell of a mental picture, but that’s not what I was asking.

Abbi: No?

Dean: How was the part where you thought about me?

Familiar. Way more familiar than I’ll ever admit. He suggested it as if I’d never thought about him while touching myself before. In truth, I don’t very often. I don’t let myself. But I’ve been known to slip in my weaker moments.

Abbi: Fantasy Dean had some skills. 10/10, would recommend.

Dean: It might kill me to take this slow, you know that?

I swallow. I’m still not sure why we’re taking it slow. I guess because we need to stretch it out if I’m going to help him get Amy out of his system. But more time doing this with Dean seems like more time to fall and fall hard. The problem is, if these last two days are any indication of what’s to come, the promise of heartbreak wouldn’t stop me. I’m clicking up the hill of the rollercoaster, and the signs are warning me that disaster is coming, but I want the stuff between here and there too much to stop the ride and climb out.

He texts again before I can figure out how to respond.

Dean: I’m making plans for us. What day do you have off this week?

Plans? I hop off the floor in a panic.

Abbi: Today and Thursday. But I have appointments today.

I don’t have appointments today, but I promise myself I’ll schedule some as soon as we get off the phone. I’m not ready.

Dean: I’m claiming Thursday, then. I’ll do a couple of things at the office first thing and take the rest of the day off. Pick you up at ten.

At ten? Isn’t that a little early in the day for seduction lessons? And to pick me up?

Abbi: Where are we going?

Dean: It’s a surprise. Let’s just say I think it might be a good place for us to start.

Abbi: I don’t think I like surprises.

Dean: Too bad. See you Thursday.

Abbi: I’m here for hints if you wanna drop them!

He replies with a winky face, and I take in a deep breath and dial The Orchid.

“Thank you for calling The Orchid, where peace and relaxation are only an appointment away. This is Stella. How can I help you today?”

Of course Stella answers. Because this kind of call isn’t awkward enough. I clear my throat. “Hey, Stell. This is Abbi. I’m wondering if any of the girls can squeeze me in for a Brazilian today?”

“Hi, Abbi! Let me see . . . June had a cancellation at three. Would that work for you?”

I swallow. I have no idea what Dean has planned for Thursday, but I refuse to be unprepared. “That’s perfect. Thanks.”

“Of course. And would you care to add on a rejuvenating facial with Wren right after?”

Why the hell not? My skin’s pretty good, but I might as well flaunt my assets. “That would be great.”

“Awesome. I have you booked. See you at three!”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, boo.”

“And Stella? Thanks for not making the whole Brazilian thing awkward.”

She laughs. “That’s literally my job, baby girl. See you later.”

I look at the clock then race for the shower. I have a dozen things I want to do before my appointment—new underwear and a mani-pedi are at the top of the list.

* * *

Tuesday after the lunch rush, I’m tucked away in my office when someone knocks on my office door, pulling my attention away from the order I’m placing for next week. “Come in,” I call.

The door cracks, and Stella pokes her head inside. “I had to leave before you were done yesterday. How was the Brazilian?”

I huff out a laugh. “It hurt like hell. Everyone who ever said it’s not that bad should have to undergo medical testing for the health of their nerve endings.”