Dirty Secret

"You're right. I'm sorry."

I suck in a shallow breath.

"Sit. Please."

I can't sit. I can't move. I'm frozen. The way I always am when I think of her.

"It's not the same. You're right."

My eyes go to his wrist. "I don't want to fuck you. The Dom thing isn't going to work on me."

He releases my arm.

I sit. Suck the last drop of gin from my glass.

His voice is careful, slow, like I'm a wounded animal, and he's trying to avoid scaring me. "You're already losing your shit."

I am.

"There are two weeks until the wedding and you're already losing your shit."

"I can handle it."

"Are you sure? I can ask someone else." His voice stays soft. "I understand."

"I have it under control," I lie.

He looks at me like he doesn't believe me, but he still offers his hand.

And I still shake.

Chapter Six

Sienna

Usually, I roll my eyes at Alice's no boys, no alcohol, no fun speech.

At the moment, I see her point.

Ugh.

Who invented drinking?

It's fun for a while, sure, but waking up the next day with a headache and a vague recollection of telling your hot friend you'll bone him if he keeps flirting with you?

So much ugh.

I wash my face, tie my running shoes, attempt to look at the sky without squirming.

No good. It's too bright. A second glass of water helps, but not enough. My head continues to throb. My stomach stays queasy.

I didn't listen to Alice, and now I'm paying the price. But that doesn't mean I'm not a team player. I can still make it through my run. It's just a little more painful this way.

I fill the bottle Cam left yesterday, press the cool aluminum to my forehead, take the elevator to the street.

I walk the ten blocks to Battery Park, then I pick up the pace. Jog the loop. Set out for the path along the West side.

He's here.

Cam.

He doesn't stand out the way he did yesterday. He's one of many athletic men in running shorts. Even one of several handsome, tall, Black men in running shorts.

But he's the only one wearing a soccer jersey.

He's the only man who makes my heart race.

Cam and exercise is a dangerous conversation. He's hot in his suit. All sweaty and sleeveless—

He's—

Fuck.

He spots me immediately. Pauses so I can catch up.

I jog to him. "Are you doing hello today?"

He shakes his head. "How's your hangover?"

"How's yours?"

"I'm already on my way back."

"You're on Greenwich Mean Time. It's afternoon to you."

"Uh-huh."

"Yeah huh." I suck another sip of water from the bottle.

He notices. Studies the way my lips wrap around the spout. Traces the cheesy tourist logo with his eyes.

"Want some?" I offer the bottle to him.

"Thanks." His fingers brush mine as he takes it. He swallows. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "How is your hangover?"

I motion a little.

"You should listen to your sister and take it easy."

"Why does everyone tell me not to drink? No one stops Eve from drinking. She's only a year older than I am."

Eve is Ty's brother's girlfriend. The happy couples are always double dating. And they're often inviting me.

Sure, they try to include me in their festivities, but they're in their happy couple worlds. I'm a total fifth wheel.

Even when it's just the girls, me, my sister, and Eve, the two of them have so much in common. They're both boss bitches with edgy hair, epic style, and a deep love of analyzing lyrics.

They don't enjoy reality TV or soccer or sugary coffee drinks.

Sure, Indie watches soccer with me, but only because she loves me. She barely understands the rules.

"Because you're Indigo's sister," Cam says. "Ty sees you as his kid sister."

"Whereas he sees Eve as—"

"The girl his brother is fucking."

"So it's a guy thing?" I'm the sweet, innocent kid sister. She's… the sexpot? What bullshit.

"Ty wants to protect you."

"Is that why you're here?"

He shrugs. Maybe, maybe not.

But I'm not stupid. I know he's here because Ty asked.

And there goes my hope he's here to see me in my sports bra and shorts again. Whatever. It's kind of sweet Ty wants someone keeping an eye on me. Annoying, but sweet in a Ty kind of way.

And I can't exactly complain about Cam's company. He's so tall and handsome and sleeveless.

What would his arms feel like around me? Strong and sweaty and safe.

No boys, no alcohol, no fun.

No distractions.

But Cam isn't a boy. He's a man. And even if I tell him to get lost, he's a huge distraction. I might as well work with the situation.

If he's here, he's helping me train.

"I'm going to Chelsea Piers and back," I say. "If you can handle it."

"If I can handle it?"

My gaze goes to his shoulders. Bare. I've never seen them bare before. Not in person. They're so strong and broad and in need of my hands. "You are an older man. You may have used up all your stamina."