The Dirty Truth

“Interesting.” She rests her chin on top of her hand, leaning in. “And what drew you to that conclusion?”

“Science.” I take a drink. “We’re made of stardust—and when our bodies die, what do we become? Dust. Only stardust has a nicer ring to it, I think.”

“Doesn’t it scare you? The idea that one day the lights just . . . go out?” she asks.

I shake my head. “Fear is a wasted emotion.”

“I agree, but everyone’s afraid of something. So tell me . . . What are you afraid of?”

Disappointing the memory of my brother.

Something unspeakable happening to Scarlett.

Dying with regret.

“The same things everyone else is afraid of,” I say. “What about you?”

She sits back, wringing the napkin in her lap. “This is exactly what I’m talking about—your guardedness. You only open up when you want to.”

My jaw sets, and I force a breath through my nostrils. “For years, I learned how to answer questions without having to fully answer them, and now it’s become second nature. I can’t shut it off.”

“You’re going to have to try.”

“I know.”

Sliding off her chair, she slips her fingers around her champagne flute and saunters to the railing edge of the rooftop bar. The wind rakes her dark curls behind her shoulders as she leans against the metal banister.

“Why do you want to date me?” she asks when I join her. “When I was in Nebraska, Lexi told me I wasn’t your type. That you only dated supermodels and women you didn’t have to hold an intelligent conversation with.”

I smirk. “Sounds like something she’d say.”

But she’s not wrong.

“I think it’s fair to say I had a type in the past,” I add. “Elle, I’ve admired you from afar for years. And after getting to know you these last several weeks, my only regret is that I didn’t do it sooner. You’re not like anyone I’ve dated in the past, and that’s one of the best things about you.”

Turning, she gives me a dubious look. “I don’t know how you can say so much without saying anything at all.”

“Ah, so you’re wanting specifics.”

“I’m a details girl.”

“All right.” I align my shoulders with hers, leaning against the railing. “You’re brave. Outspoken. With a single email, you put me in my place in a way no one ever has. You have an unparalleled sense of purpose and the kind of free-spirited determination most people only dream of. You put others before yourself in a world where most people seem to have lost that ability. And you’re a deep thinker in a world where everyone else keeps their thoughts at the surface level so they don’t drown in their own feelings. You’re genuine, Elle. As real as they come. And my God, are you beautiful. The crazy thing is, I don’t think you realize how gorgeous you are—which is another reason I’m utterly entranced by you. Inside and out, you’re the entire package.”

The city lights flicker in her moonlit eyes, and she fights a pleased smile.

“Was that comprehensive enough for you?” I ask.

She brushes a strand of hair from her cheek and nods. “It’ll do.”

Cupping her cheek, I drag my thumb along her lower lip before lowering my mouth to hers, taking the kiss she justly withheld from me earlier tonight. The sweetness of champagne on her tongue clashes with mine a second later, and I pull her into my arms, where she belongs.

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” I say. It isn’t a question. “And I promise you, Elle, I’ll call you the second you leave in the morning if that’s what you want.”

“I just want to know this is as real to you as it is to me. I don’t want to have to question anything every time you pull back.” She peers up at me through a fringe of dark lashes, her gaze melting into mine. “All you have to do is let me in.”

She’s already there.

Her soft perfume invades my lungs—even when she’s not there. Thoughts of her play on a loop in my head every waking minute of every hour. Pieces of Elle occupy the stardust of my soul.

Claiming her cherry-sweet lips once more, I quell her concerns without a single word, because talk is cheap.

And what we have is priceless.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

ELLE

“Why did you reject my article?” I saunter out of his en suite Friday morning, a sweet soreness between my legs, and help myself to a T-shirt from his dresser drawer. Tugging it over my head, I fluff my hair over my shoulders before climbing back in bed with him. Propped on an elbow, I flash a playful smile. “What’s the real reason?”

Trailing my fingertips up his chiseled abs, I stop short at the dimple in his chin before leaning in to steal a kiss.

After our date last night—in which I tortured him for hours with meaningful conversation—I feel like I’m making bigger strides with him. Connecting new puzzle pieces. Getting a glimpse of the bigger picture, though there’s still a gaping hole in the middle.