Plus, there’s something about him that reminds me of my ex. The clothes? The cologne? The confidence? At least their personalities are different. Jude charms and disarms. Hunter never had that innate charisma, only the ability to fake it.
With wine-flooded veins and my body still reeling from that toe-curling, electrifying kiss, I close my eyes, lift my fingers to my lips, and trace the warmth that still lingers as I accept one simple, inarguable truth: there’s nothing wrong with kissing insanely hot men for the thrill of it.
And who knows? I might even do it again sometime.
Ten
Jude
* * *
The elevator doors part the next morning, and I take a step forward just as Love takes a step out.
“Oh, hey,” she says, almost brushing against me.
I let the elevator go. I’ll catch the next one.
“Hey.” I smile and act natural despite the fact that she seems to be having a hard time maintaining eye contact with me. We kissed for a hot minute last night. There’s no need for this to be awkward.
“Heading out?” she asks. There’s a rosy flush to her cheeks and her sunny hair is piled high on top of her head. A thin gray sweatshirt with a gaping neck hangs over her willowy shoulders, revealing the black and neon yellow straps of a sports bra and workout top beneath.
“Dry cleaner’s.” I nod toward the hangered clothes I’ve flung over my back. Can’t remember the last time I owned any clothes that required professional cleaning, but this is apparently who I am now. “You?”
“Just got back from spin class,” she says. “Hey, I’m going to Brooklyn in a couple hours to check out this space I’m thinking of leasing for Agenda W.”
“Brooklyn?” I ask.
She nods.
“You need a second opinion on the location? I’m pretty familiar. Spend a lot of time there with Lo and the girls.”
Her teeth rake across her bottom lip as her brows knit. “Really? You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”
“Nah, I don’t mind.”
Love’s head tilts to the side. “I’d feel bad. Seriously. My Realtor will be there and—”
“Love,” I say, cutting her off. “It’s never a bad thing to get a second opinion, and that’s my professional opinion.” Checking my watch, I pause for a moment. I don’t want to seem like I’m constantly available and I don’t want to jump at every opportunity to be with her—which I’m epically failing at thus far. Coming on too strong, too fast could be too much, and once you cross that line, there’s no going back. “I’ve got a conference call in an hour, but I can move a few things around this afternoon.”
I sound like such a fucking douche.
And then I remember: I am a fucking douche.
Love offers a gentle smile, her gaze softening and her shoulders relaxing. “You sure?”
Nodding, I smile back. “Of course.”
“Perfect. Meet you back here around two?”
“This is it.” Love hooks her hand into my elbow and pulls me to the middle of an old bread factory-turned-office space just off Neptune Avenue.
The space is wide open, brick walls and brand new black-trimmed windows with the Pella stickers still on. The floors are concrete and the space has a modern coffee-shop vibe going on.
“I was expecting more of a community center type of feel or like a church basement vibe,” I say, “but this is nice.”
“See, that’s where I’m taking things in a different direction. When women come to Agenda W, I want them to want to be here, to not feel like a charity case. Some of those places are so depressing, you know? And I want people to leave here feeling good about themselves because that’s ultimately what’s going to determine what happens after that.”
Love talks with her hands, her golden eyes lit from within as she paces the expansive layout. The soles of her ballet shoes tap and echo and her real estate agent stands back, quietly composing an email on her phone while we take a look around.
“Over here,” she says. “There are eight office suites, a conference room which we’ll probably use for childcare, a fully renovated restroom, and a breakroom with a kitchenette.” Love takes a few steps before turning back to me. “You said your sister lives in Brooklyn, right?”
“She does. My nieces too.”
“So you’re pretty familiar with the area.”
“Very.”
“So what are your thoughts on the location, then?” she asks, glancing toward the windows where pockets of people amble down the sidewalk.
“It’s perfect, actually,” I say. “There’s a YWCA down the street, which would be good for referrals and partnerships. And you’ve got public transit stops right outside here so there’s your easy access. There’s a really good deli on the corner. Line’s out the door during the lunch hour so there’s some good PR. People will see your sign and start talking. Everyone loves when something new comes around. I can ask Lo what she thinks about the location too, but I’m pretty sure she’ll agree.”
“How do you know that much about Brooklyn if you only come here to visit family?” She squints, head slightly tilted.
“I might have lived here once.” I wink to keep things light.
“Recently?”
I nod.
“Why’d you move to The Jasper?” she asks.
“My business took off and most of my clients are in Manhattan, so it just made sense,” I say so easily, so naturally, it scares me.
“Ah,” Love says, taking slow steps as she examines the space around us once more. She doesn’t question it, doesn’t prod, and why would she? I’ve fed her nothing but lies from the moment we met.
“So what do we think?” The real estate agent slides her phone into her bag and struts our way in sky high heels that match her power suit and clack against the hard floor. I think I’ve seen her face on a park bench before.
Love turns to me, her mouth spreading into a wide grin. I nod, giving my silent approval, and she claps her hands together.
“I think I’ll take it,” she says, exhaling as her sparkling golden gaze snaps onto mine. “It’s perfect.”
“All right, let’s all head back to my office,” the agent says, strutting toward the door like we haven’t got a minute to spare. “I’ll just call my assistant and tell her to draw up the lease.”
“You don’t have to come with me,” Love says, voice low as she leans close. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time.”
I check my watch, this one a leather-banded Burberry with a glare-resistant crystal that makes my trusty, waterproof Timex look like a child’s toy, and press my lips flat as I pretend to contemplate my next move.
“Yeah. I’ve got a few things to wrap up this afternoon. And that conference call.” I slide my hand in my pocket and glance at her. Love’s enthusiasm radiates. I see it in her inability to stop smiling and the bounce in her step when she walks. I’m happy for her, and it’s not bullshit happiness. It’s genuine happiness because she’s doing good things here.