“Meaning Chandler was here one minute, and then we’re . . . you know, the next.”
“Sex, Elle. We were having sex. Pretty incredible sex I might add. Should I be worried that you’re thinking of Chandler right now instead of me?”
“I’m not thinking of him.” I sigh. “I’m thinking of you. Of what you probably think of—”
“For starters, I’m thinking you need to stop thinking.” He chuckles. “And second, I’m starting to doubt myself and my skills if you’re this depressed.”
I laugh. “I’m not. It’s just . . .”
“You’re wondering if we fucked things up, right?” he asks as he rests a hand on my lower back. A charge jolts through me from his touch.
“Well . . . it’s not exactly the smartest move we’ve made.”
“You’re regretting it already? Jesus. At least let the post-coital glow fade before you start to wish I didn’t exist,” he teases. “Talk about a blow to a man’s ego. If the high doesn’t last longer than a cringe of regret, I’m definitely not doing it right.”
I glance his way and can’t help the smile that slides onto my lips. “I’m not regretting it. No. And your ego should hold just fine. There are definitely no complaints here.”
“Then why are you sitting in the dark like you’re wallowing in every female emotion that I don’t think I care to understand?”
“Because we both know we just made a huge mistake.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Only time will tell,” he murmurs.
I turn to face him for the first time. His hair is wet and in waves. His jaw is unshaven, his eyes clear. How is it possible that a human being can be this attractive?
“Ford.” My sigh is uncertain. “How exactly are we going to work together when we’ve seen each other naked?”
His smile is lopsided. “You forget that we’d already seen each other naked and have seemed to be able to work with each other just fine.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
“It’s not?” He feigns naivety.
“No.”
He shifts in his chair so that his knee bumps mine. “Then do you mean how are we supposed to look at each other, work side by side, and me not remember what it feels like to be inside you? Or remember what you taste like?” His eyes hold mine as every part of my body aches to remember and know all those things again already. “Now that? That might pose a little more of a problem, but I have a feeling we’ll manage just fine.”
The man sure talks a good game. Unfortunately for me, I know he can back it up too.
“You’re not worried about what happens next?”
“You mean the part where we finish the ice cream and go to bed? Yeah, I don’t have a room anymore since the wall was knocked in, so of course I’m worried about that. I don’t exactly have anywhere to sleep.”
“You’re not funny.”
He chuckles. “I am. You know I am.” He squeezes my thigh, leaving his hand there. “I’m not sure what you want me to say, Ellery. There’s no one here to watch one of us do the walk of shame. Frankly, there is no need to because, I don’t know about you, but I’m not ashamed of what we just did.” The boyish grin he flashes should be illegal. “Plus, I’m all out of scarlet letters to pin to your chest, so unless you’ve brought some with you in your luggage, it’s not like anyone else is going to know.”
“Why is this so easy for you?”
“Probably the same reason it’s so hard for you.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I’ve wanted you since that first night. Well, not at first. At first, I was pissed at my brothers and wanted to be left alone. The last thing I wanted was to chat with some random woman. And then you”—he chuckles—“kind of made a shitty situation better.”
There he goes again being honest when most men would typically grunt in response.
I open my mouth and then close it. How do I even respond?
“Would it be easier on you if I said yes, it was a mistake? That we had an itch, we scratched it, and now we’re sated? That it was a one-time thing, curiosity satisfied, and now we can go on like it never happened?”
He’s saying all the things I’ve told myself in my head, but hearing him say my thoughts aloud sounds ridiculous.
“Sure. Yes.” I croak the words out.
His smirk says he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. Neither do I. “Great. Then that’s how we’ll play this. It was a mistake. An immoral, egregious, satisfying mistake.” He leans forward and for the briefest of moments, I hold my breath, anticipating one of his mind-numbing kisses. I tell myself I don’t want it, but damn if I’m not disappointed when his lips find my ear, his warm breath tickling the skin there.
“Ford—”
“The best part about mistakes is sometimes you have to make them a couple times to know if they’re good ones or bad ones. I’m not picky, Elle. I’ll take either one when it comes to you.” He leans back and nods. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go find a place to sleep for the night.” I slowly exhale as he steps away, eyes still locked on mine. “Good night, Ellery.”
I watch him move toward the door. My head, my body, and my reasoning feel like it’s all on spin cycle so I can’t find my footing.
“Ford,” I say when he reaches the door. I stand as he turns around to face me.
“Hmm?”
“I broke it off with Chandler weeks ago.” I shift on my feet, my fingers twisting together in front of me. “I’m not sure why I feel the need to tell you that. But I did. I’m the one who ended things.”
“Why?” It’s a single syllable and yet I feel like so much is riding on my response. I can’t read the look in his eyes across the distance, and for that I’m grateful.
“That’s the part that doesn’t make any sense to me. The why.”
He drops his head for a second and then looks back up. The playfulness that was there moments ago is now gone. “I was keeping my distance because you belonged to someone else, and I’m not a cheater. Perhaps you need to explore the why.”
Our eyes meet again as lightning flashes.
When he turns on his heel to walk away, it takes everything I have not to chase after him. To explain. To justify.
But I know why I don’t.
I know if I say it out loud then I’ll have no other choice than to face the truth myself.
And I’m not ready to do that just yet because it scares the shit out of me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Ellery
Twelve Years Ago
“Ellery?”
“What?” My eyes are bleary and after staring at the computer for hours, I feel like I have a pound of sand in them. My finals are brutal this year. Aren’t they always? But nothing but the best is allowed in the Sinclair/Haywood household. Not even when they’re the last finals I’m ever going to take as a high schooler. Sullying the Haywood family name with mediocrity isn’t something that will be tolerated as I was once so blatantly told. “I said what?” I snap.