He lifted an eyebrow. “Then, once you do find the balls to make your move, you’d better make sure you’re not a hookup.”
“Again, I’m not making any moves. She’s a friend. Just a friend.”
He moved closer to the screen. “Sure, for now. But even through the haze of FaceTime, I can tell by the way you look at her. Don’t forget—I record emotions for a living, and yours are written all over your face. You might want to deal with that sooner rather than later.”
“Thanks for the unsolicited advice,” I said robotically. “Please remember to check it at the door next time.”
He smiled, a gregarious grin I knew well. “C’mon. It’s what I do, man. I tell you the truth because that’s my job. That’s what we do for each other. You’ve always called me out on my bullshit when it comes to women and work and life. Hell, how many times have you told me I need to move on?”
I sighed heavily, letting go of my annoyance. How could I harbor any frustration when the man mentioned, even without saying her name, the woman he’d lost? The reason he’d hit on the gals from Montreal last year was he knew he wasn’t going home with them. He hadn’t gone home with anyone since his long-time girlfriend had died three years ago in a fatal car wreck. He’d simply covered up his pain with harmless flirting that went nowhere. But lately, he’d seemed better, happier, more together.
I leveled him with a stare. “I say it because I want you to be happy again, you miserable bastard. I want you to find a sliver of what you once had.”
“That’ll never happen.”
“Do you really believe that?” I asked, hoping he’d say no.
He just shrugged, and I hated that a part of him did believe it. I’d do nearly anything to help him find that place again where he could be happy.
“Look, Brand. I get it. What happened was devastating, no denying that,” I said, because the man splintered in a million pieces when he lost Jenna. But he’d steadily been picking himself up, finding ways to enjoy life. Taking off to live in Paris was part of that, escaping from the memories of his life here in Vegas with his longtime girl. I missed him, but I’d hoped the new location was exactly what he’d needed to move through his grief. Only, I didn’t know if he’d truly made a life there. “And when you’re ready, you’ll be ready,” I added. “But I hope for your sake it’s soon, because it would be awesome to see you with a legit smile again.”
He flashed another half grin. “I’m happy enough. And I’ll be happy for you when you face your feelings for your Robin. Or your Catwoman. Whatever she is to you. See you this weekend,” he said with a smile and ended the call.
As I stared at the blank screen, I shook my head, talking back to the emptiness. “There’s nothing to face,” I said, and I believed it. I had to believe it. Feelings weren’t part of the equation. They couldn’t be. Nina didn’t want them. I was allergic to them. Besides, I didn’t want to play Batman and Robin with her.
When I hopped into my Tesla, my phone dinged with a text message. I slid it open to find the painter updating me.
David the Painter: We will be there shortly! We should be finished by tomorrow at the latest.
I sent a quick thanks and pulled out of the garage, running through options this weekend for our regular crew of friends, plus Brandon. The club we all liked at The Luxe, a nearby pool hall, or maybe dinner at a swank eatery in The Cosmopolitan.
Would Nina and I go out as clandestine lovers or friends once more? Would we be done with her list by then?
My muscles tightened at the thought, but I shook it off as I headed into the office.
Her list was full of items, and we’d tackle them all.
Including number eleven.
I’d find a way to make all her wishes come true.
That was what I wanted for Nina. For my friend. The woman deserved the world. She deserved to know, too, that I was still the man she could trust, that I hadn’t run off and told Brandon anything at all.
After I said hello to my employees, I shut my office door and picked up my phone.
13
Adam
I tapped out a simple text.
Adam: Hey you.
Nina: Hi.
Adam: I need you to know—I won’t say a word to anyone. What we did is personal. I’m not the type of guy who brags and you are NOT a conquest.
Nina: Thank you. Also, I know you’re not that type of guy.
Adam: But I do know you’re close to your friends, so if you want to share with them, I have no issues with that. I get that women like to share.
Nina: Got it. I have the seal of approval to tell Lily and Kate you have a big d-i-c-k.
Nina: Oops!
Nina: Wherever did that naughty side of me come from?
Adam: That naughty side is you, Nina. By the way, this morning was absolutely amazing.
Nina: It was for me. But was it for you?
Adam: Couldn’t you tell how much I loved it?
Nina: I think, but in all honesty, I’m still figuring this out. Everything is new to me.
I leaned back in my chair, rereading that, letting the enormity of her words sink in. Her question was normal, something any woman would ask of her man, and a man of his woman. But with Nina, there was a whole other layer. She didn’t have any history to compare me to. And I loved that. I craved being her first everything. And this was a first for her too—talking about what she’d done. Not only had she let me in, now she was letting me in her head in another way. And I wanted to honor that and give her what she needed too.
Adam: Let me help you figure this out. You shouldn’t just “think” I loved it. I want you to be certain. Without a shadow of a doubt. Close your eyes and remember how I stared at every inch of your exquisite body like a man possessed. How I devoured your perfect pink pussy like I was starving. Nina, I wanted my face covered in your juices. I still do. I could lick you all day. The only thing to figure out is how quickly I can get my mouth on your sweetness again, because I am rock hard right now.
Nina: Well, that *does* seem to answer my question. Thank you for knowing what I needed. And thanks for making me need to go change my panties again because they’re soaked now.
Adam: As they should be when you talk to me. And now that we’re clear on how I loved every single second of going down on you, I want you to tell me where your head is about last night, about this morning. I want to know how you’re doing.
She didn’t respond right away. But the three flashing dots indicated she was typing, and considering how long they flickered, she must have been typing a lot. But when her reply arrived, it was short. To the point.
Nina: This is where my head is—what do you think of me now?