“That’s not in dispute.”
But it feels like something is. Like maybe we’re not entirely on the same page. Maybe I’m reading something into nothing, but I also feel like she’s reminding me we are only a fuck.
But what the hell?
I know that.
Sure, there’s a small part of me that wants to say, Let’s do it again next weekend. Let’s make a deal. Let’s screw each other’s brains out till we’re through. But I’m intensely aware of the many reasons it would be a bad idea to keep this going.
I have jobs to do. She has a business to expand. We have her brother, and that’s a big fucking deal. There is no time or space for anything more than this—a tryst in a limo after a wedding—and I need to stand firm on this hill, not die on a nagging desire for a little more.
I shove that desire out the door, speeding past it.
And speeding down Ninth Avenue too, since we’re back in the city, close to Truly’s home.
I rub my palms together and pretend to roll up my sleeves like we’re getting to work, since that’s what she loves. “All right, Mr. Investor wants your report sooner, so that means we need to hop to it with our pub crawl. Every day, every night, we need to finish your homework, and you need to use me as your lab rat.”
The smile that spreads across her face is magic. Now I’m really talking her language. “That would be great.” She rattles off the places she wants to check out and suggests a timeline.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I say since she said yes to helping me.
That’s us—two friends helping each other. Nothing more.
She gives me a soft smile. “We’re still friends, right?”
She might be reading my mind. I shoot her a look that says she’s bananas for asking. “Of course.” But inside I’m wishing she felt the same desire for more. Even though I know friends is what makes sense.
As we near her block, she glances out the window then tucks her phone in her purse.
“By the way, if he gets Looney Tunes as his ringtone, what’s mine?”
“Why don’t you call me and find out?”
I grab my mobile from my pocket and ring her number.
“Bond. Jay Bond,” her phone says.
“And I thought you weren’t affected by British accents.”
She shrugs coquettishly. “Perhaps I am, after all.”
“Good, then you can continue to enjoy mine from the friend zone,” I say, reminding myself of the score.
I mean her. I need to remind her of the score.
She smiles. “Yes, we’re good in the friend zone. Aren’t we?”
“We’re great.”
“I think so too.”
When we turn on her block, I get out of the car and walk her to her door, since that’s what a gentleman should do. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”
“I say this with all sincerity and in every sense of the word . . . coming with you was my pleasure.”
The way she ends that sentence, so sultry, so inviting, I want to slide out of the zone once again, rope my fingers through her hair, and haul her in for a kiss. But I don’t leave her with a hot, possessive kiss that makes her arch her back and drag her nails through my hair.
Because that’s not what we agreed to. We agreed that tonight was a blip. So we’ll put it behind us.
“See you tomorrow, Truly.”
“Good night, Jason.”
See? That was so friendly.
I head to the car. As the limo pulls away, she’s already inside the lobby, walking to the elevator.
Ready to dive into work.
As we make our way across town, there’s that annoying twinge in my chest again. That nagging little ache. Only this time, it’s filled with longing.
Which is unacceptable.
There’s no room here for wanting more.
There is no space in my life for more, if I could have it.
Besides, when I check my phone, the message on it reminds me of one of the biggest reasons this won’t work.
