She writhes against my palm.

  I go faster, following her cues, reading her pleasure.

  This wicked thrill is everything.

  She rocks shamelessly as I play with her wet pussy until she’s moaning and riding my hand.

  I’m strung tight as I stroke her.

  With a bitten-off groan, she comes, her whole body shaking beautifully.

  I let go of her wrists, unlock her, and spin her around. She’s never looked more beautiful than she does now, on the side of the road, trusting me to make her feel incredible. “I think I’ll need to keep you overnight, miss,” I rasp out.

  With a woozy, satisfied smile, she says, “You better.” Then she murmurs, “Thank you.”

  She’s thanking me? I should be building her a shrine, getting down on my knees in gratitude to her for letting me fuck her the way I’ve always wanted to.

  My heart hammers. “No. Thank you, sweetheart.”

  We drive in separate cars to her home, and once we’re inside, I kiss her deeply, passionately. Then I take her to bed and slide inside her. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me close.

  “I like this overnight,” she says.

  But I want to keep her more than overnight. I want to tell her what she’s doing to me. And that’s getting to be a big fucking problem.

  FRIDAY

  A Day for Confessions

  18

  CAN’T GET MY MIND OFF YOU

  The Next Morning

  Gabe: Wow. Last night was incredible.

  Ellie: I know! I feel a little high still from the side of the road.

  Gabe: I have a confession.

  Ellie: Tell me.

  Gabe: I’ve wanted to do that for so long.

  Ellie: Yeah?

  Gabe: Yes. It’s been an ultimate fantasy. But then, so are you.

  Ellie: I’m blushing.

  Gabe: And here’s the thing—I’m so fucking glad it was you.

  Ellie: I’m so glad it was me too.

  Gabe: The whole night was amazing. Back at your house.

  You’re a dream, Ellie. The morning was pretty great too.

  Ellie: Well, you do make good dairy-free pancakes. You’re a man of many talents. :)

  Gabe: Anything for you. I can’t wait to see you tonight.

  Ellie: Same here. I want to see you.

  Gabe: Ellie?

  Ellie: Yeah?

  Gabe: I can’t stop thinking about you.

  19

  MONSTER FEELINGS

  Ellie

  I’ve been texting Gabe as I walk to Maddox’s home, but we finish chatting right when I reach my friend’s place. I’m still giddy from the conversation. Probably glowing too.

  When Maddox opens the door to his home a few seconds later, my friend sizes me up quickly. “Let me guess. You either just saw the bad boy, talked to him, or you were texting with him.”

  Yup. Giddy and glowing.

  “Stop being so good at reading me,” I say, then tuck my phone into my bag, and sweep into his house.

  “I’m good at reading all people,” he says, then shuts the door behind us. “I have to be. It’s why I’m good at my job.”

  From someone else, that comment might come across as conceited. But Maddox says it matter-of-factly. It’s just the truth of who he is and how he operates.

  “It is your special skill. And Gabe and I were just texting as I walked here.”

  “Called it.”

  “I know,” I say, then I squeeze his arm. “Thanks for inviting me over.” I pat my messenger bag and the canvas bag alongside it. “I’ve got my laptop and my bathing suit.”

  “What else does anyone ever need?” He smiles softly. “Thanks for coming.”

  He lives nearby so we decided to work together today. He’ll be writing contracts, and I’ll be tweaking the script for episode one of The Dating Games. After we head through his sleek, minimalist home, we settle in poolside, where he serves me iced tea at a table under an umbrella. I take a drink and point at the glass approvingly. “You are an iced tea wizard,” I say.

  “Thanks. But enough about me. What’s the deal with the bad boy? Gabe, you said?”

  My stomach swoops as I think of the man who’s captured my nights and mornings. “Here’s the thing. Gabe kind of seems like a bad boy, but he’s really a great guy. Gabe Clements,” I add, sharing his full name since there’s no reason to be coy. Gabe and I have been going out in public, after all. “He takes my dog out for walks in the morning while I’m sleeping. He brings me the lattes I like. He listens when I talk. He asks questions about my friends and my job, and he pays attention, and he’s thoughtful,” I say, my heart fluttering ridiculously.

  “So, that’s…good?” Maddox asks carefully. Then, he adds more decisively, “Because it sounds great to me.”

  Huh.

  That does all sound great. Surprisingly so. I suppose I didn’t expect this one-week deal to be so…good outside of the bedroom. I figured we’d indulge in sex, but I didn’t anticipate liking Gabe’s company so much. “Yeah, it is great,” I say, a little wary, because…hello. We made a deal. One that ends tomorrow night at Aunt Tilly’s party. “But it’s early days. That’s just how it goes. Honeymoon phase and all.” I wave a hand airily, trying to dismiss these pesky feelings.

  Maddox chuckles. But says nothing.

  I huff. “All right, friend. What are you not saying?”

  Another laugh, then he turns serious. “I’m saying that I think first impressions matter. I think the spark, the connection, the intensity—that’s meaningful. I think, too, that everything you said about him—walking your dog, listening, caring—that’s not honeymoon-level stuff. That’s real.”

  Oh, shit.

  He’s right.

  I sang Gabe’s praises like those things he did were nothing. They’re not nothing. They’re wonderful. But there’s no room to linger on how wonderful since Gabe and I have an end date.

  “Maybe,” I say, then run my finger along the rim of the iced tea glass, trying to sort through the ping-pong game my feelings are playing.

  “Ellie,” Maddox chides, seeing right through me. “This guy sounds like more than a maybe.”

  Ugh. Why does he have to be so right? I toss my hands up in the air, giving in. “Fine, you’re right. I like him. There. Are you happy?”

  He laughs again. “Don’t ever change.”

  “I won’t,” I say, playfully defiant. Then I relent. I’m not a secret keeper. Not from my friends. “We fit. We just fit so well,” I admit, relieved to stop fighting my feelings. Well, for a second at least. “Do you know what I mean?”

  A look of longing flashes in Maddox’s warm brown eyes. “I do,” he says a little wistfully.

  But there’s a hint of pain in his voice too that worries me. I cover his hand with mine. “Did I touch a nerve?”

  “No.” He sighs and slumps back in his chair. “It’s fine.”

  Wait. Hold on. He’s notoriously private about his romantic life. For him to even say it’s fine is revealing. “Maddox…have you met a guy you like?”

  His resigned smile is answer enough. Judging from his expression, whatever happened with this guy isn’t still happening.

  “I did,” he says, a big admission for him. “But it can’t work out.” He’s resolute, but I can hear, too, that he’s trying to be strong.

  “Why can’t it work out?” I ask desperately because I feel it desperately. I want all the good things for my friends. I want Maddox to have mad, passionate, soul-deep love.

  He takes a beat, dragging a hand through his hair, then taking his time as he answers with, “It’s complicated. And risky. And probably a bad idea.”

  I frown then squeeze his hand harder. “This guy sounds great actually.”

  Maddox cracks up, a deep laugh that seems to move through his body. “I haven’t told you a thing about him.”

  “And yet I still know,” I say. Maddox might be careful with his words, but he’s not the only intuitive one. “I can read people too.”

  He smirks. “And what’s the story in the book of me that you’re reading, Ellie?”

  I point at his chest. “I think he sounds great because it sounds like you have big, monster feelings,” I say, my eyebrows arching in query. “Feelings you have to fight off.”

  He sighs. Long, maybe a little frustrated. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, his tone concise, ending the conversation about his mystery man. “Enough about me. Tell me more about your guy and your monster feelings.”

  “No way do I have monster feelings,” I say with a scoff. But my heart is drumming a little harder, a little faster.

  Stupid heart. Stupid feelings.

  Maddox snorts.

  “I admitted I like him,” I say, with an I’ve given in already smile. “Do you want me to serve my heart up on a platter?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Maddox doesn’t back down. Just keeps his gaze locked on me. “You like him. He’s good people. So what’s the problem? Seriously? Everything sounds great.”

  My heart pangs, the start of an ache. But there’s no space for heartache when we’re ending too damn soon.

  I take a fueling breath to reset since the answer is simple. The problem is neither Gabe nor I want more. We’re both devoted to other things. “I need to focus on my show, and he needs to focus on football,” I say, chin up, armor on. “It’s an important year for him and it’s a critical time for me. And we both just got out of bad relationships so…”

  “Timing. Circumstances,” Maddox says sagely, getting it.

  “Yeah. They’re not lining up. So it’s best to just focus on work,” I say, bright and cheery.

  Like I have to be.

  I do love my job. I am excited about it.

  And hell, I moved across the country for this. I should concentrate on my monster feelings for The Dating Games.

  For the next few hours, I dig into the script as he works on deals. We order lunch, and as we eat our quinoa bowls, I show him a scene. He laughs as he reads it. “That is a most excellent dating challenge. Try something that scares you,” he says with a smile. “I can’t wait to see it on air.”

  As the sun travels across the summer sky, we take a break, changing into our swimsuits and jumping into the pool.

  I chat about Los Angeles and my new home and Gigi, doing my best to help keep his mind off his romantic woes. Mine too. But now and then, he gets a faraway look in his eyes. Maybe soon he’ll tell me more about his guy and what went down.

  When we’re done swimming, I change back into street clothes, twist my hair into a tie, then pack up my computer. As Maddox walks me out, I check my email on my phone. “Oh,” I say, stopping in the front hallway, surprised to see a message from Sidney Stinson. The producer of Fabio’s List wrote to me again.

  I read it out loud to Maddox. “I’d really love to chat with you for our doc, Ellie. I know it’s a sensitive topic and you’re understandably cautious, but I promise to treat the interview with respect and gravitas. If you’re willing, I’d love to hear back by Monday to set things in motion.” I finish the note with nerves flickering through me. When I’m done, I meet Maddox’s steady gaze. “What do you think? Should I do it?”

  Maddox has such a level head, and he’s always given solid business advice. “If it matters to you,” he says diplomatically.

  Does this show matter to me? Does the topic speak to me? “I didn’t want to at first, but I’m actually sort of considering it now. Gabe gave me some good advice on it this morning,” I say.

  Maddox smiles and then rubs my shoulder. “This guy sounds good for you?” His voice pitches up at the end, making it a question. Could it ever work out with Gabe?

  But I know the answer—I can’t start to rely on Gabe too much.

  I have friends like Maddox to turn to. He’ll be in my life after this week and Gabe will return to the friends-of-the-family zone. He’ll be someone I see once or twice a year over eggnog and veggie barbecues.

  As I walk home, I tap out a reply to the producer. I’ll think about it over the next few days.

  Then I set myself a reminder to follow-up. So I don’t become one of those people who leaves other producers hanging. That’s not who I want to be, and I don’t want to treat Sidney that way.

  There. That’s done. I’ll put it out of my mind for the rest of the night.

  Tonight is for my last private date with Gabe.

  That’s a sobering thought, that we’re ending our fling after the party tomorrow.

  But I don’t want to get all up in my feels on our last evening together when it’s just us. Besides, all good things end, I suppose. My time in New York came to an end. My show Unfinished Business lasted a few seasons. My friendships are shifting.

  It’s fine.

  It’s all just fine.

  Once I’m at my house, I let Gigi out for a quick bathroom break, shower, and pull on a red tank top that shows off my stomach. Then a cute black skirt. I show Gigi the outfit, and I’m sure she approves.

  After I swipe on some makeup, I flash back on Gabe’s text from earlier.

  When I take you out in public, I get a thrill that I’m the only one who knows the private side of you.

  That thrills me too, so I pack a little something extra for tonight in a canvas bag.

  Then I take my favorite person for a walk. Gigi struts around Venice Beach in her pink rhinestone harness, looking like the badass queen of California. We walk along the main drag, checking out storefronts, soaking in the vibe—the street is teeming with artsy types with colorful tattoos and copious bangles, surfer dudes with long hair and smoothies, and guys and gals in tailored business attire too.

  “This is our new home, girl. I’ll find all my story inspiration here,” I say as we near The Happiest Hours. That was the bar where I saw Gabe a few nights ago—that set these nights of play into motion. I didn’t notice the bar had a back patio the first time I walked past it. But there are ping-pong tables set up and a handful of women in shorts and bikinis are playing the game, trash talking each other. I love a game of ping-pong, so I’ll have to return sometime soon. Does Gabe play ping-pong? He’s an athlete, so I bet he’d have a blast playing.

  It’d be fun to return with him.

  Cool it, Ellie.

  That’s not what our fling is about.

  I’ll return with…Maddox. Yes, a friends’ night out will be good. I head down the block, nearing Rachel’s jewelry shop. Maybe she’ll play.

  The sign on the window says, “Well-behaved four-legged friends are welcome.”

  “That’s you,” I say to Gigi, then scoop her up and head inside.

  “Hi, new friend,” I call out. “Do you play ping-pong?”

  Rachel looks up from her tablet on the counter, then brightens. There must be a lull in traffic since her boutique is mostly empty. “Hey, you! Good to see you again, Ellie. And yes, I do,” she says, then eyes me up and down. “Someone’s going on a date tonight.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “You have a pre-date glow about you,” she says.

  “Maybe I’ll have a post-date one too,” I say in a conspiratorial whisper.

  “Get it, girl,” she says.

  “I plan to.”

  “Good for you. Moving to a new town and dating right away.” She flicks her brown hair off her shoulders, then shudders. “It’s scary out there, but you’re diving in. I admire that. Lord knows, I don’t have the guts to do it.”

  A smidge of guilt wiggles around inside me. I’m not quite diving into it. I don’t want people to think I’m good at this dating thing when I’m sort of a sham.

  “Well, not exactly,” I say, feeling a little sheepish.

  Maybe I should tell her the truth. I don’t want anyone to think I’m some kind of example of go-getter womanhood when I’m just playing a game. One with rules and a clock.

  But the bell tinkles above the store and a pack of customers strides in. This is not the time nor place to issue a correction.

  Instead, as Rachel heads over to help them, I peruse the necklaces by the counter, then pick a silver chain with a small typewriter charm.

  I show it to my pup. “Do you approve?”

  She rubs her head against me.

  “Excellent,” I say, then when Rachel swings by again, I pay for the necklace and thank her.

  “Let me know how the date goes,” she says. “I’m surviving on secondhand date fumes.”

  I laugh. “I will. Want to do dinner on Sunday? We can catch up on all the things,” I say.

  “Is there ping-pong involved too?”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “I’m there,” she says, and we agree to meet at Max’s Restaurant on Sunday, then hit The Happiest Hours. I’ll tell her then that I’m not a bold dating icon. I’m just a woman who’s having a little fun. Had.

  By then I’ll be a woman who has had a little fun, past tense.

  I leave and head home, but I don’t feel entirely satisfied.

  I feel off.

  I wasn’t as honest as I want to be with friends.

  Inside my house, as I give Gigi a fresh bowl of water in her I Wish I Could Text My Dog bowl, I make a new plan—I’ll text Rachel later and let her know that my date tonight is just a fun thing, nothing to be admired.

  That feels less squicky. More honest.

  With a sense of relief, I check the time. I need to take off to meet Gabe, so I round the kitchen counter to shut my laptop. The scene where I left off earlier catches my eye, and I read it again.