I nod, stunned at his seemingly calm return to the previous conversation as if he didn’t just have a near-death experience. “Yes.”

  “Huh, didn’t see that one coming,” Ricky muses as he takes a sip of his protein-laced latte to wash down the roughness of his throat. “How was it?”

  I replay the kiss in my mind for the hundredth time, again feeling the moment when the shock wore off and was replaced with a rush of pure heat. How do you tell your nephew that it was a kiss beyond any and all description?

  How do I explain what it’s unlocked within me?

  Finally, Ricky chuckles. “No need to answer when it’s written all over your face. That good, huh?”

  I don’t answer. I can’t.

  Despite the fact that I did just tell Ricky that Tiffany kissed me, I’m not one to kiss and tell things that are better left private.

  He takes my silence as agreement anyway.

  “But you haven’t decided what you’re gonna do about it yet?” He continues, lifting a brow, staring me down. “I know you’ve been playing out every possibility in your head. Is that what’s had you distracted?”

  He’s got me there, right on target with one hundred percent accuracy about my indecision, though I’d hoped no one had noticed my mental daydreams or if they did, they’d assumed I was contemplating business matters.

  Before I can answer, from across the street, someone starts singing a very off-key version of the wedding march. “Dum-dum-da-dum, dum-dum-da-dum.”

  Ricky and I, along with everyone on the patio enjoying their coffee, look up. I see a small group of women, all wearing some sort of white crowns with streamers down the back, hugging and laughing as they try to keep singing. One of them appears to be walking down a makeshift aisle of the sidewalk holding an invisible bouquet, and I realize that they’re in front of a bridal shop.

  I smile at the scene and then, in slow motion, I realize that the tall black-haired beauty singing the loudest is . . . Tiffany.

  In an instant, it feels like I’ve been sucker punched. The world swims, and I can almost see her in all white, her dress, her veil . . . her in my life, in my bed . . . wearing my ring.

  It’s two, three breaths at most. But I swear that I can see the rest of my life laid out in front of me, a path that includes Tiffany. It’s a path full of promise, full of . . . happiness?

  “A lifetime.”

  “Like it’s fucking meant to be or some shit.” Ricky laughs, drawing my attention as I realize I just spoke aloud. “Soo, great run. Even greater brunch. I’ll see ya Monday at the office.”

  Despite his dismissing me, he doesn’t make a move to leave. Instead, he waves his fingers at me, clearly telling me to get the fuck on. “I’ll take care of this with the waitress. Think she’ll give me a discount on one of the sandwiches since it almost killed me?” Not waiting for an answer, he asks, “What are you waiting for, man? GTFO!”

  Getting up, I’m a man on a mission as I cross the street. I barely pay attention to the traffic, avoiding cars more on luck and divine guidance than anything else. I don’t give any thought to what I might be interrupting, only that Tiffany is here, she’s beautiful, and I need to talk to her, touch her, see what this might be.

  My mind is apparently more decisive than I thought.

  “Tiffany?” I call out, getting the group’s attention. She turns, and I see the light in her eyes go from bright and laughing with whoever this group of women is to something darker and heated when she focuses on me.

  “Daniel?” she says on a breath of surprise. “What are you . . . here?”

  The world disappears, or shrinks to only the space between me and her, which is filled with possibility. I reach out, taking her hand gently.

  “We need to talk.”

  Truer words might never have been spoken. Even so, she could stop this whole freight train with one word. Hell, with one look of uncertainty, I’ll back off. But if not . . .

  A smile blooms across her lips, and it’s the most pure and shining example of happiness I’ve ever seen. That I put it there by simply pulling my head out of my ass is a fucking miracle.

  “Harper, I gotta go,” she says, her eyes never leaving mine.

  “Is this him?” someone whispers as if I can’t hear them.

  “If it’s not, it should be,” someone else answers.

  Tiffany blinks as if waking from a trance and then intertwines our fingers tightly. “Sorry, Harper. I’ll talk to you later and we’ll do more wedding planning. ’Bye, everyone!”

  I think they answer, but I’m not sure because Tiffany is pulling me along with her by my hand. I’d take the lead, but I have no idea where she’s going.

  Oddly, I find myself not caring as long as it’s with her.

  Chapter 14

  Tiffany

  We’re not far from Daniel’s condo, thankfully. Especially as sexy as he looks right now. He’s wearing gray thigh-length running shorts and a white tank top, but it’s the look on his face that’s making me hustle as fast as my feet will carry me.

  Somewhere along the way, a gust of wind tears my crown off, but I don’t slow, willing to lose it in favor of finding out what Daniel wants to talk about. He catches it with a nifty snatch, holding onto it as if the cheap bit of posterboard and school craftwork is precious.

  He looks at the sparkles and glitter oddly, and maybe a little scared.

  Of me? Or maybe what it represents? That’s laughable, but apparently, somewhat true.

  But he doesn’t falter, running along with me.

  Is this finally happening?

  Is this real?

  I fucking hope so because if this is some bizzarro world where he meant he wanted to talk about work, or Elle, or anything other than my kissing him and his kissing me back, I will likely die of mortification.

  Or kill him for making me feel like I’m living in the middle of a Hallmark movie.

  He slips his key in the door, and I take the moment to truly look at him, searching for any sign of hesitancy, in him or in myself. When there’s none, I feel like my entire world has shifted. I’m not sure either of us believes what’s happening, and it’s not until the door closes that time seems to start up again.

  I’m about point two seconds from leaping at him and climbing on his cock when he steps back and looks over his shoulder. “Have a seat, please,” he says politely, but the storm in his blue eyes shows his warring emotions. “Make yourself at home.”

  I tilt my head curiously, but he doesn’t explain further before disappearing down the hallway, and a moment later, I hear the shower turn on. I collapse to the couch, not sure what to do.

  What if I’m reading this whole thing wrong? I mean, if he just wanted to get down and dirty, we’re going to work up a hell of a lot more sweat than whatever he’d worked up on his run.

  But he did say to make myself at home. That’s not something you say to someone when you want to have the ‘friend zone’ chat.

  Does he mean get naked?

  Or kick off my shoes and pull up that episode of Squid Game I’ve been meaning to finish watching?

  I scoot around awkwardly on the couch, trying to figure out how to sit so I look comfortable and relaxed and not like I’m about to jump out of my skin.

  But curled up in the corner of the couch feels defensive and sprawled out feels assumptive.

  Finally, I sit up straight with my feet on the floor.

  Yeah, sexy as fuck, Tiff. You really know how to be a seductress.

  I roll my eyes at my own ridiculous thoughts, leaning back slightly so I don’t look like I’m waiting to be chastised by the principal back in school.

  My phone buzzes in my purse, and I pull it out, expecting it to be Ace giving me a hard time for bailing on Harper’s special moment. I’m already prepared to tell him that I’ll make it up to her somehow.

  But it’s not Ace, it’s Ricky.

  Make him work for it. You’re worth it.

  He’s so sweet. Way more so than most people realize. And he’s at least confirming that I’m not misreading things. Probably.

  After a minute, when I don’t reply, he adds, Unless you’re already riding away. Then just make sure you get yours. Ladies first, second, and third. Always.

  And there go all my warm fuzzies about the big brute. Not that he’s wrong, but he doesn’t have to be so crass about it. I guess I should be thankful that he didn’t talk about his own uncle’s dick in graphic detail.

  Then again, he also knows me and my sassy mouth well.

  Too late.

  I add an eggplant and the water droplets emojis and hit Send. True, it’s a tease . . . but maybe a future prediction, hopefully.

  In return, Ricky sends a GIF of Joey Tribbiani covering his ears and screaming.

  He knows I like my Friends reruns. I’m tempted to send back my own GIF, maybe Phoebe singing Smelly Cat . . . but nah. I smile and put my phone back in my purse as the shower turns off.

  But Ricky is right. I’ve been chasing Daniel and definitely made some brazen moves. This time, with the way he approached me, it feels like it’s his turn to make some moves.

  I’m willing to meet him halfway.

  Let’s be honest, I’m still willing to go all the way and make all the moves. He could lie there with his hands behind his head, and I’d happily bounce on his disco stick with my absolute best attempt at twerking.

  But I want him to want me too. Maybe not ‘ladies first, second, and third’, but I’ll happily meet him one for one.

  And not just for sex, although yeah, I could definitely enjoy that. But ideally, for way more.

  I deserve that.

  Daniel comes back into the living room with water droplets clinging to his hair, which is slicked over to the side. He’s changed into jeans that look a little worn and soft and a gray T-shirt. His feet are bare, which somehow makes the whole scene in front of me more intimate.

  I pinch my thigh hard, and his eyes zero in on the movement.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking to see if I’m dreaming,” I say as if that should be completely obvious. “But I didn’t wake up, you’re still here, and I didn’t break in like a psycho.”

  “Is this what you dream about?” He points from me to his own chest.

  I snort ungracefully but smile. “You would likely be horrified at what pops into my mind at night.”

  His voice turns to gravel, his eyes slowly licking down my body inch by inch. “I think I would be rather intrigued about what you think about when the lights are out and you let your guard down.”

  My jaw drops, my nipples tighten from the electricity in his words, and heat pools low in my belly. “Holy shit,” I whisper. “Well, if you’re so curious, that just jumped to the number-one place tonight.”

  The cocky smirk that lifts his lips should piss me off, but he has every reason to preen and he damn well knows it. He comes closer, sitting down next to me on the couch.

  Is this it?

  The moment where he pushes me back and climbs over me?

  Maybe sprawling out on the couch wasn’t such a bad idea after all, I think darkly. A hot start, and then more . . . in his shower, in his bedroom . . . the kitchen works too.

  “We need to talk,” he repeats, and I’ll admit that I’m slightly disappointed at the level of control and restraint he wields. I want him out of his mind with desire, attacking me ravenously, and drunkenly falling into me, physically and emotionally.

  But that’s a dream.

  Or more likely, a fantasy.

  “About what?” I ask, playing coy. I’ve been bold in action. But real talk? That’s not always my strong suit. Mouthy, snappy comebacks . . . I’m your girl. Over the top, exaggerated stories . . . sure thing, coming right up. But exposing my innards for someone I’m unsure of is a hard hell no for me.

  Daniel shifts, giving me an even look. “Tiffany, you kissed me. What were you thinking when you did that? What did it mean to you?”

  Despite his demand for an answer, it’s on the tip of my tongue to brush it off with a joke, but with him looking at me so seriously, it feels wrong to dodge that way.

  I swallow and shift to face him more directly. “The truth?”

  He takes my hand, his thumb dancing over my skin to leave trails of heat, and somewhat embarrassingly, I melt beneath the barest touch from him. In my defense, it’s the first time he’s intentionally touched me, and I savor it like the treat that it is.

  “I’d prefer it,” he says softly, sounding awed. Can he feel the sparks flying from his fingers to me? Is touching me doing something to him? The idea is intoxicating.

  “The truth is . . .” I lick my lips, focusing on the tan of his fingers against the paler skin of my own. “I want more from you . . . with you, and I really hope you’re not fucking with me right now.” I exhale heavily because that was really scary to say aloud to him, and before I can stop them, the words keep coming, though I’m not sure if I’m making things better or worse with the addition. “Or if you want to just fuck me, that’s fine too. But I need to know that up front because right now, the protection I’ve got for my heart is paper thin, and even a little breeze could tear it apart.”

  How’s that for brutal honesty?

  Hey, wanna be my boyfriend? No?

  Okay, wanna rail me all night and then pretend it never happened? I’m down for that too.

  Just make sure you tell me which way you wanna go, because I’m ninety percent of the way to falling in love with you already.

  I should be embarrassed at my wantonness, but I can’t find a single fuck to care. If I have a chance with Daniel, even the tiniest sliver of one, I’m going after it full-throttle, no matter what it involves.

  He mulls that over quietly as I hold my breath in anticipation.

  He doesn’t look surprised by my confession, but he also isn’t throwing me to the floor to ravish me, which honestly disappoints me a little. Nothing like baring your soul and offering your pussy to someone, only to be greeted by deafening silence, to make a girl feel super-secure.

  “Talking implies reciprocation,” I prompt. “Tell me what you’re after—a piece of ass, which admittedly, mine is quite amazing, if I say so myself . . . or more?”

  “The truth?” he says, throwing my words back at me.

  I nod, my eyebrow lifting simply as an attempt at wryness despite the raw exposure of my soul right now.

  Daniel gives me a small smile and leans back on the couch, not letting go of my hand. All of these things feel like good signs, but there’s an outside chance that I might be reading into things because of my own desires.

  “I feel like I know you, but at the same time, like I don’t know you at all. But I want to.”

  Ding, ding, ding . . . we have a winner! My mind is going nuts, with lights flashing and sirens wailing, because I think I might’ve just won the whole damn Showcase Showdown with a vacation, sports car, jet ski, new living room furniture, and a fancy coffee machine. But I push that reaction down in favor of something less jumping-up-and-down-in-crazed-giddiness at such a simple statement.

  “I think we can do something about that. What did you have in mind?”

  I play my cards carefully because hope is bubbling up inside my heart like lava preparing to explode from a volcano. And hope is one of the most dangerous emotions to have. It makes you do crazy, stupid things under the guise of a potential reward that may or may not even exist.

  Like the fact that I’m considering standing up, stripping my clothes off, and dropping to my knees to worship the man I’ve wanted for years, mere moments after saying that my heart’s protected by a tissue paper thin shield. I know if I do that . . . I’m going to catch feelings. But I can deal with the fallout. I’m at least ninety-four percent sure of it.

  Daniel leans forward suddenly, his nose nearly to mine and his free hand on my jaw. I gasp in surprise, and our breaths mingle as his eyes scan my face before boring into mine. The flip from relaxed to intense is exciting and unexpected, making the butterflies in my belly flutter around, eager for more.

  “Your face shows every filthy thought that crosses your mind,” he whispers, stroking my cheek. “And I want to explore them all. How the hell did I never notice that before?”

  “Maybe you weren’t looking, but trust me, there have been plenty of filthy thoughts in my head about you and me.”

  He lets out a guttural grunt, almost sounding pained, and his hand slips up into my hair to squeeze tightly. “More.”

  I don’t know what he means at first and am on the verge of spelling out some of those dirty ideas I’ve had in gloriously graphic detail, but he speaks again, explaining what he actually means.

  “If all I wanted was sex, I could have that without potentially imploding my whole life. But this feels . . .” He breaks off, his brows furrowing and making the lined grooves between them more prominent as he thinks. “It . . . it feels. And I want more of that. I want to explore all the places that are scaring the hell out of me right now.”

  I understand what he means. Daniel Stryker is a man of considered decisions, dry data analysis, and head over heart thinking. His reputation as cold and all-business is well-earned. But I’ve seen behind the curtain. I know he can feel, can love, can be warm and vulnerable with Elle.

  The question is, can he do that with anyone else?

  It scares the hell out of both of us. I grasp his hand in mine, moving it from my hair, and then ever so gently, I press my lips to his palm. “More feeling. We can do that.”

  I manage to stay still and straight-faced for three, two, one . . . and then I can’t hold back my giddy, silly happiness any longer. “Whoop-whoop! You want me! Daniel Stryker wants me!”

  I give a little hip and shoulder shimmy, dancing in my seat. Daniel laughs lightly, and the serious mood is lifted, but the fire between us is already burning hot and high. “I thought I was supposed to be the overly excited one, thankful that a hot, young thing wants me,” he says with a teasing glint in his eye. “I feel like I’m in a fantasy.”