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“No.”
“Please?”
“Nothing has changed between us.”
I thought about the feel of her trembling in my arms. The way she’d cried out for me. “Okay,” I said. “Sure.”
A soft huff sounded through the door. “I just want to go to bed.”
“Any chance you want to come downstairs and go to bed with me?”
“Zero.”
I snorted, a small smile teasing my lips. This was a mess. I wanted her, but I couldn’t have her. I couldn’t change my plans even though I didn’t want to hurt her. And now that I’d tasted her lips…
“Do you regret what just happened between us?” I asked.
There was a short pause. “Goodnight, Sebastian.” Her footsteps faded as she went deeper into her apartment, and I knew I wouldn’t see her again that night.
But she’d said my name. And she hadn’t told me she regretted anything.
TWENTY-TWO
CHARLIE
The next day, Friday, I managed to hole myself up in my office at the town council building to catch up on work that I’d neglected. Conveniently, this allowed me to avoid a certain difficult neighbor who’d made me orgasm so hard my ears were still ringing nearly twenty-four hours later. Not that I was a big ole coward or anything.
Around three o’clock, I gave up pretending to be productive and picked up the phone.
Abigail answered on the second ring. “Hello, stranger.”
“How do you feel about having a drink before we head over to Hooker’s tonight?”
“I feel very good about that,” she answered. “Sullivan’s? Should I call Sophie?”
“Yes and yes.”
“Shall we say an hour?”
“I’m heading over right now, so I’ll nurse a drink or three until you get there.”
“Uh-oh,” Abigail said. “This is a red alert kind of drink, huh.”
“I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”
“I’ll get a hustle on. See you soon.”
Sure enough, not twenty minutes later the three of us were jammed into a corner booth with drinks. Pinot Grigio for Abigail, some sort of fruity concoction for Sophie, and a double margarita with a half-salt rim for me.
“So,” Abigail said, waving her wine glass at me. “Begin.”
I groaned and slid halfway down the booth. Both women looked at me from the other side of it, leaning forward.
“What happened?” Sophie asked. “Is this about the Monticello?”
“No. Well, yes. Sort of. Not really.”
“Entirely logical,” Abigail said, nodding sagely.
