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Oh, right. I never texted her, so she doesn’t have my number. I take a breath and steady everything and text her back: Jamie.

She has her receipts on, and she sees it right away. Three bubbles appear and roll. They disappear. They roll again.

Where are you? she asks.

Maine, at my house, I text back.

The bubbles roll again. Fuck off, Jamie.

Is there a hint of playfulness in that? Or is she actually upset? A hint of my old blasé attitude comes back.

I’d rather fuck you. Just give me one more time.

She reads it, but she takes five damn minutes to respond.

I’m with my mom, but she’s on a work trip for two days with my stepdad, she says.

She’s still typing. I wait, heart in my throat.

Fly me out. One night.

For a moment, I can’t type. Does she actually mean that? I wasn’t expecting her to say yes, at least not without a fight. When I finally gather my thoughts, I text my PA and ask her to book a flight as soon as possible, along with Serena’s information. I might have gotten that out of Sabrina months ago, in the vain hope someday I would be able to book a flight and see Serena.

Done. I’m in Maine at my house, so it’s a short flight.

There’s a long wait until her next text.

Good boy.

I smile, then put the phone down and go into the bathroom. There’s a big, stupid smile on my face, and I can’t wipe it off. There’s also a visible erection beneath the towel around my waist. I lean over and turn the shower on. It takes me a full ten minutes of standing under the water, staring at the wall, for it to sink in what I just did.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SERENA

I didn’t think he’d actually do it.

I pull open the door, stunned. There’s an Uber outside on the curb. Maybe I wasn’t sure if he would send a car, but I still packed everything in my pink roller bag. And I made sure my shorts with the word Cowboy across the ass are extra short today. It’s a brief flight, but I stole Mom’s Uggs and her oversized mint-green sweatshirt so I could be comfortable. Basically, I look like I just rolled out of a sorority, which has to be the last thing he’s expecting.

“Uber for Serena?”

A man in his sixties steps out and reaches for my bag when I meet him at the curb.

“That’s me,” I say.

“Hop in,” he says. “I’ll get this loaded up. We’ve only got a short drive.”

I smile and get in the back, phone clutched in my hand. He gets in and seems to sense I’m not in the mood to talk, because he turns on the radio and focuses on the drive. My stomach is clenched so tight I can barely feel it. My heart keeps beating slow then so fast I’m breathless and hot beneath my sweatshirt.

I want him so badly. I’m so mad he left, but I’m not supposed to be mad because it was a random hookup.

He’s nothing to me. He never was.

I think I just need a chance to fuck him out of my system. Turning my phone, I text Mom.

Hey, can I tell you something? I ask.

It takes a while for her to respond. We get to the airport, and I gather my bags, thanking the driver. Then, I’m going through security, which is thankfully fairly empty in the middle of the day, and head to my gate. I only have twenty minutes to board, but no boarding pass yet. I start flipping through my email if, for some reason, he found my email and sent it that way.