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“I can be less naughty”—his eyes twinkle—“if that’s what you want.”
He knows I don’t.
“What I really want is for you not to get out of my car.”
He leans forward, kissing me so gently it makes me want to cry. Why does it feel like a goodbye kiss?
“I don’t want to get out either,” he says, pulling back, “but real life calls.”
I’m one step away from asking if he wants to stay the night at my place, but I know that’s a terrible idea. I need some time to think, to decompress and take in everything that’s happened in the last few days. And I’m sure he does too.
“Real life,” I murmur, hating the idea.
Hayden lifts my chin up with his other fingers.
“Hey, real life doesn’t mean not seeing each other. I told you you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
On the way home, after squeezing out every minute of Skaneateles possible, we talked about how we’d move forward. Dates at each other’s apartments. Maybe a night out if we were careful. But it got trickier when we discussed who we would tell. Enzo, sure. My sister and Karlene, yes.
My parents? Hayden’s friends? My colleagues?
Mostly it seems like a bad idea, but I know Qasim will be bursting by the time I get to work. We agreed to trust each other’s judgment, but we’ll still be sneaking around. Unfortunately, there’s no good way around it.
“If I could scream about us from the rooftops, I would,” he says.
“What would you scream?”
Now I’m just fishing.
“Maybe that my new girlfriend is writing a not so flattering book about me.”
Girlfriend.
We all but agreed to that on Saturday, before engaging in the most amazing bout of sex in the world, but I still like hearing that word from his lips.
“First of all, some of it may be flattering. And second of all, I only told you about that because I admitted I was wrong about you.”
“Mmm.” He’s not convinced. “But if you did write the book, which chapter would cover how to fall head over heels for a commoner?”
I give him a shove. “A commoner? You’re not royalty, for God’s sake.”
“Actually . . .”
My mouth drops.
“I’m kidding. I’m not royalty, but I have friends who are. One in particular I can’t wait for you to meet.”
When he talks about things like that, casually tossing in references to the future, I get all warm and fuzzy inside.
Basically, Hayden has turned me into a big, soft pile of mush. And although I’m many things—a good friend, doggedly determined, somewhat of a perfectionist—mushy is not typically one of them.
“You actually have a friend who is real royalty?”
“I do. A prince. We roomed together my junior and senior year in boarding school. He was just in New York last year.”
His world continues to amaze me.
“Chapter four, ‘Making Friends with a Royal.’”
