of them were team photos or freeze frames from TV screens. They were grainy and far away. Seeing him up close, looking like a million bucks, does something to me that no one else ever has.
But it’s more than his looks.
Over this weekend, I grew to love his quiet strength. His intensity. His seriousness. His stillness.
“I had a great time,” I say. “Thank you for taking me with you. It was definitely one of the best weekends I’ve had in a long time.”
“You’ll have to come with me again sometime.” He says it so casually, and my jaw hangs slightly because I wasn’t expecting him to say anything like that.
I figured it was a one-and-done type of thing. He found a girl, took her to his cabin, got laid a good handful of times, and then the second her feet touched the ground again, he dropped her off where he found her.
“I’d like that,” I say.
“You want help carrying everything?” he asks.
I turn around, glancing at my door then back at him. “No, it’s okay.”
Breathing out, I smile and move toward the curb, but his hand hooks my arm and he pulls me back, closer to him. Without saying a word, Ace kisses me.
In broad daylight.
In the streets of Manhattan.
For all the world to see.
And he doesn’t just kiss me – he kisses me hard.
Every part of me hopes it won’t be our last, but I know better than to get my hopes up.
I lick my lips, letting his taste linger on my tongue, and I watch him drive away. Lugging my bags up to my apartment, I realize I forgot the antique jewelry box in his truck. On our way back this afternoon, we stopped at this charming little town called Walnut Creek and popped into this antique shop on the corner called The Yellow Elephant.
It was there I found this little oval trinket box. It had a glass top and little gold filigree legs and little jade cameos all around it. Ace thought it was ugly, and I almost bought it just to spite him, but when I saw the price tag on the back, I realized there was no way in hell I could afford it. The cost was more than one month’s rent here, so I put it back and continued browsing.
When we got back in the car a little while later, Ace produced it from his pocket.
He’d bought it for me when I wasn’t looking, that scoundrel.
I sigh, sticking my key in the lock of my door. I’ll have to get it from him another time.
Twenty-Five
Ace
* * *
ARE YOU HOME?
I’m woken from my afternoon nap by a text message from Aidy. It’s Wednesday, and it’s been three whole days since I last saw her. Three whole days of replaying our weekend together on a loop in my mind. Three whole days of thinking about the way she kissed my lips, how soft her skin felt beneath my palms, and how sweet her taste was on my tongue.
I’m officially a pathetic, lust-sick puppy dog.
I’m not sure what kind of spell she cast on me, but whatever it is, it’s working.
I haven’t thought about Kerenza all week, and that’s a record.
I pull the blanket off me and rise, reading her text message again, my eyes bleary. Rising, I head to the bathroom, take a piss, and then grab a bottle of water. Firing back a response within seconds would make me look like some lame loser. And maybe I am one. But she doesn’t need to know.
I even stop at the laundry room in the hallway and throw in a load of whites.
When it’s been at least ten minutes, I fire one off and let her know that yes, I am in fact home.
She replies within seconds: CAN I STOP BY?
The doorbell rings fifteen minutes later, and Aidy stands on the other side of my door, her makeup case in one hand and her other one gripping the strap of the purse on her shoulder.
“Hey,” she says, smiling sweetly. “I was in the area for work. Thought I’d stop by and get that jewelry box I left in the rental truck last weekend?”
Well, fuck me. She wasn’t coming by to hang out or because she wanted to see me.
“Right,” I say. “Yeah. It’s upstairs. Come on in.”
We climb the stairs, Aidy yapping away about some client who demanded peacock blue eyeshadow despite Aidy’s professional attempts to sway her in a different direction.
“What have you been up to