One Night Stand-In (Boyfriend Material #3) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,33

away as my own release takes over.

A few minutes later, as I lie next to her, sated, panting, and happy as ten thousand clams, I’m keenly aware that sex with her was a massive mistake.

Because now I want what I can’t have.

11

Lucas

I don’t want to leave.

Not yet.

When you’ve had a taste of the woman you knew you wanted but are just now realizing how much, you don’t want to exit like you’re wearing jet packs.

You want to linger. If this is all there is before we go back to friendship, I want more moments with her.

I know I should get back to deciphering clues of leading and following, of tangos and dance lessons.

But once I do, it’ll be like I’m starting the clock again. Right now, we’re still in a blissful time-out, a yummy delay of the game.

No need to get back on the field.

After we clean up, I flop back down on the bed next to her and grab a book from her nightstand.

There.

Books.

Casual conversation to fill the awkward post-sex where do we go from here talk.

Even though I know where we go. She’s made it clear.

I tap the cover of the book, featuring a sepia-tinted photograph of a woman carrying a suitcase and strolling down an open road, the highway unfurling before her. “Anywhere, Everywhere,” I say, reading the title aloud. “As soon as I saw this book online, my first thought about the cover was . . . evocative.”

Lola slides onto her side, propping her head in her hand, looking sumptuous with her post-sex glow shimmering across her warm skin. “And when you thought that, did you know it was mine?”

I stare at her. “Is that a serious question?”

“Yes. It is.”

“Of course I knew it was yours.”

She wiggles a brow, a taunting little gesture, then pokes at my hip. “Aww. You stalk me.”

“You stalk me, woman.” I grab her finger and nibble on the tip before I let it go. “And yes, of course I stalk you. I checked to see the designer’s name. I was not the least bit surprised it was yours.”

“I’m sure you grumbled under your breath—that damn Lola.”

“Yes. That’s me. I went full-on cartoon villain, shaking a fist at the sky. Curses!” I return to the cover, gazing at the image, my tone going serious. “It’s powerful. Makes you think. Makes you feel. It could only be a Lola Dumont.”

Her eyes roam my face. “What does it make you think, Lucas? How does it make you feel?”

My mind slides back to the moment I first saw it. “The first thing I thought was admittedly quite selfish. I wanted to know if you had a new trusted confidante. Did you have someone else you talked to about your work? Another designer you ran ideas past or brainstormed with, like we used to do?”

A soft smile plays at her lips. “We were like two chatty parrots sharing a cage, squawking at each other. Do this. No, do that.”

I chuckle at the image. “Yes, I like to think we were macaws and cockatoos, those big-ass parrots that are loud and colorful.”

“Obviously,” she says with a grin. “And no, I don’t have anyone like that. I show my work to my friends. To Amy and Peyton. They’re my macaws, I suppose. But they aren’t in the same field, so it’s not the same thing.”

“True. I work with a partner now, and it’s good to have someone to bounce ideas off of. Reid is terrific about that, but he’s more practical. He’ll suggest moving an element a little to the left, or trying a different font.” Reid is great at what he does, and I’m glad he moved from London to New York recently so we could grow the business. “But he’s not like you. We don’t dive into the deep end of how art makes us feel.”

She smiles softly, genuinely. “I like talking about that.”

“Me too,” I say with a contented sigh, returning to the cover, pausing a moment to let the impact of the design sink in. For me, this cover represents the idea of someone desperate for a change, someone who chooses to hit the road in search of a new life. “This image—it makes me think about what I’d hit the road for. What would motivate me to pack up and go?”

“And the answer is?”

I shake my head. “Nothing.”

She arches a dubious brow. “Not a thing? Honestly?”

I shrug, conceding a sliver. “Okay. Fine. I’d pack up for family, if I had to. I’d pack