he lets me go.
I step away from their group and away from the dance floor—away from the weird bubble of hormones Cap and I created right where he still stands.
And as I walk in the opposite direction of them—of him—I’m a mix of many things, but I’ll be damned if I can tell which part of me feels the strongest.
Relief that I just managed an escape…or disappointed that I’m no longer standing within his embrace.
Cap
It’s Monday night, and I’m doing what almost no guys do on a Monday night—heading straight for a pretend poker game that serves as a secret cover for a book club.
But, obviously, it isn’t just any book club.
It’s the Billionaire Book Club. Which pretty much makes it the best fucking book club around, no matter if its foundation was built on my ulterior, Ruby-inspired motives.
Vin, my driver, expertly navigates the roads from my office to Thatch’s apartment, and I stare out the window, watching the buildings and streetlights and pedestrians pass by in a blur.
I’m lost in my thoughts. Lost in my own damn head.
Lost in whatever the hell is happening between Ruby and me.
She looked so damn beautiful at my dad’s birthday party Saturday night.
We danced.
We almost kissed.
She even met my insane family without fleeing the premises like her ass was on fire.
Which is a damn miracle when it comes to my mother alone.
But Ruby did end up excusing herself from the party a little too fucking early for my liking.
When it comes to her, I’m finding that the path is rocky, and every time I think I make two steps in the direction of progress—in the direction of her gloriously naked body in my bed—she flips the fucking map and navigates us three steps back and another ten in a different goddamn direction.
It’s like she’s semi-immune to my charm or something.
Which, let’s face it, pretty much never fucking happens.
Hell, where did it all go wrong the other night?
Before I can begin to recount the events of Saturday in my head, for what has to be the fiftieth time, my phone serves as a distraction, chiming loudly from my jacket pocket.
I pull it out to find a text from my sister.
Lena: So…dear brother…why don’t you go ahead and spill the deets on your new lady friend?
I sigh. Apparently, I’m not the only one whose brain is fixated on Ruby.
Me: She’s my intern.
Lena: And…
And hopefully, very soon, a woman screaming my name and her orgasm in my fucking bed…
Me: I see what you’re trying to do here, but there’s nothing to tell.
Lena: God, you are so full of shit, and you know it.
She’s annoyed. It makes me grin.
Me: I’m the best brother in the world, and this is how you treat me? Wow, sis. What happened to the sweet little Lena I used to know?
Lena: Oh, cut the crap, Cap. And don’t try to change the subject.
Me: And what subject are we talking here? English? Math? A little history? Or shall we delve deep into fashion and design just to get you up to speed for Milan in the winter?
The text bubbles move for a good fifteen seconds until a new message appears.
Lena: Mr. Flannel Shirt wants to talk fashion and design? HA. You wouldn’t know fashion or design if it smacked you in the damn head. And, the subject is YOU, DUMBASS, and the fact that you NEVER bring dates to family events. Hell, you’ve literally never brought a girl around our parents since high school. Not your fuck buddies. Or your assistants. But you brought Ruby.
Now, I’m annoyed. I don’t know why I’m annoyed, but I am.
But she’s not finished.
Ten seconds later, another message follows.
Lena: You and I both know there’s a reason you brought her to Dad’s birthday party the other night. And, it needs to be said, I already love her. She’s far too smart for you and doesn’t walk around with the same stupid, horny, doe-eyed look that pretty much every other woman you’ve ever been with always seems to have.
A grin forms on my lips without my permission, and my heart does something weird inside my chest when I read the second sentence of her message.
What the fuck is that about?
I ignore it, rub at my chest, and before I can type out a response, another text from Chatty Cathy fills the message box.
Lena: Just admit it, bro. You like her. A lot. And who wouldn’t? She’s beautiful, funny, and extremely smart.
Me: Is there something you’re trying to tell me?