His Forbidden Love (Manhattan Billionaires #2) - Ava Ryan Page 0,28
would be.”
I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop wanting your hands on my body…
The cherished memory from that long-ago night in the bar pops into my head from nowhere. The words combine with my sister’s wisdom to hit me hard. Hard enough to make answering difficult. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do or give to hear Ally say she still has feelings for me. The thought that I’ve squandered my one and only chance with her is killing me.
“She was into me once,” I tell Mia. “Maybe she isn’t now.”
“Maybe she is.”
Yeah, maybe she is. That’s what my instinct keeps telling me. Too bad inertia has me pinned in place. Inertia and fear. It’s so much easier to live with the fantasy hope that there’s something there between us rather than risk her shooting me down and smashing my tender and longstanding feelings against the rocks.
What would I do then? No fucking idea. I’m positive that the disappointment would leave me gutted. As a guy who’s endured the pain of a divorce, I’d really like to hope that I’ve endured my share of heartache for the foreseeable future.
But you just never know.
“Maybe I’m too chickenshit to find out,” I say, my ears burning.
“I doubt that.”
“That makes one of us,” I mutter, folding my arms and shifting uncomfortably because I find it impossible to look her in the eye when I’m supposed to be strong and confident no matter what.
She seems to understand, which is one of the best things about having a twin. They understand everything, especially the things you can’t say.
“You’ll get it figured out. Meanwhile, I’m going to the restroom. When I get back, I demand tacos, because I’m starving. Got it?” she says.
“Got it,” I say, cracking a smile.
“Be right back.”
She takes off just as Ally emerges from her cubicle and heads for a nearby computer stand. Acting on impulse, I join her as she’s typing something up. I’d love to claim that I have some grand scheme worked out to make my big move, but the truth is much simpler than that.
If she’s in the room, I want to be with her. Close enough to see the sparkle in her eyes and whiff the scent of vanilla on her skin. Twenty feet away isn’t good enough.
“I’m pretty sure my sister’s going to cancel lunch if you can’t come with us,” I say, leaning against the wall next to her. “Thanks for that.”
She represses a smile as she continues typing. “What can I say? I have that effect on people.”
She certainly does.
“So. Big plans for the weekend?” It belatedly occurs to me that the question tiptoes dangerously close to personal territory, so I add a tiny embellishment. “I’m thinking of having everyone from the office over for drinks or some such. Esprit de corps and all that.”
She stops typing and glances at me, one brow hiked up. “What do you know about esprit de corps?”
“More than you’d suspect. It’s the sort of thing bosses are supposed to do.”
“If you say so,” she says, not bothering to hide her ongoing incredulity.
“Maybe early Saturday evening?”
Something in her expression closes off as she returns to typing. “That sounds great. You should totally do it. But I can’t come.”
“Oh.” The news that I probably won’t see her over the weekend—and it’s not even a long holiday weekend, just a standard two-day weekend—kicks off an irrational wave of disappointment. I shove my hands in my pockets because that’s a better option than, say, using them to punch this wall or flip over her computer stand. “Off to D.C.?”
“Nope.” Maybe I’m imagining things, but I detect a new tightness in her voice. “Bruce is coming here. We’re looking at apartments.”
Fuuuuck.
I stand there and try to absorb this information, doing my best impersonation of a man pretending he’s not being stabbed with an ice pick through the rib cage.
“Apartments.” I clear my throat, nod and plaster on the face I’d use if she told me she won a free dinner for two. “That’s great. So it’s a done deal, then? Him moving here?”
“Not yet. We’re just getting the lay of the land.”
Part of me wants to leave it at that and slink away to lick my wounds over a multi-margarita lunch with my sister. Another, louder, part of me demands that I do something I have thus far avoided and grow a pair of freaking balls.
So I stay right where I am and force my voice to work again.