You Can Have Manhattan - P. Dangelico Page 0,95

we were strangers and there wasn’t a world of history standing in our way. And in spite of all the reasons it was plain wrong to kiss him back, I did it anyway. The kiss turned white-hot in a matter of seconds, had us clinging to each other like it was excruciating to be apart.

“What can I do?” he whispered against my mouth, molding our hips together, his erection pressed against me. “How can I prove it to you? I’ll do anything, Sydney, just say the word.”

I forced myself to step out of his arms, away from the warm comfort of his big body. “You can listen…You can give me a divorce.”

“Hi, I’m Cody. Anybody ever tell you that you look like Blake Lively?” the boy standing to my left slurred. I cast a glance in his direction, and he returned a drunken cocky grin.

Straight ahead, behind the bar, Tony smirked and hid a chuckle by turning his back to us and pretending to sort some bottles, the traitor.

All I wanted was to have one little drink in peace. I wasn’t in any mood to be in public––Scott’s sudden reappearance in Jackson Hole being the main cause. Three weeks and he was still here. How Blackstone was faring without him was a serious cause for concern, but I tamped down the urge to dig around. Blackstone Holdings was no longer mine to worry about. It never really had been.

Laurel had called and insisted I come out to meet her and the girls (her group of friends) for a quick drink and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Which was why I was here, at the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar getting hit on by a bunch of toddlers instead of drowning my sorrows (baking muffins) back at my townhouse.

I was failing at not loving him. I tried. I really did. I tried to stay mad, to resent him. I just didn’t have it in me. Scott was still the man who had kissed every single scar. Who had understood what I needed before even I had. Despite what he’d done to my career and my heart, I was still in love with him. That thread between us hadn’t broken. And as much as I wanted to move on, I wasn’t ready to see him with someone else. It would’ve probably killed me.

I tore my eyes away from the screen of my iPhone where five new voicemails remained unlistened––all from one man––and glanced over at the toddler in question. He and his cohorts were dressed in full rodeo regalia. “Cody” had pale blond hair and eyebrows, the florid complexion of someone who spent a lot of time in the sun and drank too much. More of the same from the other two who hung over his shoulder like he was the one chosen as tribute.

“Not anybody sober…or with twenty-twenty vision.”

I received three blank stares in return. Then, “Oh, I get it. No, but really––” he started again with boldness only a barely legal and, frankly, stupid man could possess. One look at my demeanor and anyone could tell I was in no mood for him to get his flirt on. In fact, I was seconds from texting Laurel and telling her I had to bail for obvious reasons.

“Cody, is it?” I turned to face him. “I’m flattered. But I’m here to meet my girlfriend for a drink. I’m not here for a hookup.”

“You’re gay?” he said with the most tragic expression.

Blink. Blink. Blink. “Yes, Cody. I’m gay.”

“You haven’t called me back.” The voice coming from over my right shoulder was much deeper and much huskier than Cody’s.

My entire body tensed. This was reason number two I hadn’t wanted to go out. I spared him the briefest of glances.

“That’s generally what happens when someone doesn’t want to speak to you. Laurel will be here any minute.”

“Laurel’s not coming.”

Great. A setup. I was going to kill her.

“I thought you said you were gay?” Cody chimed in.

“Bi. Move along now, Cody and Cody’s friends. Trust me, you want no part of this.”

“But––”

Scott’s scowl rounded on Cody. “Are you as stupid as you appear or just hard of hearing? Fuck off, kid.”

Cody puffed himself up and squared his shoulders. He was tall and skinny. As tall as Scott minus approximately thirty pounds of muscle. “Who the fuck you calling kid, dude?”

“Okay guys, c’mon,” Tony finally spoke up.

“Enough,” I added, slid off the barstool, and got between the two. “Scott, let’s go.” I grabbed his wrist

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