The Right Swipe (Modern Love, #1)(30)

“You have a cat?”

No. “Yes.”

“I’m so sorry. What’s wrong with it?”

She waved her hand. “It’s nothing dire. I mean. She’s fine. She’s more my roommate’s cat.” She backed away as she spoke, patting her pockets for her valet ticket. Thank God, she never carried a purse. When you stashed everything in your pockets, you didn’t have to hunt around for an extra device carrying all your essentials. Anything that could get you in and out of places faster was her jam.

Samson followed her, looking concerned. “Let me know if you need—”

“I don’t. Anyway. Thanks again.” She whirled away and tugged at the gate, confused when the artfully weathered wood only opened a crack. She yanked harder, but it barely jostled.

A warmth enveloped her, and she nearly groaned when he stepped up right behind her, his big, enormous body filling her with heat.

His hand came in front of her and gently pressed the gate shut. His forearm brushed her shoulder, and she waited, every muscle tensed. What would she do if he insisted she stay? If he dismissed the woman who had showed up for him? If he touched her now, after he’d been so sweet and apologetic, when they were alone, in a picturesque garden . . . ?

Nothing would happen. Because they were done. Closure meant done.

He undid the latch on the gate, and he took a step back, away from her. Her breath rushed out of her and she opened the door properly, feeling foolish.

“I’ll call you after I speak with Aunt Belle,” he said to her back. “It might be a few days. She’s out of the country right now and she’s slow to return calls.”

She swallowed. Right. Yes. Annabelle. Business. “Okay. Thanks.”

His voice was husky. “See you later, Rhiannon.”

He’d whispered that in her ear when he’d slipped away from her bed, though she’d been Claire then. It was far easier to have impersonal sex with a person when they didn’t know your real name. She hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder. “Call me Rhi.”

He raised a thick eyebrow. All of him was thick, damn it. Or thicc. With two c’s. All the c’s. “Rhi? I like it. It’s short, like Claire.”

Peter had been the last man who had slept with her to use her full name, her real name. She’d been Claire to all her hookups. She didn’t believe that a name gave someone power over you but . . .

Best not to risk it.

“Samson!”

Samson glanced over his shoulder, and Rhiannon took that chance to slip through the gate. She refused to look behind her, to see if he was watching her leave. It didn’t matter.

Her phone buzzed as she got in her car, and she pulled it out to find a text from Katrina.

Are you okay? How did it go with #BeachBastard?

She gritted her teeth. She didn’t think she could call him a bastard anymore now that she’d gotten confirmation over why he’d flaked. A loved one died and I was overwhelmed with grief was a way different excuse from something came up.

Rhi texted back. It was fine. I got closure, I didn’t fall into bed with him again. He’s going to talk to Annabelle. She hesitated. She finished typing, By the way, why don’t we go ahead and get that cat you’ve been wanting?

Eeeeee. On all counts.

Rhiannon busied herself pulling up directions. She was grateful she wouldn’t have to see Katrina tonight, that she was staying in her loft. She checked the time and groaned. Even if that meant she’d be sitting in traffic forever heading back to L.A.

There was no reason to be rattled over that momentary blip of panic and attraction. That had been as cool and calm a meeting as she could have imagined. Boom, they’d settled the question of why he’d ghosted her so she could, if not trust him completely, not carry this load of anger anymore. Boom, she’d gotten the promise of an intro to Annabelle that seemed somewhat legit.

Rhi.

How did he make her nickname sound sexy?

Boom.

She shivered and put her car into gear. Automatically, she glanced in the rearview mirror and paused when a shiny red Mazda pulled up behind her. A gorgeous girl with long red hair and a tight white dress clambered out of the car, dropping her keys into the valet’s hands.

The sinking sensation in her chest intensified. His date? Was this what kind, sweet, and loyal looked like?

Well, that was fine. Totally and utterly fine.

If Rhiannon’s tires squealed when she peeled out of the driveway, well . . . that must be what closure sounded like.





Chapter Nine


HEYYYYYYY, SAMSON.”

Samson groaned and lifted his head from his cupped palms. The fancy hotel restaurant was deserted except for him and Tina. “You don’t have to use that tone.”

“What tone?” The blonde slipped into the chair opposite him, where his “date” had sat twenty minutes ago.

“That mustn’t upset the talent tone.” Samson grimaced. “I know I stank.”

Tina interlaced her fingers on the snowy tablecloth. There was a wine stain next to her thumb. “You didn’t stink, exactly . . .” She stopped when he growled in disgust. “Okay. That was not you at your best.”

Samson grimaced. That was a severe understatement. “Can we get that poor girl a consolation prize? Disneyland tickets?”