One Last Time(52)

However, sex is even more uncomfortable to tell your father about.

“I did,” I say simply, hoping he’ll drop it.

“Good. The girls came over?”

Short answers. I have to give him short and pointed answers. “Yup.”

I’m biting my tongue to avoid offering more information than needed.

“Glad you weren’t alone.” He pats my leg before turning and yelling, “Brendan!”

I release a huge sigh, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Reagan.

Shit.

Thankfully, Reagan doesn’t say anything for the rest of the night, and we all enjoy each other’s company. Mom and Aunt Nina laugh about old times, Catherine and Jackson are getting the girls ready for bed, and Reagan and I enjoy a glass of wine by the fire pit.

She tells me about her job, and I tell her about mine.

“Wait, so you’re getting paid to stalk hot guys?” She laughs.

“In theory.”

“Here I am, a divorced lawyer with no chance of making partner, and you’re writing about celebrities and getting to hang out with Four Blocks Down. Man, I got fucked.”

“You’re nuts.”

“This is true.” Reagan grins. “So, don’t think I didn’t see you blush when Uncle Dan asked you what you were doing last night. Spill it.”

“Not on your life.”

She taps her fingernails on the glass. “You had sex, didn’t you?” she whispers—loudly.

“Oh my God,” I groan.

“You did! With who?”

Like I’m ever going to tell her that. Hell no. I don’t even fully believe it happened myself. But the soreness in my legs—and other places—tells me it did. It’s the most liberating thing I’ve ever done. But I’m not telling anyone about it, not yet.

“There’s nothing to tell you.”

“You know it’s my job to read people,” she reminds me.

“Read people doing what?” Jackson returns, taking a seat next to us.

My family is so invasive sometimes. “Nothing. We’re not talking about anything.”

Reagan smiles before drinking her wine.

“What are we not talking about?” Catherine sits on his knee.

Great. A former Navy SEAL, a lawyer, and a publicist all ready to ask me questions. I feel like this is the beginning of a bad joke. One where I’m the punch line.





Chapter Twenty-Two





Noah





I’m driving back to my condo after watching basketball with Eli, and I make a right when I should’ve gone straight.

Then another right.

Before long, I’m a few blocks from Kristin’s house.

It’s half past midnight, and this is the last place I should be, but it’s the only place I want to be.

How pathetic am I? I’m like some lovesick puppy.

I park out front and lean my head back. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s only been a few hours since I’ve seen her. However, the only thing I’ve been able to think about is what happened between us.

Last night was . . . unexpected.

When I went there, my intentions were honest. I didn’t think we’d have a sexfest for almost twenty-four hours. Beyond that, I didn’t think I’d be this consumed by her. Instead of scratching an itch, it made it worse.

I have no idea how she feels now that she’s had time to think. I pray to God I didn’t fuck up to the point that she hates me. Then I remember we still haven’t exchanged phone numbers.

Grabbing a piece of paper, I write my number down and then head to the porch. I figure I’ll stick it in the mailbox and hope she’ll see it.

When I lift the lid, a light in the living room flicks on and the curtain moves across the window.

Now I’m a fucking stalker that’s going to be arrested. My publicist will love that.

The door opens, and Kristin comes into view, holding an umbrella cocked as if it were a baseball bat. “Noah? What are you doing here?”

Reclaiming my balls. “I forgot to give you something, so I was dropping it off.”

“It’s almost one in the morning,” she says, stepping out onto the porch.

It’s dark out, but I can still see how beautiful she is. Her dark brown hair is pulled up, she isn’t wearing any makeup, and there is the cutest pair of glasses perched on her nose, making her sexier than ever.

“I wanted to see you.”

Kristin looks away, but I catch her smile. “I couldn’t sleep,” she explains. “I wanted to talk, but it was late . . .”

“And you don’t have my number,” I tack on.

“That, too.”

I step toward her, not able to keep my distance. My hand touches her cheek. “I’m here now. What’s on your mind?”

Her tiny hand wraps around mine, and she moves to the steps. We both sit at the edge, and she rests her head on my shoulder. I try to wrap my mind around what’s happening between us.

“You. Us.”

“We’re both thinking the same things,” I reassure her.

“Yeah?”

I laugh. “Yeah, sweetheart. This wasn’t exactly my plan when I came to Tampa. I thought I’d hang out with my friend, and then I met you.”