The Trade(72)

“Uh, are you joking?”

“No, you need to go to his place and confront him.”

This makes me laugh. “Firstly, Monica, I have no idea where he lives. Secondly, I’m pretty sure I’m the last person he wants to see right now.”

“Well, too bad for him. He owes you an explanation and guess what, you know people who know him, so send a quick text, find out, and drive there.”

“I have my suitcase.”

“That is the lamest excuse I’ve ever heard.” It is.

“Okay, I’m scared.”

The pause on the phone hangs between us before Monica says, “Sweetie, being scared about new things is how the human body works, but just because you’re scared doesn’t mean it should stop you. Fear should be a propellant to move you forward, not hold you back.”

I roll my teeth over my bottom lip while staring out the window. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate it when you’re wise?”

“They’re rare moments.”

“Rare.” I laugh. “But always show up at the worst times, like when I want to wallow.”

“There is no need to wallow. This is a time to take charge. He clearly likes you, he’s holding back, and you need to figure out why.”

“What if I don’t like the answer? Like I’m damaged goods or something.” Monica snorts into the phone causing the corner of my lips to turn down. “I’m serious, Monica.”

Still laughing, she says, “You’re not damaged goods and Cory doesn’t seem like the kind of man to judge someone’s past. Text Dottie, get his address, and find out the real reason. What’s the worst he can do? Shut you out? Compared to the best thing that could happen? He sticks his tongue between your legs again. I would take those chances.”

Feeling a little lighter, I say, “You’re so eloquent.”

“Just for you, Nat. Now get off the phone with me and figure out what the hell is going on.”





I am never listening to Monica again. This was a terrible idea.

I am wrecked from the flight back to Chicago, emotionally exhausted, and I look like I’m ready to move in with my giant suitcase next to me as I travel up the elevator to Cory’s floor.

It didn’t take Dottie very long to track down his address or the number to get into his building. Why there is no bellman at the door, I have no idea, especially since this is a really nice part of town. But either way, I nervously pressed the up button, suitcase at my side, and started making my way to his floor.

Now that I’m almost there, I want to throw up.

You know when you start talking about something, you psych yourself up, self-talking your way into believing what you’re about to do is the best decision of your life, only to massively regret said decision when it’s standing in front of you?

That’s where I’m at right now, wishing I could reverse the elevator.

The carriage comes to a stop, dings, and the doors open. I stand there, unable to move my feet forward, scared to the bone. Why did I listen to my best friend?

And then I remember what she said: fear should propel us forward, not hinder us. I have no idea if Cory is truly into me, if St. Croix was just this lust-filled place, or if there is something between us, but what I do know is that within the last twenty-four hours, I’ve felt more for him than I have the last year for my ex. That should be an indication that I need to move forward, even if it’s scary.

Taking a deep breath, I throw my arm up against the closing elevator door, grab my suitcase handle, and make my way down the hallway to Cory’s apartment door.

Be strong, be confident, and don’t let him shut you out.

Shoulders pulled back, I raise my hand and knock on his door.

As I’m waiting, it occurs to me that he might not be home, which would be extremely annoying since I built up all this energy to come here.

Time ticks by, no answer.

Crap. Is he really not here? Where did he go?

I look to the side; there are only two apartments on this level and I’m standing at the correct one.

I guess I’ll try knocking one more time, but louder.

I form a fist and pound on the door. That ought to do it.

And I wait.

And wait.

I tap my foot, look down at my suitcase, curse Monica some more in my head, and just as I start to turn around, the door opens and Cory is standing there in a towel . . .

Wet . . .

And out of breath.

I’m at a severe disadvantage.





Chapter Seventeen





CORY





First time in a week I haven’t jacked off in the shower. Wow, I should be awarded a medal or something.

Absolutely pathetic.

Everything about me is pathetic.

The way I couldn’t help but grind my cock into Natalie this morning.

The dismissiveness I treated her with right after.

The silent treatment I gave her the entire flight home. How do you express in words that you’re completely enamored without coming across pathetic and needy? And frustrated.

The “peace out” I threw over my shoulder the minute the plane touched the ground.

And ignoring Milly’s texts since I didn’t say goodbye.

What’s going on?