Maybe Later(50)

“What are you not telling me?”

“I’m nine years older than the stupid kid who fell for a shell,” I argue with her. “You can’t compare him to me. If you asked me what I’d have done if we’d met nine years ago, I don’t have an answer for that.”

And I’m not sure if I’m telling that to Amy Walker or if I’m telling that to Emmeline.

“Where do we go from here?” she inquires with uncertainty.

Our eyes lock, and I notice the moisture in hers. She glances toward the window and then back at me.

“It was great practice,” she says slightly animated. “Hopefully, next time I’ll get it right. It gets harder as I get older.”

“Get what right?” I ask not understanding what’s happening.

“Dating, meeting people. You have to know, fucking Tinder, which sucks if you ask me, mirrors real life. Those who you’re interested in don’t reciprocate and … well, you get the idea.”

“Are you dumping me for Tinder?”

She shakes her head. “We don’t fit. I thought we had a connection, but clearly, it was just an illusion.”

I stare at her, confused by her words.

“Crazy talk,” she continues. “I’m not your average twenty-some-year-old woman. My friends claim that when I want something, I want it to be perfect.”

I dare to ask, “So you’re looking for the perfect man?” Suddenly, I feel unfit. Divorced, broken and rough around the edges.

“No, the perfect love, filled with passion. Addictive, maddening, savage. Also tender, and soft with just the right amount of wild. It’s so hard to find a man who I can fall for freely. There’s no way I can explain what I want, but when I find him, I know he’s going to take my breath away, fuse my soul with his, and own every piece of my heart. I want to be with a guy who ignites me just by pressing his mouth against mine. I’ll be his everything, because he’ll be mine. My best friend, my lover, and my soulmate.”

I observe her fiery eyes, as I absorb the intensity of her words. She wasn’t looking for a date; she was looking for a fairy tale. A love as deep as the ocean and as beautiful as her. In this moment, I don’t care about her name, only her. I don’t want to play it safe. Instead, I want to lose myself in her. I crave the beauty of her soul, and I want to comfort her trembling heart.

“I want to be reckless with you,” I say bringing my mouth to hers kissing her hard without any restraint.





Chapter Twenty-Five





Jack


I want to devour her in an all-consuming kiss, and give her what she asked for, but she breaks the kiss, moving away from my hold and says, “As hot and passionate as it would be, I can’t do this.”

“Excuse me?” I ask trying to restart my foggy brain.

“I just explained to you why we aren’t compatible. I wasn’t feeding you a line to get laid.”

I close my eyes for a second, taking my time to think about her words and focus on her. Either she’s not ready, or she’s dumping me even after I said let’s move past what happened at the restaurant.

“We had a fight,” I explain.

“You want to call it a fight?”

I nod. “You can’t just disregard a relationship because there’s a miscommunication. You talk about it and work through it.”

“Even if I’m a mess and you’re—” she shrugs, “working through your own shit.”

I smile at her and nod. “We had a bad night.” I rise from my seat walking around the apartment.

I finally stop right in front of the double glass doors that guard a home office.

“Is this your office?” I ask, pointing at the large room.

She nods.

“You’re a psychiatrist?” I try to fish for information. Tell me who you are, Amy. “A life coach,” I fake guessing. “One of those personal shoppers.”

“Neither one of those.” She licks her lips. “Maybe I’m a stripper.”

She begins to take off her jacket slowly. “You caught me. I usually charge five hundred an hour.” She draws quotation marks up in the air. “You owe me a lot of money just for the couple of dates we’ve had. Add in the text messaging and I think you owe me your car.”



“But you haven’t even taken off your clothes yet,” I protest, trying to play along with her.

“What can I say, I was never good at the stripping shit. That’s why I didn’t take the job,” she says thoughtfully.

“You’re not kidding, are you?”

She shakes her head. “I did try it once, once upon a time.”

“Stripping?” I repeat, choking on my own saliva.

I can’t imagine this innocent woman undressing for a living, although, I can picture her being wild in bed.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures, or something like that,” she says. “My parents disowned me when I transferred to another college. I just couldn’t continue where I was, but they cut me off financially. My options were limited. But, I’d practiced ballet for years. My legs were strong, and I am flexible.”

Strong, flexible, and with that fucking body.