He whips his head toward me, his brows pulled in. “Wait a minute. You’re still living with him?”
“Yeah.” Chewing on my lower lip, I shrug. “I figure if I don’t move out, he’ll realize how much he needs me in his life, how big of a mistake it was to walk away from me.”
Julian shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose before returning his impassioned gaze to me. “That’s exactly why you should have moved out by now. Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing you’ll always be waiting for him.” He shoots to his feet and grabs my hand, tugging me off the park bench. I’m too off balance from the sudden movement to fight him. “Come with me. This appears to be a bigger task than I originally thought.”
I fight to keep up with his long strides as he leads me through the park. “Oh, really? And what makes you an expert in how to win back a boyfriend? Forgive me if I don’t see you as the romantic type.”
“You don’t think I’m romantic?”
“This shouldn’t come as a shock to you,” I argue, but am quickly cut off when he stops walking and yanks me against his hard body. Initially, I struggle in his arms, but when he leans toward me, his breath warming my neck, I melt, becoming a ball of clay in his rather capable hands. That spark is back, that unyielding rush of need filling me, urging me forward.
“You may not think I’m romantic,” he begins, his tone low and seductive. I exhale a shaky breath as my eyes roll into the back of my head, my nerve endings firing. “But if that’s the case, do you think I would have cared that you were no longer in my bed when I woke up the morning after our chance meeting?”
I stiffen, shooting my gaze to him.
“Because I did,” he continues, barely pausing for a beat. “For days, all I could think was I should have gotten your number. So I did what anyone would do in this digital age. I scoured Facebook to find you. I searched for anyone with every variation of the name Evie. Evelyn. Yvonne. Yvette. Everything remotely close to Evie, hoping I could track you down and see if…”
“If what?” Floating my eyes to his, I lose myself in deep pools of blue.
“If you feel this, too.”
His mouth inches closer to mine, the anticipation of feeling his lips on my tender flesh unhinging me in a way that erases all sense of what’s right. I’ve reverted to pure animalistic desire. No emotions. No reason. Just the urge to be satisfied.
“Feel what?” My heart pounds violently against the walls of my chest as I brace for his kiss, praying it will be as incredible as I imagine.
“How much you want to say yes to my little proposal.” Before I have a chance to react, he pulls away, straightening his jacket, acting as if he weren’t just about to kiss me.
I’m wound tight, a bundle of sensation in desperate need of release. It doesn’t help I’ve been celibate for two weeks. It’s the longest I’ve gone without sex since I met Trevor. That’s got to be why I’m ready to agree to anything. It’s desperation. That’s it. Nothing more.
Recovering quickly, I run my hands along my dress, fixing my expression. “Your proposal is ridiculous. In order for it to work, Trevor needs to see us together.”
He passes me a sly grin. “You really have no idea who I am, do you?”
“I know who you are.” I square my shoulders. “Your name’s Julian. Not Julius.”
Bemused, he smirks. “Do you know anything else?”
“Just the fact you must have a shit-ton of money, or at least a really wealthy sugar mommy…or daddy. I’m not one to judge.”
He chuckles, the corners of his eyes creasing. “Definitely no sugar mommy…or daddy. I can assure you of that.” When his laughter wanes, he narrows his gaze on me. “Suffice it to say, Trevor will hear about us. A lot of people will. They’ll all wonder about the mystery woman on my arm. It’s summer. Party season is under way in the Hamptons.”
“The Hamptons?” I swallow hard. I’d heard stories about those parties, mostly from Chloe, but you have to know someone to get an invitation. Hell, I’ve never even been north of Jones Beach on Long Island. The Hamptons is like a different world than what I know.
“Precisely. Men are protective and territorial by nature. In his mind, he can still stake a claim over you because you haven’t moved on. Attend enough of these parties on my arm, he’ll come to believe you have moved on. If his so-called ‘ownership’ over you is threatened, he’ll realize his mistake. He’ll never do that as long as you remain in his apartment, cook and clean for him, do his laundry like the status quo hasn’t changed. It has changed. And he needs to feel that change or he’ll never admit he fucked up. Trust me on this.”
I ponder his words for a moment, something not adding up. Maybe living in New York has made me more cynical. “I find it hard to believe any guy like you would proactively want to help a woman he’s slept with get back with her ex unless he wants a repeat. So, as enlightening as this entire conversation has been, it’s over. I’m not interested in a replay.” I turn from him, my legs not moving as fast as I wish they could.
“Evie, wait!” he calls, but I ignore him, continuing down the path. Then I hear him bellow, “We never slept together!”
I come to an abrupt stop, my pulse quickening. Passersby look in our direction, a few snickers and gasps ripping through the air, but I don’t pay them much attention, too shocked by his admission.
“What did you say?” I ask over my shoulder.
He advances toward me. “We never slept together.”
“But—” I square my shoulders, fully facing him.
“But then why would you wake up in a strange man’s bed in just your bra and panties?”
I nod, still shell-shocked by this revelation.
“Because you threw up all over your damn dress… And my shoes.”
Embarrassment fills me as I close my eyes, cringing. “I did?”
“Sure did.”
“But how—”
“When I headed up to my place, I saw someone who looked alarmingly like this beautiful, charismatic woman I’d witnessed tell an entire bar about her breakup that evening. So, out of curiosity, I walked up to her. That’s when I overheard you say you were never going to drink again.”
“To which you said, ‘That’s probably a good idea.’”
He smiles. “I did. To which you responded by emptying the contents of your stomach.”
I bury my head in my hands. “Oh god. I really am never drinking again. I’m so sorry.”
His arms wrap around me…unexpected, yet comforting. I inhale a breath, my muscles relaxing at his familiar aroma. “It’s okay. We all have those nights where the only cure is bourbon or tequila. Nothing to be embarrassed about. Not the first time I’ve had someone throw up on me. And it probably won’t be the last.”
“Unless you have some sick fetish, it should be.” I tilt my head up at him. “You don’t have some weird fetish where you pay people to puke on you, do you? That’s not why you want to do this, is it?”
He chuckles as he drops his hold on me. “Certainly not. No sick fetishes here.” He raises his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
I pinch my lips. “Why do I get the feeling you were never a Boy Scout?”
“Very observant of you. I wasn’t.”
There’s a brief silence before I speak again. “So you saw me drunk on the street, then what? You decided to take care of me when the rest of the city just walked right by?”
“What can I say? I know how it feels to be overlooked, to think no one notices you. Plus, you’d just had a horrible night. The last thing you should do on your thirtieth birthday is spend it in the drunk tank at the local police precinct. I brought you back to my place to make sure you were okay, that you weren’t about to pass out and choke on your own vomit.”