Joy Ride

“I don’t recall giving you that precise advice.”


“But you meant to, I’m sure,” he says, then flashes me a winning smile. I flip him the bird as he rides off into the night.

As I lock up my bike in the building, I’m not so sure what I mean to do with Henley. My intentions are a malleable thing these days. They seem to be at war with my actions, as well as my best interests.

After I cook myself dinner and catch up with Mia on the phone—she tells me she’s won the new deal for her company, and that she went with the coconut face wash—I decide to have a soak. It’s been a while since I indulged in that pastime. I find my favorite new playlist, turn up the volume, and set the phone on the plush white bath mat on the tiled floor.

I haven’t used the tub since the night Henley was in it, and as I slide under the hot water I do my damnedest not to think about how the white marble touched her soft skin. I close my eyes and sink down into the steamy heat, the water sloshing precariously near the edge.

I do nothing for a few minutes, and it’s what I need most right now.

Silent contemplation. A blank mind.

As I try to sort out the haze in my head, my phone rings. I blink open my eyes and peer over the edge of the tub. The name flashing on the screen is a gift from the gods. I consider diving out of the tub and onto the floor so I won’t miss the call. But I’m a quick draw, even in water, so I grab a towel, dry my hand, and answer.





30





“Broken Cell Phone Repair Shop,” I say.

Her soft laugh greets me. “It drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

“Many things do. Be more specific.”

“Not knowing what my thing is.”

“Nope.”

“I had a ton of meetings and stuff tonight. Just getting back to messages now.”

That sounds reasonable enough. I lean back, resting my head against the marble. Water splashes.

“Are you in my tub?” she asks.

“No. I’m in mine.”

“Are you naked?”

“No, I’m wearing flannel pajamas.”

“Did you get me hot chocolate?”

Damn. She’s like Babe Ruth calling his shot. I’m fucking impressed. “Depends on whether you deserve it.”

My phone buzzes again. Glancing at the screen, I see it’s the doorman. “One second,” I say, then click over.

“Hello, Mr. Summers. There’s someone here to see you. She says her name is Tiger.”

My grin is too wide to contain. “Send her up.”

Two minutes later, I answer the door, a towel wrapped around my waist, drops of water sliding down my chest, my hair slicked back.

The breath rushes from my lungs as I drink her in. She wears dark jeans so tight they look painted on, black sling-back heels, and a clingy red top. From her finger dangles a black leather jacket. She leans against the doorframe. “I’m here for my hot chocolate,” Henley says.

“How do you know I really bought you some?”

“You wanted to lure me here. You set a hot chocolate trap because you’re dying to know what I’m up to.”

I snort. “Wow. What an elaborate snare I’ve devised.” I open the door wider and indicate with my eyes that she should come in. She does and I close the door. “And this is all because it drives me crazy not to know what you do in the evenings?”

“It drives you batty, right?”

I shake my head as I pad across the floor to the kitchen. “Can I get you something? Scotch? Wine? Soda? Water? Arsenic? Hot chocolate?”

She winks. “Hot chocolate. Hold the arsenic.”

The click of her shoes echoes as she follows me into the kitchen. I grab some milk from the fridge, pour it into a small saucepan, and heat it up, stirring it with a whisk. She eyes my work approvingly.

When the milk is warm, I pour it into a mug, then I snag the gourmet hot chocolate I picked up for her. It’s Godiva. I scoop some into the mug, stir in the mix, and hand her the cup.

She takes a drink.

“Mmm,” she murmurs as she closes her eyes. “Now this,” she says, tapping the ceramic, “this I like.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Good to know.”

She sets it down. “You don’t want to know what my thing is?”

“I think you want to tell me,” I say. If she came all the way downtown to taunt me about my jealousy, then I’m going to make her work for it tonight.

“You think I’m involved with someone. You think I see him after work. You think I go somewhere and see a guy.”

I grit my teeth at the images she paints but shake my head in my best denial.

“Do you?” she presses.

I shrug so damn nonchalantly they’re going to photograph and frame this moment and hang it in a museum. Title: Unruffled. “I honestly forgot you even had a thing tonight.”

“Liar,” she whispers with a sly smile.

“Truth teller,” I say, tapping my chest. I leave the kitchen and head to my living room.

“Max!” she calls out, stomping after me. Her fingers brush my right arm and I turn. She grabs my towel instead of the hand that she was presumably going for.

Presumably.

Either way I’m unfazed as the towel falls to the floor.

I can’t say the same for her.

Her eyes pop.

They widen more as they drift down. She nibbles on the corner of her lip. She’s so fucking transparent, and I couldn’t be happier that she likes the view.

“Want me to stay like this? Or is it going to be too distracting for you?”

She huffs, grabs my towel from the floor, and chucks it at me. “Yes, Max. Your gigantic dick is super distracting.”

I catch the towel easily. “Good,” I say, deliberately taking my sweet time hooking it back on, making sure the gigantic dick in question remains in her line of sight.

I park my hands on my hips. “Now, what were we discussing?” I stare at the ceiling as if I’m trying to remember. I snap my fingers. “Right. You came over at nearly midnight to taunt me about whether I’m jealous about what you do after hours. Did I get that right, tiger?”

She marches back into my kitchen, snags the cup, and parks herself in the doorway to the living room. She downs a big gulp of the hot chocolate as she stares at me. “No. I came over for the hot chocolate, and it’s so much better than coffee.”

I’m not sure if that’s a compliment. I don’t know if it’s her way of saying I’m hot chocolate now, instead of coffee. As if I’ve moved up on her list of drinks. She’s here, so maybe I am cocoa to her. “Fine. You want me to say it, don’t you?”

She wiggles her eyebrows, standing her ground in the kitchen doorway. “Yes.”

I’m guessing she won’t join me until I give in, so I might as well. “I’m jealous. You win.”

I sink down on the couch, and she struts over, plops down next to me, and runs one fingernail down my bare arm, over my bicep, along my forearm to my wrist. Inside, I shiver. Outside, I reveal nothing.

She brings her face to my neck and licks me. The tip of her tongue traces a path to my ear, and it sets my blood on fire. I breathe out hard, saying her name like a warning. “Henley.”