The Hot One

He tapped the paper. “I don’t like to see this sort of score from my top student. See what you can do to improve it.”


I’d been dismissed. A wave of embarrassment flooded me, followed by self-loathing. How the hell could I have slipped like that? As I left his office, I scratched my head, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong with the assignment.

I didn’t break up with Delaney that day, or the next, or the next.

But over the days that followed, an insidious doubt crept through me, making me question whether I could have the career I’d always wanted and the girl, too.

Could I balance a serious relationship and law school? Was it possible to have that kind of love and that kind of devotion to the law?

I didn’t have the answer, and I was cold and distant with her. Her father had even phoned her, something he rarely did, but I was so focused on myself that I barely pressed her to find out about the call. Instead, I asked myself a whole slew of questions. What if I couldn’t manage both? What kind of lawyer would I be? Would I even become an attorney?

I wanted my career more than anything in the world.

I’d wanted it my whole life.

I couldn’t take the risk, so I jettisoned the girl.

Now, she’s here with me enjoying a glass of wine, and I’m struck with the realization that Clay was right. I didn’t just want to see her again because I was curious what she was up to.

There’s something else driving me, too.





11





Delaney



* * *



I can’t stop thinking about our kiss.

Yes, I kissed him to get rid of his hiccups because I know how much he hates them and how much they embarrass him.

Funny, in a way, that this fearless, cocky, confident man is brought to his knees by something so . . . pedestrian and annoying. But we all have our Achilles’ heel. I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable. I care about him, and I had to do everything I could to help.

But let’s be honest here, too.

I wasn’t merely a do-gooder. I didn’t exactly throw myself in front of the bus. I wanted to kiss him. Hell, I’ve been dying to touch him since he juggled his way back into my life. Desire for this man has camped out in me for far too long.

And now I know there’s a damn good reason he’s been the starring act in countless late night fantasies.

Because he kisses me like it’s the only thing on earth he wants to do. Like I’m the best thing he’s ever touched. He makes me believe that no man has ever kissed a woman with such intensity, such passion, such desire.

It makes me woozy.

It makes me heady.

It makes me giddy.

Maybe all these floaty, blissful feelings are simply the illusion of chemistry.

Or maybe it’s the power of chemistry. But how can chemistry grow even more intense over time when it was already mind-blowing back then?

If I were a scientist, I’d apply for a grant and study the subject. For now, my only conclusion is that with some people, chemistry never fades. Perhaps for some, it intensifies.

The real question, though, is whether it extends beyond the physical.

That’s why I had to stop the kiss.

And that’s why I’ve soaked up every detail of our conversation since we returned to the booth post-hallway kiss.

We’ve been talking for the last two hours, getting to know each other again.

I’ve learned he spends as much time with his niece as he can, taking her on excursions around the city to zoos and parks, pottery-making studios, and M&M stores, indulging nearly every whim simply because he can. Naturally, I find this part of him ridiculously adorable. I learn, too, that in addition to his work in entertainment law, he takes on a few civil rights cases pro bono every year. This doesn’t just warm my heart. It makes me feel a tiny bit better about the state of the world.

He asks me about Nirvana and whether I named it for the band. I laugh, then explain the name represents the state of mind. I tell him I opened my spa three years ago, and that while I practice all kinds of massage, I’ve become known for helping those suffering from a range of ailments—from headaches to nerve pain to arthritis, and even fatigue from cancer treatments.

We move on from the subject of work when he gestures to my necklace, inquiring about the turtle charm.

“It comes from the Cayman Islands,” I say, running my finger over the smooth silver. “I picked it up during a scuba and rock climbing trip last year with my two closest friends—Nicole and Penny. They’re the ones I was running with the other day.”

“Your pack,” he says with a smile and a note of appreciation in his voice. “You’re close with them, I take it?”

I cross my index finger with the middle one. “Like family. I’m going out with them tomorrow night.”

“Speaking of family, how’s your mom?”

We chat about my mom and brother, but only briefly, and I don’t mention I hired a private detective to find out what my dad has been up to after all these years. Tyler knows better than anyone that family is a tough topic for me, and he doesn’t push. Nor do I want to get into the why of my pursuit. It’s too much, too personal. I haven’t even told Penny or Nicole. Besides, when your parents spend the better part of your childhood making up and breaking up, fighting and cursing until the day your dad walks out the door and never looks back, it’s hard for the subject of family to be anything but sandpaper in the mouth.

We keep the rest of the conversation simpler, lubricated by talk of music and books, TV and film. He wants to know if I’m still a fan of “skinny boy rockers with eye makeup.”

Oh yeah.

I show him my latest playlist, so he knows some loves never die. “And don’t try to pretend you don’t like Poison. You were just as hooked on the band as I was when we played Guitar Hero’s ‘Talk Dirty to Me.’” I give him my best I’m-cross-examining-you stare. “I heard you sing that one under your breath when we played the video game.”

“I was hooked on the directive of that one song title, and I believe you, as well, enjoyed the dirty talk.”

A hint of heat floods my cheeks. He’s right. I sure did love his naughty mouth.

While we catch up, I drink another glass of wine, and he finishes his beer. This Riesling tastes delicious, and maybe it’s the alcohol warming me up and breaking me down at once, but this buzzy feeling inside makes me want to flirt.

We were so damn good at flirting, and I just can’t resist.

I twirl a strand of hair and bite the corner of my lip. My go-to move and it always worked on Tyler. If I wanted him to grab a book from my shelf, pick up some snacks, turn up the thermostat, I’d do the move.

He joked that he was silly putty, and that one touch, one look, one press of my teeth into a little nibble, and he’d groan sexily, then give me the moon with some sprinkles on top.