The Hot One

“Me, too. I need to return to work, too.” She drops her gaze to the sidewalk, then looks up. Gone is the dark desire. In its place is something I haven’t seen in a while. She looks like a deer. She looks scared.

She swallows. Shit. Fuck. No. She’s going to end things, and they’ve barely started. My brain goes into hyperdrive, cycling back through the last few days to figure out where I’ve gone wrong. Did I say something thoughtless? Do something careless?

She runs her finger over the collar of my shirt. “I made a mistake.”

My throat clogs now. “What do you mean?”

“I wasn’t completely honest with you.”

I furrow my brow. “About what?”

She draws a sharp breath. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say this, but you know the other day when I said why I didn’t go to law school?”

She takes a beat, and I’m finally able to take a breath. “Sure. When we went for a run last Saturday?”

“Yes. I didn’t share the full story. I wasn’t sure how to say it all then, or if I was even ready to. But I want to be open with you even if it’s hard for me.”

I brush some hair off her face, tucking a strand behind her ear. “What is it, angel?”

Because whatever it is, I can handle it.

I mean, I think I can.

“When I said the debate competition was an eye-opener, it was. But, I’d already started thinking I didn’t want to go to law school.”

“Yeah? For how long?”

“For a few weeks. My father called me, and said something that made me rethink everything. I didn’t tell you all the details at the time.”

“I remember you mentioned the call. Why wouldn’t you tell me the details?” I ask, because I thought we’d worked through this issue before—her struggle to open up and share her hopes and fears.

“You were checking out, honestly. You were distant. But I can’t blame you entirely. I didn’t want to open up about the things he said. I didn’t want to give him all the credit for changing my mind.” She sighs. “Even though he was right.”

“What did he say?”

She inhales and raises her chin. “He said I’d make a good lawyer because I was like him. Because I’d always liked to fight. Just like he had with my mom.”

I cringe. “That must have hurt.”

She nods. “It hurt, and it was completely true. I liked to argue, but it ultimately wasn’t who I wanted to be. I didn’t want to be like him.” Her voice wobbles. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

I frown. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to give anyone any more power to hurt me. I didn’t want to keep serving up all these raw and exposed parts of myself to the men in my life, and let them just walk out.”

My heart aches for her—that she felt that way. But it aches too since she was right. I did walk out on her. “I wish you’d have said something then. But I guess I understand why you didn’t want to open up to me.”

She fixes me with a thoughtful stare. “It probably wouldn't even have made a difference.” Her tone is wistful, not angry.

“Delaney,” I say, wishing she wasn’t right.

“Would it have though?”

I sigh heavily, then shake my head. “No. But let’s do things differently this time around. I want you to be open with me now. I want you to tell me about your doubts and fears.” I grip her shoulders, holding her tight, so she gets it. So she knows I want to be there for her. And the least I can do is try to understand her heart and mind, even about something that happened eight years ago. “Tell me what you were thinking at the time. Tell me how the conversation made you feel.”

She fiddles with the collar on my shirt. Her nervous habit. “I started realizing he was right, and I didn’t want to fight. I didn’t want to argue. I saw too much of it growing up. Maybe that’s what drew me to law in the first place, but then I realized I want to heal, not to tear apart. That’s all the law felt like to me then. It was one long argument, and that’s what my home was like.” She takes a deep breath. It seems to fuel her. “I wanted a new path. One I chose for me. And when I went into the last debate, that’s why I said it was illuminating. I told myself it would be my last chance to decide what I truly wanted for my own future. When you won and I didn’t care that I'd lost, I knew I was done with law. I should have told you that when you asked me the other day in the park . . . but I didn’t.”

She’s shivering, even though it’s not cold. I wish this wasn’t always so hard for her to open up. But I understand why it is. I run my thumb along her jawline. “It’s okay. Thank you for telling me now.”

“I wasn’t sure what was happening between us that morning when we ran. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to say anything if I wasn’t going to see you again.”

My heart speeds up. “Are you sure now that you’re going to see me again? Because you better keep seeing me.”

She swats me playfully. “You better be sure too. Because I want to keep seeing you, Tyler Nichols.”

“And you will see me. And I want you to talk to me. To trust me. To open up. Do you want that?”

She draws a sharp breath. “I do.”

And I smile once more. Because there it is. She isn’t going to keep everything hidden. She isn’t going to spend her days wrapping herself in armor. She’ll take it off, so long as she knows I’ll be here. I drop a kiss to her forehead and linger there. “I want you to know your heart is safe with me.”

“I want it to be safe with you,” she whispers. She pulls back and shoots me a coy little look. Her voice turns flirty. “But are you sure you aren’t mad at me for not telling you the full truth when we went running?”

I scoff. “Not even a little.”

She snaps her fingers in an aw-shucks gesture.

“Shame. Because I was ready to come to your office and grovel.”

I arch an eyebrow. “Did you say grovel?”





19





Delaney



* * *



The next morning, I ransack my closet, slip on some shoes, and make my way to Tyler’s office.

When the elevator dings on his floor, I smooth a hand over my hastily assembled outfit. Tight black skirt. Short-sleeve white blouse. Heels. They’re black and make me four inches taller.

Enough said.

He doesn’t know I’m coming. But the lift of his brow yesterday afternoon, and the glint in his eye, told me he’d be fine with an unexpected visitor who’s come to grovel.

The receptionist greets me with a cheery hello.

“I’m looking for Oliver Edgecombe.”

“Of course. Who shall I say is here?”

I set my hands on her desk, dart my eyes around, and whisper, “It’s Delaney, but can you keep it a secret? I’m surprising Tyler, and I need Oliver’s help. I don’t want Tyler to know I’m here to give him a neck massage.”

That’s my cover. Well, I suspect Oliver knows what a neck massage will probably turn into. But when I called him this morning to ask for his help, he went along with the premise. Bless him.

Holly smiles. “Of course.”