The Hot One

I salute him. “Full-speed-ahead on that one, too.” I tap my watch. “Time is ticking.”


I saw the look on Delaney’s face. She thinks I have a kid, that I rebounded from her in seconds flat. I can’t let her think that. I say good-bye to Clay and head down the hall. The second the elevator doors close, I look her up online. I wonder where she’s practicing. Hell, I’m not even sure where she wound up going to law school. When we broke up, we broke all the way up. I went cold turkey and didn’t look back. It was the only way to do it. The only way I would be able to achieve my dreams, no matter what our make-believe fantasy for our future might have been. I was twenty-two, and yeah, I wanted to have it all. But that shit isn’t possible. I focused on one thing and one thing only—my career. She was driven as hell, too, just as determined to ace law school, and I’ve no doubt she did. That woman was the fiercest competitor I’ve ever gone up against in a debate tournament.

She was fiery in bed, too, but that’s also where she lowered her guard the most. Where she let me in. When our clothes came off, she truly gave herself to me, and I greedily consumed her, every time.

Afterward, we’d had some of our best talks. We’d lie in bed, tangled in sheets, and that’s when Delaney would share her hopes and dreams, her sadness and her disappointment. Sometimes, it felt like pulling teeth to get her to open up to me, and my God, I wanted to know all of her. She still held pieces of herself back, but I knew the key to unlocking her. Kiss her. Touch her. Please her.

That’s when she most felt like mine.

It doesn’t take long to find her. When I click on her Facebook profile and see her occupation, I blink. I grab hold of the brass handrail in the elevator to steady myself. Never would I have pegged Delaney Stewart, one-time aspiring barrister, as the owner of Nirvana, a rejuvenation spa on the Upper West Side.

Sure, the woman gave one hell of a shoulder rub. She worked the kinks out of my neck from being bent over studying at my desk. She ran her hands through my hair and whispered sweet nothings of relaxation as she massaged my scalp.

But I never imagined she’d turn those talented hands into a career. Not when she was so damn good at law. For the flicker of a second, a dark notion swoops down from the sky. This isn’t because of how I went into the last debate like a boxer, fighting to win . . .

I was merciless in that competition. Was that what drove her away from law school? Shit . . . I hope to hell I wasn’t that much of a dick that I destroyed her dreams in one debate.

I dropkick that thought away.

The elevator dings at the lobby. I step outside and walk to the doors, clicking on some of her pictures. That smile. That hair. That face.

My body reacts instantly, giving her photos a full salute.

“Settle down, champ,” I mutter. My dick remembers her quite fondly. No surprise. My cock loved her, and she loved my cock. She had all sorts of names for all of her favorite parts of me.

I scroll through her recent pictures, checking out Delaney and her friends at some sort of event full of dogs and people in the park. In one, she’s toasting with martinis at what looks like a Girls’ Night Out. In another, she lounges in a yellow bikini under the bright blue sky with the same women she ran with today.

I add up the evidence. All roads to Delaney seem to lead through her friends. They’re in nearly every picture. Like a pack. And like a pack, I bet they protect their own.

I type out a message.

“Hey, Delaney. Great seeing you this morning, and your friends. The dogs were cute, too. I see you’re doing massage now? How’s that going?”

But before I hit send, I look at the note.

Fuck it.

This isn’t what I want to say. This isn’t who I am. I want to see her. Talk to her. Catch up with her. I don’t want stupid bullshit. I’ve had enough of that. I’ve had plenty of meaningless dates and pointless conversations.

This woman was never pointless.

She was everything, and that’s exactly why I’d had to slice her out of my life once upon a time.

I hit the delete key and start over.

I ignore Clay’s advice. I’m going to parachute into this from the back hatch of the speeding plane. That’s the only way I know how to do things. Full speed ahead.

Hey, Delaney . . . seeing you this morning was a complete and utter shock. In case the look of surprise on my face didn’t make that apparent, I figured I’d put it in writing. I spent the morning at the zoo and the park with the girl I consider my niece—that sweet little lady who was watching me juggle. You may remember my cousin Clay. He has a daughter now, and I try to spend as much time with Carly as possible. I sure as hell didn’t expect to see you this morning, but I’m grateful I did. You’re as stunning as you always were, and as fierce and fiery. Glad to see you’re in New York City and enjoying life with good friends. I’d love to take you out for a drink and catch up. There’s a lot to say. Are you free this week?

I hit send.





3





Delaney



* * *



Dear Tyler,



* * *



How interesting to see you, too! My, how the years have flown. I’m doing great, thanks for asking. Yes, life is wonderful. So glad you inquired about that, too. I’m also single, but you didn’t ask that. You just assumed. Which makes me think you’re just the same guy you were before. In your note, you went straight for what you want, without thinking of what I might need to hear from you. And isn’t that what you did at the end? You put yourself first. You didn’t even ask what happened to law school. Did I go? Did I win another scholarship? You didn’t care, did you?

The thing is I wouldn’t mind having a drink with you. I used to love chatting with you. I adored our talks that spiraled well past midnight, drifting from politics to history to your beloved Los Angeles Dodgers, to what would make the world become a better place, and even whether ham or bacon was more abhorrent to this vegetarian girl. So, you’re right. There is a lot to say. But how do I know you want to hear it?



* * *



Delaney



The next morning, I stare at my phone and the draft of the message on the screen. I read it over for the seven hundred sixty-second time as I swipe on some blush in front of the bathroom mirror.

Fact is, I don’t blame him for my change in career. How could I? Tyler might have stepped on my law school dreams, but I’d made my choice before that final debate. I’ve got another man to thank for the change of heart. Dear old dad.

Just thinking of my father stirs up far too many mixed emotions—the bitter and the sweet. Funny, in an ironic way, how one phone call with him my senior year of college could change the course of my future. But that’s how it goes. Sometimes we just know when it’s time to make a change.