The line went dead.
When I hung up, I wondered how many lies I’d just told, but decided it didn’t matter because nothing I’d said was intended to hurt anyone. I’d only told them to retain my privacy, and hopefully I’d achieved that. I was a twenty-five-year-old woman, after all. My family had no right to expect full access to my personal life. Those days were officially gone.
I went into the kitchen, put the phone down on the table, and reached into the fridge for a bottle of water. I took a long pull on it, and felt the liquid ride its way down my throat and into my stomach. I was that warm.
The power of a cold shower, I thought. One can’t come soon enough.
But when I started back toward the bathroom, my phone rang again. I stopped short, and just looked up at the ceiling, knowing who it was even before I picked it up. After that little exchange with my aunt, my mother likely would be ready to launch into full damage control. But did I want to hear it? Not exactly. Still, I should probably just get it over with and assuage her fears. Otherwise, she’d just call throughout the week until she got me on the phone. I grabbed my phone, and my heart stopped when I saw who was calling.
It wasn’t my mother. It was Chance Caldwell.
For a moment, I just stared at his name on my screen. How in the hell had he gotten my number? And why was he calling me? Should I answer it or ignore it? Elle would have told me to ignore it. Earlier this morning, she’d warned me away from him. My mother would have told me to run to the nearest church and cast myself at the foot of Christ. Brooke would have told me to stand by my one-night stand, and be done with it.
But Aunt Marion, the heroine of my youth? She would have urged me to take it.
So what the hell? I took it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Hello?” I said.
“Abby?”
His deep voice resonated through the phone as if his fingers had just lightly brushed against my lips, the nape of my neck, the tips of my breasts. Was just hearing his voice enough to undo me? Apparently.
But I couldn’t wrap my head around the reasons why. I didn’t know how to describe what I was feeling, but I knew that whatever it was, it was enough to make me vulnerable to him.
Which is dangerous. Keep it together, girl. Find out why he’s calling.
“This is she.”
“This is Chance.”
I pretended to act surprised, because frankly, it was the closest to how I felt right now. My heart was beating so hard in my chest, it was ridiculous. Why was he calling me? Had I forgotten something in his suite? I must have, but what?
“Good morning,” I said.
“Did I wake you?”
“Not at all, but I have to ask—how did you get my number?”
“I sensed that was coming.”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“First of all, let me reassure you—I’m no stalker, OK?”
“Well, that’s a start. But seriously—how did you get it?”
“When I woke this morning and saw that you were gone, I was disappointed. I thought we’d at least have breakfast together and talk before you left. But you decided otherwise. Why did you leave?”
“Isn’t that what one does after a one-night stand?”
“Not necessarily.”
“You’d probably know more about that than I would. I told you last night that you were my first.”
There was a beat of silence before he spoke.
“You sound tense,” he said. “Did I do something wrong last night?”
You did nothing wrong last night. The problem is that you did everything right last night.
“No,” I said. “You did nothing wrong. It was just a rough morning when I came home, that’s all.”
“Care to elaborate?”
I told him the truth. “When I came home this morning, my girlfriends were out of their minds with worry because I always come home after work. I hadn’t called or texted them when I went to your suite, and they were rightfully pissed off at me because I hadn’t. But that’s my fault, not yours. When I told them where I’d been, they insisted on finding out who you were, so they did a Google search on you. When photos of you popped up in an image search, you were immediately declared a playboy.”
“They deduced that from an image search?”
“In almost every photo, you were with a different woman.”
“Did anyone bother to check the dates of those images?”
We hadn’t, and now I had to wonder why he’d asked. Was he implying that they couldn’t have been recent? Clearly. “No,” I said. “There were too many of them. And frankly, it didn’t occur to any of us to look.”
“Maybe you or your friends should look. At one point in my life, I had my fair share of fun, Abby. I’ve dated and slept with a lot of women. But that also was a good two years ago, if not longer. I’m not apologizing for my past because I don’t regret any of it. But I can tell you with certainty that those images are old, and that those days are over.”
“Why?”
“Because it got boring. Because I wanted something more.”
“Then how do you explain last night?”
He hesitated before he spoke, but when he did, he sounded frustrated. “That’s the thing,” he said. “I can’t.”
What does that mean?
“You know, you still haven’t answered my question,” I said.
“Which question?”
“How did you get my phone number?”
“Simple. I asked my assistant to call the hotel, find out who catered last night’s event, and see if there was a person on the wait staff named Abby. They found your name, and my assistant got your phone number for me.”
“Why?”
“Because I enjoyed last night. I liked being with you. I liked… all of it. Especially watching you come. Being able to make you come by barely touching you. But maybe that’s too intimate for you?”
I wasn’t sure whether it was. Last night was the first time that I’d truly experienced sex without limits. I felt sexually awakened because of what he’d done to me. My first boyfriend, Mark, didn’t know what the hell he was doing when we were together—but how could he? It wasn’t his fault. We were both young, still in high school, and trying to figure out how it all worked. Brian had a few more experiences under his belt, but sometimes sex with him was awkward, especially when he drank too much and couldn’t keep it up. He was a selfish lover. What he and I had together was what the girls and I now termed ‘college sex.’ Brian knew just enough to make things mildly interesting when he wanted to—but it was never anything exceptional. There were too many times when he’d get himself off, and then pull out without considering my own needs. Typical college sex.
But Chance? Chance was different. After spending one night with him, I’d experienced the sort of highs that I’d never thought were possible. He’d shown me what sex could really be between a man and a woman. And I had a feeling that what he’d revealed was just a start. He had much more within him. I knew it.
And so did he.
“Did I offend you?” he asked.
“You didn’t offend me. Last night was liberating.”
“That’s an interesting way to put it. May I ask why?”
“Because I wanted a man to take control of me for once. You did.”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“I think you know I did.”
“So why did you leave so quickly?”
“Because I thought last night was it between us, and that today was a new day that wouldn't include you. I considered myself just another notch in your belt, which is fine, Chance. I mean that. We both went into last night knowing what it was. When we were finished and you were asleep, I decided to leave.”
“I wish you hadn’t.”
I had no choice.
“I have an admission to make,” he said.
“What admission?”
“I saw the first note you left.”
My throat t
ightened.
“I was tossing out some coffee grounds this morning when I saw a crumpled piece of paper lying on top of the trash. The handwriting on it wasn’t my own. I picked it up and read it. What you wrote was heartfelt. Why did you decide to throw it away and leave the other note?”
I closed my eyes at the thought that he’d read the first note. Why hadn’t I been smart enough to just rip it into pieces? Or to stuff it in my purse? It was a moment before I could gather my thoughts and answer him honestly. “I wrote that note too quickly,” I said.
“Which means that you wrote exactly what you were feeling at that moment.”
“Maybe. But after I wrote it, I came to terms with what last night was—two strangers enjoying each other for a few hours in bed. The second note respected that. The first note horrified me.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know why.”
“I think that you felt vulnerable in that moment.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“You know, I have the note in front of me,” he said. “I’ve saved it. Maybe I should read it to you.”
“I know what I wrote, Chance. There’s no need for you to read it to me. So, I have to ask—why are you calling?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Not yet.”
“Then let me clear it up for you. I want to see you again. The second note you wrote was all about throwing up barriers. So, meet me tonight for dinner, and let me tear those barriers down.”
“There’s no tearing them down.”
“I think there is.”
“To what end?”
He didn’t answer, but whatever he was thinking didn’t matter because I already knew that I wanted to see him again. My aunt was in my head, urging me on. Take a lover. Have some fun. But when you finally do get your game on and hook up with a man, don’t get all emotional about it, OK? Just do him, enjoy it, and move on to the next one until you find the right one—if that’s possible. It hasn’t exactly worked out that way for me, but who knows? Maybe someday it will. I am, after all, nothing if not an eternal optimist.
Just talking with him now and hearing his voice was enough for me to want to have sex with him again. I wanted him to take me where he’d taken me the night before. Soon, he’d be off to the next city and he’d forget about me. I’d move forward with my life, just as the other women who’d slept with him had. So, why not have a second-night stand? Why not pull an Aunt Marion and continue to live?
Because it’s dangerous.
Maybe I need some danger in my life. Maybe it’s time for some danger.
But at what cost?
I ignored my inner voice, and pressed forward.
“If I agree to meet with you tonight, you need to know that this will be it between us. Just one more night—that’s all it will be. I want to be very clear with you about that so that you don’t think that I’m leading you on. Tonight will be it.”
“Why does it have to be it?”
“Because you don’t live here.”
“That suite at The Plaza is reserved for me for a reason. I come here often.”
“That’s not good enough. I don’t do long-distance anything, even if it’s just for a hook-up. Because, before you—like I’ve already told you—I didn’t do one-night stands. You’re my first, and you likely will be my last for a while. So, if you want to have dinner and then go back to your place knowing that, I’m fine with that. We can enjoy each other again, and then we can just walk away without a connection and without worries. If that works for you, then I’ll meet you tonight for dinner.”
It was a moment before he spoke, and in that moment, I wondered if I’d been too brazen with him. But I decided it didn’t really matter if I had. At the very least, I’d been honest with him. Either he agreed to the terms and went into tonight knowing that there wouldn’t be a third time, or last night was it.
“You think that we can just walk away without a connection?”
“I do.”
“And I don’t believe you. But whatever. All right—dinner works. Do you have anywhere in particular in mind that you’d like to go to dinner? Nobu? Le Bernardin? Per Se…?”
“Seriously?” I said.
“You don’t like those restaurants? All of them have Michelin stars.”
“Chance, I’ve never been to those restaurants because I can’t afford to go to those kinds of restaurants. And even if I could, it seems like a waste of money to me. For you, probably not so much. Besides, I’m not a five-star-restaurant kind of girl, anyway. So, how about if we take it down several notches?”
“That’s fine. But what kind of restaurant girl are you?”
“A burger-and-fries kind of girl.”
“Really?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I guess I’m not used to that.”
“What are you used to?”
“I think you misunderstood me. My preference is equally low-key. But others tend to expect something more from me.”
“Others meaning the women you’ve dated?”
“In the past—yes.”
“Because you’re rich, they expected the five-star treatment?”
He sounded flustered when he spoke. “Yes. I guess so.”
“I think you know so. Anyway, you can reacquaint yourself with those finer restaurants with other women after you’re done with me.”
“When I’m done with you? What does that even mean?”
I’d already been clear with him that tonight was it, so I chose not to respond. Best to keep this conversation moving. “So, how does something less formal sound?”
“I’d actually prefer that. Where do you have in mind?”
“There’s this diner in the West Village that I like. Best burgers and fries in town. It sounds as if you could use a heaping dose of realness to even you out after suffering through all of those Michelin stars, so let’s go there. Just make sure you dress super casual, because there’s nothing uptight about this place. Believe me, it’s not Per Se, OK? But the food is good. Maybe better.”
“Are you angry with me, Abby?”
I closed my eyes, knowing that I probably deserved that. I was coming off like a bitch. I didn’t mean to, but I had to wonder why I was acting this way.
To keep him at bay. That’s the reason why.
But he’s done nothing to me.
He’s pursuing you.
Let him. I still plan on walking away.
I think you’re naïve.
Think what you want.
“No,” I said. “I’m not angry with you.”
“It sounds as if you are.”
“I’m not. I just didn’t expect this.”
“Expect what?”
For you to call me. For you to confuse me the way you have.
“To hear from you.”
“Why wouldn’t I reach out to you again? Last night was beautiful. I enjoyed it. I thought you also did. I’d just like to see you again, Abby. It’s that simple.”
Nothing is that simple.
Sometimes it can be.
“I apologize,” I said. “So, I’ll see you at eight?”
“Perfect. Where can I pick you up?”
I gave him my address.
“And Abby?”
“Yes?”
“You’re coming off hot right now for a reason.”
I stood still in the kitchen looking into the living room, where the sun was beating against the windows. It was having its way with them now, setting them on fire so that they were likely too hot to touch. Would they resist the heat if they could? Maybe. Maybe not. I wondered if I could, but he was formidable. Intense.
I decided to say nothing.
“I think I know why. I also think that you know why.”
“Are you able to read my mind?”
“There’s no need to. Everything you don’t want to say has already been said by going silent. But we’ll talk about it later if you’d like. As for now,
here’s what you need to know. Tonight, I plan on smashing apart those barriers of yours, Abby. Be prepared for that.”
Before I could respond, the line went dead.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Later, after I was finally able to take a shower, I pulled myself together and tied my hair high behind my head in a tight ponytail. I looked at the leftover pasta that was busy coagulating in the fridge, but after setting a second date with Chance, I felt so sick to my stomach that there was no way that I could eat anything. So, I just removed another chilled bottle of water from one of the shelves, sat down on the couch with my Kindle, and started to read while I waited for Brooke and Elle to return home.
And when they do, the shit storm will hit.
It was just after one when I heard movement outside the apartment door. One of them inserted a key into the lock, the door opened, and I felt myself tense.
“Honey, we’re home,” I heard Elle say.
“And why did we even come home?” Brooke said. “This place is at least twenty degrees hotter than it was at Starbucks. Our air conditioning is so pathetic, it can’t keep up with this heat. We should go back and take Abby with us.”
I smiled at them when they entered the living space. “Take a cold shower,” I said. “It worked for me.”
“You took a cold shower for different reasons.”
“Oh please.”
“What are you reading?” Brooke asked.
“Another one of her torrid romances,” Elle said. “What’s this one called, Abby? ‘On the Edge of Desire’? ‘My Heart Beats Only for Him’? ‘Please Don’t Shoot in My Mouth’?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“So, what’s it called?”
“Annihilate Me.”
“What the hell kind of a title is that?”
“One that’s supposed to annihilate me to my core, but in all the right ways.”
“You and your romances. After last night, I’d think you’d be reading erotica.”
Chance (The One More Night Series) Page 8