Page 95 of Empty Net

“Promise me you won’t let yourself get hurt.”

I can’t guarantee that, but still, I find myself saying, “I promise, Mama.”

“Good. I love you, you know.”

“I love you too.”

“Then don’t hide things from me anymore. Deal? No matter how insane it is, I want to know these things. And don’t worry—I’ll keep your secret, even at your party.”

“Thanks, Mama. I appreciate it.”

We end our conversation just as I pull up to the parking garage for my building, and I press my card to the monitor. I make my way up to my apartment, my mother’s words ringing in my ears.

Promise me you won’t let yourself get hurt.

I promised, and I lied.

I lied because, after ten minutes in my quiet apartment and an outfit change, I’m racing right back down to my truck and steering it toward Lilah’s. Twenty minutes later, I’m riding the elevator to her floor, then my knuckles are rapping against her door.

Nothing. No answer.

I knock again, and the result is the same.

Shit. I didn’t even think about the possibility of her not being home. I just had to see her, which is a little ridiculous because I just saw her last night, crawling beneath her sheets shortly after our plane landed. When I snuck out this morning for practice, I had every intention of staying away.

Look how well that turned out.

I head back to the elevator, telling myself it’s for the best because I’m getting too attached to her. Still, I can’t help but be disappointed while waiting for the car to arrive. It dings, and I look up just as the doors slide open.

Cerulean. It’s all I see.

Lilah.

Her jaw drops as I take her in: white towel hanging over her shoulder, black leggings that leave nothing to the imagination, and a matching jacket hanging open to reveal a lavender top. There’s a strip of skin showing off her soft stomach that I wantto drop to my knees and press my lips to. Her hair is up in a high ponytail. It’s clear she’s just come from the gym, yet she still looks absolutely fucking gorgeous.

“Fox? What are you”—she pushes the button to open the doors on the elevator as they begin to close again—“doing here?”

“I wanted to see you.”

She quirks a brow. “You just saw me this morning.”

I shrug. “I wanted to see you again.”

“Is that so?”

“That’s so.”

She finally steps out, coming to a stop so close the tips of our shoes are touching. “Hi.”

“Hey there, sugar.”

I swear she shivers as I slip my hand up her neck, my fingertips dipping into her hair that’s slightly wet at the roots. I bend, brushing my lips over hers in the softest of kisses, and I love the little whine that leaves her as I pull away.

“I’m glad you wanted to see me,” she says.

“Yeah?”

She nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

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