Page 33 of Old Money

My jaw drops as my mother squeals, leaping across the seat to hug him again.

“Julian, oh my, are you sure? The first-class ticket was just fine. This is so much,” she says. He nods.

“It’s my pleasure. A few of our executives are coming out this week for meetings anyway, so two birds with one stone. Please, enjoy. The crew can whip up all kinds of things, and there is a bed at the back in case you want to rest. Full Wi-Fi too, so you can text a certain, uh, chickadee, if you feel so inclined.”

He smiles, she smiles, and I can’t stop staring at him in awe. We get out, and Tyler goes to grab her bags, but Julian stops him and takes them from him. He offers her his arm as he leads her to the plane with me following behind. I know it’s extra, but I love seeing my mom so happy, seeing her be spoiled the way she deserves to be. She says goodbye to him and thanks him for the millionth time, then she hugs me for a long time, but not long enough.

“I’m going to miss you, chickadee,” she whispers as she kisses me again.

“I love you, Mama,” I whisper back. She looks at Julian.

“You’ll get her home safe?” she asks him. He nods.

“Always,” he says, and I know he means it. And finally, we’re waving goodbye through the window of the jet as the plane pulls out toward the runway.

We get back in the car, and it’s quiet for a few minutes.

“Thank you, Julian,” I say just above a whisper. He looks at me then swipes his thumb across my hand, sending chills down my spine.

“Don’t thank me, Sawyer,” he says, his eyes on mine. We just look at each other for a few moments, taking each other in.GodI want him. I want to crawl across the seat, into his lap, and finish what he started at Bedell House. I want to show him how grateful I am to him. I want to show him how badly I want him, like I’ve never wanted anyone. I’m having images of us rolling around the penthouse, breaking vases, tearing each other’s clothes off. But before I know it, we’re pulling back onto my street. And then he’s helping me out of the car and walking me back up to my door.

I give him my best “fuck me” look. I bite my lip. I bat my eyelashes. I thank him again. I reach for his arm, squeezing it. He bends down, and I hold my breath. But instead, he leaves a long, soft kiss on my forehead.

“Goodnight, Sawyer,” he says, opening the door and nudging me inside.

I clear my throat, feeling my loins sizzle like they’ve been doused in freezing-cold water.

“Goodnight,” I mumble before I slam the door shut.

SAWYER

Idon’t waste time stripping off my jeans and pulling on his t-shirt. I wash my face and grab my book, nestling into my favorite corner of the couch. But I can’t concentrate on a damn word I’m reading. Because all I want is him.

And I’m furious about it.

I pull out my phone.

I think about sending him a strongly worded text about how he needs to stop messing with my head. But instead, I decide on a selfie that’s half my face and half his shirt. Without giving myself time to reconsider, I send it, biting my lip. I throw my phone on the couch, telling myself I’m not going to check it. But when I hear it vibrate, I practically pull my own arm out the socket trying to reach for it.

Nice shirt. Looks better on you.

Thanks,I say.It’s my new nighttime go-to.

Oh yeah? What do you wear with it?

I pause, my stomach turning.

Nothing,I write back before I can overthink it.

But to my dismay, there is no response. Not in one minute. Not in five. Not in fourteen. I’ve bit my thumbnail down to the quick, my leg bouncing so hard I’m making an imprint in the carpet.

Finally, when I can’t take the anxiety anymore, I go to get up. But as I do, I’m startled by a loud banging on my door.

I freeze.

Bang, bang, bang.I swallow, tiptoeing across the living room to the door. I look through the peephole, and my stomach turns again.

Oh, my god.

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