Page 26 of The Probability of Us

But he wasn’t there.

And I want to make sure I’m not falling back into him just because he’s here and it’s easy. We need to talk before I can let myself want this again.

I squeeze him one last time before pulling away, my smile not as bright as it was a moment ago. “Now, come on, we have a meeting in a few minutes.”

* * *

The day is busy for both of us and, other than the meetings we’re in together, reviewing our business model, or going through what he’s researched already to see if we can keep the companies separate, I don’t see him much. But the first chance I get, I read his messages, and they make my whole day.

Warren

I have no excuse for not reaching out over the past six years. All I can say is that there wasn’t a single day that passed that I didn’t think about reaching out, that I didn’t almost reach out. I made a huge mistake back then and I never knew how to explain why I did it. Most days I couldn’t even justify to myself why I did it. I know I hurt you and I will never blame you for not trusting me or not wanting to be around me, but I just wanted to say I’m glad the universe brought us back together—if only to give me the chance to apologize.

A few hours after, late into the night, he sent a second message.

Warren

Come to think of it, I probably should’ve made sure this is still your number . . . if it’s not, I apologize to you, stranger, for the heartfelt message.

That one made me laugh.

At the end of the day, I go to find him and stop outside one of the conference rooms with a smile on my face. He’s deep in concentration and the way one of his eyes narrows as his mouth twists to the side makes me feel like we’re back at Triniti. I could never resist staring at his cute, concentrated face even then.

He looks up and does a double take when he notices me watching, a sly smile growing across his face. He motions with his head for me to enter.

“You almost ready to go?” I ask, now glad that he’d been invited to this outing earlier in the week. It saves me the trouble of finding an excuse to invite him myself.

“This feels a lot like déjà vu.” He smiles. “Catching you watching me while I work and heading out together after.”

Even I can’t stop the smile from blooming on my face. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” His smile turns wicked and his voice lowers. “You know I like to take it slow until you’re begging for more.”

My heart starts racing and I try to subtly press my thighs together, aching for the friction the memories tease. His eyes slowly drift down my body and his smile grows more devilish.

I scowl at him. “All right, if you’re not ready to go in five, you’re walking alone.”

“Oh, I’ll be ready,” he drawls, and I turn to leave before I get myself into trouble—or more trouble than I’m already in, because who am I kidding, I’m introuble. But when he adds, “Analise,” in that slow, sexy voice, I have to grab the doorframe to stabilize myself because my legs have gone weak. He chuckles as I walk away, and I spend the next minutes trying to compose myself before he’s ready to go.

* * *

“Wow, this place hasn’t changed at all,” Warren says when we step into The Dizzy Acorn. He stops and takes a look around until his eyes stop on the chalkboard next to the bar—the trivia leaderboard. A slow smile grows on his lips. “No one’s beat our score yet?”

“Are you kidding?” I grin. “No one can beatThe Summers.”

The bar is more crowded than usual for a Wednesday night, and as we’re weaving our way through the crowd, a man stumbles back into the woman in front of me and it causes her to splash her drink onto my face and all over my blazer. I gasp as a sticky, brown liquor drips down my sleeve.

I’m so distracted by the drink all over me that I get bounced around the crowd, unable to find my footing to keep pushing through, until a warm, sturdy hand links with mine and light pressure on my lower back guides me to the table where our friends are waiting with questioning glances at the dark stains on my tan blazer, as well as the reality of Warren being here, and Warren’s hand in mine.

I pull my hand away, even though the warmth is comforting, and smile at the group. “So, in case anyone doesn’t know yet, Warren is in town.”

He waves but his attention is solely on me. “Sorry, guys, can you give us one minute?” He grabs my hand again and pulls us off to the side of the bar that’s not as crowded and flags a bartender down. “A glass of water and two Blue Moons.”

I look over at him, eyebrows raised, and he hesitates. “That’s still your favorite, right?”

“It’s perfect.”

“Good.” His smile is blinding. “Now, take off your jacket.”

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