Page 22 of False Start

I'm out the door with barely enough time to see Damon's small salute and Noah shooting me finger guns. No doubt they'll be grilling me in the group chat later. I could give them details without revealing Denise's identity, but, for some reason, that feels wrong.

Sure, she's just a booty call, and I've regaled my brothers with tales from my bachelor escapades many times before. But maybe it's starting to get old. The Bethany fiasco, regardless of how it ended, is proof I'm open to more than just sex. How many beautiful women do you kick out of your apartment before realizing you want one to stay?

I take the stairs down to the subway two at a time. First mind-blowing sex,thenself-reflection. Maybe.

Chapter ten

Denise

I'moutsideCory'splaceagain, this time fully-sober. Not that there's anything wrong with high sex, but I need to know if it was a fluke or if he's really that good. I damn sure don't need another Derek disaster.

Exactly thirty minutes after my last text, I walk through the doors of his fancy building straight to the doorman's desk.

"Denise Jeffries for Cory Park," I announce. Fingers crossed I don't have to do the whole ID song and dance.

The doorman is around my age, close to 5'10 or 5'11, and clearly Italian. His frame is thick, like he enjoys the gym and ice cream equally, and his wavy hair is slicked back under the hat of his uniform. He's definitely good looking, and I've been known to enjoy a littlesalsicciafrom time to time. He eyes me appreciatively.

"Ah, yeah. Ms. Jeffries," he says, sounding like a young Tony Soprano. "You can go right up. You're on the list."

I give him a wink before sashaying into the elevator.God, I love New York.

The ride up is quick, and I'm at Cory's door before I know it. He yanks it open after just one knock.

"Hey there," he almost purrs, and I have to bite my lip to keep my tongue in my head. The man isscorching.

He leans against the doorframe in only jeans, letting me bask in all his shirtless glory. The sleek lines of his chest mimic the body of a luxury sports car; all performance and speed. And, holy smokes, he looks…damp? Like he's fresh out of the shower, the steam still clinging to him. Water droplets dust his shoulders and I ignore the ridiculous urge to lick them. Instead, I walk past him into his apartment as if I'm completely unaffected. His eyes track my movement.

"Why are you wet?" I ask, dropping my bag onto a chair in the living room.

He prowls towards me with all the menace of a lion, his virility radiating off him in waves. I shuffle backwards, feeling hunted. So much for our connection being a fluke.

"I just finished a game of flag football with my brothers when you texted and had to shower," he says, a slight quirk in his lips. "I can stay sweaty next time, if you prefer."

A dangerous mouth, just as I suspected. I step out of my Caroline Hu adidas Superstars and Cory raises an eyebrow in admiration.

"Nice kicks. I have those in the triple white."

I lift my chin.

"That reminds me. Don't you owe me a tour of your sneaker collection?"

His face instantly morphs fromdangerous predatortokid excited to show off his toys, and I inwardly allow myself to be charmed by his enthusiasm.He motions towards to the hallway leading to his bedroom.

"Right this way."

The same masculine navy and chrome aesthetic of the living room continues in his bedroom, though his posters are far more revealing than the curated art of his public space. Classic artists like Biggie Smalls, Wu-Tang Clan, and Jay-Z adorn the walls next to contemporary artists like Kendrick Lamar, Anderson .Paak, and Cardi B.Andre had quite a few of the same posters…

We pass the king-size bed and walk straight into a massive walk-in closet. My bedroom closet is a shoebox in comparison.

"Ta-da!" he announces, and I audibly gasp.

Custom shelves display Air Jordans, Dunk Lows, limited edition Air Force Ones, and even Yeezy's. The Triple White adidas Superstars sit next to a pair of vintage Nike Mags and I try not to gape. Over $100,000 in shoes is tastefully lit with recessed lighting, and I suddenly feel like a hobbyist in the presence of a sneaker professional.

"This is seriously impressive," I say, awe in my voice.

I see a pair of Air Jordan 1 High OG Collete's and I nearly swoon. He nods when I reach out to run my finger along the supple leather.

"I actually flew to Paris for the closing of Colette to get this pair. My brothers thought it was excessive, but they were an institution and, as you can see, I'm a little bit obsessed."

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