Page 45 of Play Dirty

She has no response to that, so neither of us says anything for a long time.

It’s not until I pull into her driveway that she finally speaks up.

“Do you want to come in and take a nap?”

“What?” I’m caught off-guard.

“That’s not some euphemism for sex. It’s literally an invitation to rest for a few hours before you go home to your busy and active children. Ivan and Chey are still out of the country, so the house is quiet. You can sleep next to me or in the guest room, I don’t mind either way. I trust you to be a gentleman.”

“I’m not sure how to answer,” I reply honestly. “We kind of stopped talking mid-conversation.”

“Because I don’t know where we go from here,” she says. “All I know is that I like you too. I want to keep being friends, see if maybe there’s a chance it can be something…else. Short-term, sex is off the table. That doesn’t mean it will always be. Just that I need more time. If you can live with that, then come inside and sleep next to me for a few hours.”

Well, fuck.

Is that even a thing? Sleeping next to one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met? One who’s sweet and kind and incredibly patient and loving to my children? One that I want to sleep with so badly I can hardly stand it sometimes? The same one who asked me to kiss her so her first post-relationship kiss wouldn’t be with some random rapper she didn’t know?

Fate is kind of cruel.

Interesting, but also cruel.

“I could use a nap,” I say carefully. “And yes, there’s no universe where I’m not a gentleman. So, if you really don’t mind, I’d love to lie down for a while. With you.”

Chapter14

Stevie

We walkinto the house through the garage, and I slip off my shoes. I’m starting to drag and can’t wait to lie down.

We stop in the kitchen to get a couple of bottles of water and I pause to make sure I didn’t forget anything. It’s weird to live here and feel at home even though it’s not technically my home.

Ivan and Chey’s house is beautiful, and now that I’ve been living here for months, I’m starting to get that urge to have a place of my own. I’ve been looking but I just don’t know what I want or where I want to live. I have the money from selling my Brooklyn brownstone, so it’s not a financial thing—I honestly just don’t know where to start. Condo? Duplex? A Beverly Hills mansion? I keep changing my mind.

And I’m too tired to think about this now.

“Would you like a bottle of water?” I ask Marty, grabbing one for myself.

“Thank you.” He takes it, and we pad up the stairs.

Now that we’re here, in my cool, dark bedroom, I’m suddenly exhausted.

“I need a few minutes to take off my makeup,” I tell him. “Would you like to use the bathroom first?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

He disappears into the bathroom, and I strip out of my clothes, pulling on an oversized T-shirt. Normally, I sleep naked, but now that I live here with Ivan and Chey, I’ve started wearing T-shirts to bed, just in case. I don’t know what I’m afraid will happen, but it seems polite since I live in the house of a man who isn’t my lover.

I have a momentary fantasy about what it would be like if this were our house—mine and Marty’s—the two of us coming home after an evening out. Kissing in the kitchen before we come upstairs. Making love before we fall asleep, with me nestling into his arms. His arms tender as he holds me close.

Fuck.

I can’t afford to have these kinds of fantasies.

I’m kidding myself with all of this, and never should have invited him in.

No matter what I want, or what he thinks he wants, I can’t be the woman he needs. The woman who’ll make him happy. The woman who can give him more children.

I probably have to tell him that, before things go any further, but I think I’ve been subconsciously clinging to the fantasy since we danced at Henrik and Autumn’s wedding.

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