Page 81 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

“No one is going to die. He’s a security guard. He doesn’t care what we’re doing in here as long as we’re done when his shift starts at five.”

She pops the door and steps out. “Let’s get a move on then.”

“Someone’s awfully demanding post-orgasm.”

“Shh,” she says with a finger pressed to her lips.

I chuckle and get out of the car, readjusting as I walk around the back of the vehicle. Glad I wore a loose shirt today to cover the . . . evidence. We close the front doors at the same time and steal a quick glance—me still laughing and her sitting with flaming red cheeks—before I start the car. Rubbing her leg, I lean over. “It’s okay. No one will be the wiser. Now, give me a kiss, Bell.”

“Look who the demanding one is now.”

“Only when it comes to kissing you.”

She leans over and gives me a kiss I’ll never forget. “You, sir, are going to get more than a kiss the next time we’re alone.”

I definitely underestimated her assets. She’s not afraid to use any tool in her arsenal.

I’m a lucky bastard.

I am sograteful Tealey forced me into a shop and, again, for the baggy shirt.

We were dodging questions like bullets as soon as we walked in the door. Holding up the bag was a great distraction. I tossed it to Jackson as Tealey and I ran upstairs under the guise of freshening up. If they only knew . . .

The water didn’t even have time to heat because I took the fastest shower in history and jetted back downstairs.

Cammie found the chocolate.

Jackson had grabbed the graham crackers.

Already out the door, Cade was starting the firepit, which left Marlow holding the marshmallows. She asks, “Where’s Tealey?”

“I don’t know,” I reply, hoping she can’t tell that we were up to no good. She takes her glass, and says, “We need to talk about my dad’s situation when we get back to Manhattan.”

“Will do.”

Marlow starts for the back deck when Tealey enters the great room. Marlow says, “There you are.”

“I wanted to change clothes and get more comfortable,” Tealey offers. Wearing sweatpants and a faded NYU sweatshirt, she pads into the kitchen in thick, bunched-up socks. The woman could wear anything and make it sexy.

I start checking emails when Tealey opens a bottle of water. Marlow says, “Heading out. Are you coming?” I glance up, but the question is directed to Tealey.

Tealey replies, “Be right out.”

The house grows quiet as the crew moves the party outside. Buried in a page of unread emails, I catch the subject line: Update – Misty Connor. I click it first and read the email from Ashleigh.

“What’s wrong?” Tealey rubs my shoulder, a look of concern worrying her eyes when she feels how tense I am.

“We finally heard back from the judge. He granted your client, Misty, a restraining order. I filed the paperwork before I left Manhattan.”

She releases a deep breath, and her expression brightens. “That’s great news. I’m surprised a judge was working on Saturday.”

“It went through last night, but now it’s in place.”

“Does she know?”

“I had a call with her on my drive, explaining how it would work, and Ashleigh made sure she knew it was approved this morning when she received word.”

“I really appreciate this, Rad.” She smiles, leaning against me. “Can I reward you with a s’more?” She holds up a s’more. “It’s all ready to heat over the pit.”

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