Page 9 of Manhattan Secret

Yeah, definitely taking her home.

Need more. And I’m never one to deny myself.

Out of the stall, fortunately an empty bathroom, I walk over to the sinks and wash up, sending her fiery glances over my shoulder with the promise of a lot more still to come. She’s looking right back, just as starved.

“You’ve no idea what you’re in for, babe.”

The little mouse smiles and clears her voice.

Only it doesn’t end up that way.

I turn around to use the hand dryers, not even twenty seconds later I turn back around, and she’s not there.

Vanished. What the hell?

I’m only twenty seconds behind her when I rush out into the bar, expecting to see the flash of her red skirt or her dark, dark hair, but she’s gone…disappeared into thin air as though the life changing fuck-fest didn’t happen.

Even though my throbbing body tells me differently.

My little mouse with the giving pussy and the best sex of my life is gone.

Ah, shit.

C H A P T E R 3

Delaney

Moving sucks.

Unpacking sucks.

Not being able to find my coffee pods sucks worst of all.

I’m a desperate caffeine junkie without my drug of choice and on the first day of my new job is not ideal to be stone cold sober.

If that is an omen for things to come, then today is going to suck too.

The stove clock reads only 5 am, I should have taken the extra hour sleeping but I’m too hyped to stay in my unmade blow-up mattress.

The rest of my furniture is being delivered today, thank god.

Because sleeping on the floor at twenty-six is not as much fun as sleeping on the floor when I was ten years old and me and my friends would camp in the backyard.

I feel every one of my aching bones when I crawl into the shower and scrub head to feet with apple body wash to liven me up.

I’m new to this borough of New York, so I’m nervous beyond the ordinary first day nerves—wanting everything to go as well as it can today.

Not that I’m unhappy to be here.I’m happy.

This is my choice.

It will be better just as soon I settle in and have my things.

I’ll feel better once I have some familiarity around me.

My rented bungalow right now is five empty rooms and stacks of unpacked boxes of the only things I could fit in my Jeep for the long drive from Oregon.

Part of me regrets my decision to up sticks and move to a brand-new job mid-year. Part of me wants to run back home where I know everything, and everything is comfortable.

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