Page 107 of It Happened on a Sunday
Figuring he’ll be asleep, I shoot a couple of quick texts back as I head to the shower.
Me:Back at hotel. Hope you’re sleeping
Me:Concert went great
Me:Apparently the key to beating stage fright is to have so many orgasms you don’t have the energy to spare
Sly:I could have told you that
Me:You’re awake
Sly:Waiting for you
Me:Go to sleep. I need to take a shower
Me:I’m starving
Sly:Dinner’s on the way
Me::O
Me:You don’t have to do that
Sly:Too late. I’ve got to feed my girl
A shiver works its way down my spine at his words. I try to decide if it’s a good shiver or a bad one, but the truth is it’s probably a little bit of both.
What are you doing, Sloane?I ask myself as I pull off my typical after-concert uniform of sweats and a hoodie. This is a terrible idea. A truly, absolutely, no-doubt-about-it horrible idea. Like setting gasoline on fire and calling it aromatherapy.
Too bad knowing that doesn’t keep me from texting Sly back.
Me:Is that what I am? Your girl?
My breath lodges in my throat as I wait for his answer. Thankfully, it doesn’t take long.
Sly:Only if you want to be
My phone burns in my hand even as his words blaze through me. How does he always know the right thing to say? This would be a whole lot easier if he was just another pushy asshole. I could cut him with a word or two and go on my not-so-merry way.
Then again, if he was an asshole, we’d never be having this conversation. And I’d never be having these feelings.
I know I should run, know I should tell him right now that what he wants is impossible. The words are right there, on the tip of my tongue. But my trembling fingers have a mind of their own as they type out a response.
Me:I think I do
I hit send and throw the phone down before diving into the shower.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. What am I doing? Why am I taking such a foolish, awful risk when I know it could blow up in my face at any moment?
I lean my head back to wet my hair, and the second I close my eyes, Sly’s face—with its kind eyes and crooked grin—superimposes itself on my eyelids.
That’swhy I’m taking the risk. Because I’ve met someone who’s good and kind and funny and smart, all wrapped up in one super-hot package. Sly makes me want things I shouldn’t want. Worse, he makes me hope that just once I can have someone for myself without it turning into a complete disaster.
Someone who knows all the bad shit and can somehow, someday, maybe love me anyway.
A loud knock on the door has me turning the water off and grabbing for my robe.
I shrug into it, then yell, “Come in!” as I bend over and wrap my wet hair in a towel.
