Page 5 of Wrong Place, Wright Time
“What if I just buy you dinner?” he says instead of taking my outstretched hand. “Feeding you before you leave is the least I can do.”
“You don’t owe me anything. I can feed myself.”
He sucks air in through his teeth as he chuckles and reaches out to shake my hand finally. “In that case,Ms.Wright. I’ll bid you adieu.” Sighing with a smile of relief, I go to remove my hand but his grip only tightens. “But one of these days, Isla, you’re gonna have to let someone into that self-sufficient heart of yours. Maybe it’s not me, and maybe it’s not today, or even tomorrow. But eventually, you’ll have to let those walls of yours down.”
“Maybe I just like being on my own,” I reply, practically whispering as he releases my hand and I pull it back, my skin still tingling.
He rolls onto his back and chuckles, giving me a beautiful view of his half erect manhood as the city lights push in through the windows and highlight his skin. “No one likes being alone, Isla,” he says, his eyes locking with mine as I take a deep breath and nod instead of providing an answer.
“Thanks again, Banks,” I say, backing out the door as I push his insights down as deep as they can go. Seems Banks just did a lot more than just fuck me better than I’ve ever been fucked before. Somehow, he saw right through me too. And I’ve never felt more naked.
Banks
“Hey, man,” Ronan says, when I venture down to the bar about thirty minutes later, needing to get out of my far-too-quiet apartment after my night ended sooner than expected. “Manager said you’d be out for the night. Hot date gone bad?” He smiles jovially and claps me on the back. But I don’t really feel like laughing. He kind of hit the nail on the head.
“Not bad. Just… over before I wanted it to end. Which is weird. That doesn’t normally happen to me.”
He furrows his brow slightly as he nods. “Well, if it becomes a problem, you know a doctor can help you with that, right?”
It takes me a minute to realize what the hell he’s going on about before I roll my eyes and scoff. “Notthatkind of problem. Fuck, Ronan. I’m thirty-eight, not seventy-fucking-eight.”
Ronan chuckles as he lifts his glass of Grey Goose on the rocks and drinks. “Hey, I’ve heard of that shit happening to guys as young astwenty-eight. Stress of the job.” He bounces a shoulder. “It’s not for everyone.”
“Yeah. Well, when you’re working on Wall St. I can understand it.” I lift my eyes to meet his mossy green gaze and shrug. “But away from that life, I’m pretty fucking stress free.”
He releases a slow breath and shakes his blond head slowly, looking at me in bewilderment. “I just don’t understand how you did it.”
A server brings me over a vodka tonic, and I thank her. “Did what?”
“Walk away from it all. The adrenaline rush. The feeling of power when you make the call of the century. I don’t think I could give that up for anyone or anything. I thrive under pressure.”
“And yet, you’re the guy with the knowledge about limp dick doctors,” I retort, eyebrows raised.
He rolls his eyes and laughs. “You’re a real asshole, you know? Anyone ever told you that before?”
“A handful of times,” I say with a chuckle. “So, besides your broken dick, how’s everything going.”
“For the record, my dick is perfectly fine. Work is too. I’m actually up for promotion. If all goes well this month, I’ll be heading up my own division. And you know what that means?”
“A fuck ton of stress and giant bonuses if your team delivers.”
“Fuckin’ A. It’s everything I’ve been working toward. Not a single person from the old neighborhood will ever be able call me a loser wannabe again.”
I look at him for a long moment, remembering the skinny little kid who struggled harder than any other kid in the neighborhood. We became friends in middle school when I started splitting my lunch with him before my mom realized and started packing enough for two. Ronan Kennedy might have an important family’s surname, but he certainly didn’t get a lot of the privilege that should come with it. Anything he has, he fought hard for. The kid with little to no food in his belly creates an adult who’s perpetually hungry for more, more and more. And I often wonder at what point it will be enough. What will he end up sacrificing before he’s sated?
“What neighborhood?” I say, placing my hand on his right shoulder. “I don’t think there’s a single person still living there who should matter to either one of us anymore. All the important people are out. So anything we do now, it’s for us. We ain’t got nothing to prove, man. We both made it the day we got accepted into college.”
“I know you’re right. But I just…I don’t think I’m finished yet. Like, I haven’t climbed to the top of my mountain.”
“OK.” I raise my glass. “Then here’s to finding what’s at the top of that mountain.”
He taps his glass to mine. “Hopefully it’s a big pot of gold,” he jokes, taking a drink.
“And then what?” I say suddenly, causing him to freeze and frown like he doesn’t understand the question.
“What do you mean?”
“What happens when you’re at the top of the mountain with your pot of gold? Is that just…it?”
