Page 25 of Mr. Wicked

Why didn’t I pick up on her cues?

Why didn’t I ask her any questions?

Why did I, like an absolute fool, go to his condo and have the best sex of my entire life?

The answers were simple.

I was picking up on every sign he gave me and following my big heart to see where it led me.

But I was sure, even months later, as I continued to piece together everything he’d said and the way he’d made me feel, that I hadn’t read things wrong.

It wasn’t me.

It was him.

He was an asshole. One who didn’t have the courage to explore what could happen between us.

Instead of letting me in, he pushed me out and slammed the door in my face.

Sloane was right—I fell fast and I fell hard when it came to men.

And I’d never seen a man more beautiful and charming than Grayson Tanner.

With the largest, most gorgeous alluring green eyes and hair the color of a dark roast blend, a beard that was thick and edged and just the right length. He towered over me in height, making me feel tiny and wanted, and he had muscles so big that I could see them through his clothes.

Muscles that could easily lift me into the air, that could protect me, that could dominate me in every way.

That had.

Oh God.

And then there was his smile.

White, straight enough teeth, with lips that were thick and powerful, like his hands.

Strong enough that when he kissed me, I felt it across my entire body.

With a mouth so talented, I wanted to marry him.

But that same mouth had told me, with zero regret, that I wasn’t for him.

That we would never amount to anything.

“Sloane,” I whispered. “For every single reason, I wish he was a nice guy.”

She stopped making whatever drink she was working on and came over to me. “You’ll find yourself one. I know you will. You’re young, you’re living in one of the most fab cities, and you’re surrounded by hot, single men on the daily. Don’t worry, it’s going to happen. In the meantime, let’s pretend Grayson doesn’t exist. And let’s not give him an inch of real estate in our brains, cool?”

Just as I was about to respond, my phone vibrated.

This wasn’t a Celebrity Alert. Those were silenced. This had to be either a text or email or social media notification.

I pulled out my phone and what was on the screen made the bile in my stomach rise to my throat.

“What are you looking at?” Sloane asked.

I didn’t tell her.

She would just grab the cell out of my hand and probably delete my Instagram app.

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