Page 53 of The Price of Forever

But how are you supposed to continue living knowing how well that man can kiss?

It was a question with no real answer. My only answers were a lobotomy or steel willpower. And neither seemed possible.

I sighed into my pillow, remembering the way he’d tonguefucked me. How he’d gripped my jaw, pressed his fingers into the side of my face, as if claiming me as his.

More shivers. I squeezed my thighs together.

Fuck, I was in so much trouble.

Time melted away in typical Sunday blur fashion: laziness, coffee, and lounging in the restorative cocoon of my bedroom. Even though this was my temporary spot, I’d made it mine as much as possible: big, earth-toned tapestries on the bare walls, small lamps that offered mood lighting, my full collection of weird anime statues and Pokémon characters laid out on the one lone shelf. I needed a day of rest, after the brutal beatdown of long-haul back-to-back shifts at the club. I felt like Taylor Swift, who needed a full day to recuperate after a weekend of shows because of how intense her concerts were.

I laughed to myself, snuggling deeper into bed. The lazy Sunday could have been improved only by adding someone into this bed with me. Someone roughly 6’4”, with almost-black hair in an immaculate fade, a strong jawline, and abs sent from Heaven.

A knock at the front door startled me out of my sexy reverie. I checked my phone. It was only four. Who the hell was here? Thanks to the Manhattan renovation code workarounds of my room, I could hear everything as Seven approached the door and pulled it open.

“Hey, we’re here for the install.” A Brooklyn accent. Male. Nobody I recognized.

“Great. Come on in.” Seven at least seemed to understand what was happening, so I relaxed into my bed, eavesdropping on every word. Footsteps clunked across the floor.

“We’re Bobby and Rick. Should be a quick job.” Another voice. “Where you want it?”

Seven cleared his throat. Then he shouted gruffly, “Jordan!”

Butterflies and pinpricks flooded my body. I scrambled from the bed, nearly tumbling headfirst to the floor, and joined Seven in the living room. Two fit men unpacked a long box in the living room. From the size of the packages they pulled out of the cardboard, I understood immediately.

My stripper pole had arrived.

“They want to know where to put the pole,” Seven said, crossing his arms. He’d barely looked at me today, which only made the humiliation lash harder through me. I should never have dared open myself up to someone—and why did I pick the man who hadn’t shown me an ounce of interest? Of course he got turned on after I trapped him in the VIP room and took off my top. I’d imagined this connection between us. The intimacy we shared in the kitchen the other day, about our histories…it had been platonic.

I was an idiot.

“Jordan?” Seven asked.

It took me a moment to remember what I was supposed to be doing. Maybe he thought I was pondering the placement instead of rehashing my regrets from the night before. “I think this empty end of the room? So it’s not in anybody’s way.”

Seven nodded, heading for the workers. I sank into the couch to watch them work as Seven instructed them where to set it up. The two men tested the ceiling, tested the floor, brought out tools, hammered different spots. Seven stayed close, occasionally lobbing a question their way. They were happy to answer, opening up about some of the difficulties of installing fitness poles.

“So which one of you is planning on using this?” Bobby—or possibly Rick—sent a good-natured smile toward the two of us as they brought out the pole.

“It’s for him,” I spoke up before Seven could respond. “He’s been dying to learn.”

“It’s a hell of a workout,” Rick conceded.

Seven looked back at me and dropped his chin, his mouth a thin line.

“He’s just been so incessant about starting a pole routine, I said, fine, I’ll get you a stripper pole.” I smiled sweetly toward Seven as his look morphed into a glower. “You know how men can be when they set their mind on something.”

Bobby and Rick chuckled politely, while I relished Seven’s annoyance. Things felt back to normal like this—with strangers acting as a buffer and a safe distance between me and those lips of his.

“I just made him promise to show me one new routine by the end of the month,” I went on. “That was our deal. And he agreed. So here we are.”

Seven cleared his throat, crossing his arms. “Are you done?”

“He’s got a good body for pole dancing, don’t you guys think?” I hopped up from the couch, sauntering past him with an evil grin on my face. He rolled his eyes, and just before I was out of earshot, I heard him add something that sent my heart pounding:

“Brat.”

I was ready to respond, but an unexpected sound caught me off guard.

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