Page 46 of VOGUEish

He rolled over and gave her a lazy smile. A smile starting in Point Arena, California and ending in West Quoddy Head, Maine. “Are you ready to go again?”

She groaned. Oh God—yes. But also, no.

Chloe’s timing sucked.

“My roommate’s home early from her trip.” Those things could happen when you traveled with a mega-movie star with their own jet. “You’ve got to sneak out while she takes a shower.”

He gave her a drowsy, what-the-fuck look. “Why do I have to sneak out?”

“Because she can’t know about you.”

Isabella watched the emotions play over his face until it settled into one she adored. Rebellion. Like he was about to say, fuck that, I’m staying.

If she’d been wearing panties, they would have grown damp over that look. Rebellion went well with gritty.

“Why can’t she know about me?” he asked.

She wasn’t ready to share this with anyone else. “She just can’t.”

The sound of the shower had Isabella jumping off the bed and throwing Chandler’s clothes toward him. “Hurry. I’ll call you a taxi.”

She fumbled with her phone, using her Uber app to get him a ride. As soon as he was dressed, she led a confused, poorly put-together Chandler Roman down the stairs and outside to wait.

He pushed her against the brick wall of her condo and kissed her hard and possessively. “Good night, Barbie.” Then he stepped back as if waiting for her to make the next move. Declare the idea of him leaving as asinine.

She touched her lips. “Good night.” She turned and went back inside, hurrying up to her bedroom. She went to her window and watched Chandler as he waited.

Before getting into the car, he looked up and waved. Proving she hadn’t been wrong in her thought the guy from the kissing couple was watching her touch herself while Chandler pleased her from behind.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Saturday afternoon, Isabella found herself in what Ms. Patricia used to refer to as a ‘doozy of a tizzy’. This because Isabella had heard nothing from Chandler. No text. No call. Nothing. Crickets all day.

Sure, it was supposed to have been just one night—well, two nights—and sure, she’d evicted him before he was ready to leave, but the guy could text. Especially if the sex had been as good for him as it had been for her. For her, it had been Paris-Fashion-Week good. That kind of sex deserved a nod of acknowledgment. At the very least, an emoji.

She shook her head trying to shake off the doubts. What was wrong with her? Of course he’d enjoyed the sex. She’d seen his face. Heard his pleasure. His lack of communication had nothing to do with his enjoyment of last night.

Ground rules had been established, and he was following them.

It wasn’t his fault if she was a little more hooked on him than he was on her.

But still, they had a date to go on to satisfy Ms. Birdie’s stipulations. They needed to discuss it sooner than later.

At four p.m., Isabella decided it was okay to text first. It had been her idea to get kinky. To initiate the occasional trifecta. The least she could do was acknowledge that and let him know she didn’t regret the decision.

Should we talk?—Isabella

Her phone dinged.

Sure.—Chandler

When and where?—Isabella

While she waited for his answer, she mopped the kitchen. By the time she’d finished, he still hadn’t replied, so she updated her blog.

January 15th

So, it happened. I had sex with Pillar. You know, the guy who is the reason I’ve become who I am. The one from back when I started this blog. Yep! I found him. Drop the mic.

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