Page 78 of Daring You

I went to Astor’s.

The sun has dipped low at this point, casting the city street in a vague golden glow seconds before it surrenders to the artificial lights of a New York night.

It’s so cold that anyone on the sidewalk has their heads down as they walk, buried in scarves or phone screens. I’m the only noob standing at attention directly in front of revolving doors.

Not again.

I push through with zero hesitation this time, thumbing into my phone as I stride to the elevators. I text Locke:

Carter home yet?

Locke replies,Yeah, 20 mins ago. Why?

Excellent.I don’t bother with a response, since he’s given me the info I need.

The security is distracted by a few deliverymen, as it’s prime time for takeout, and I scoot past as fast as my big body will carry me, and slide into the elevator right when the doors begin to shut.

I nod to a delivery man carrying Chinese—the smell of egg rolls hits my nostrils and my stomach roars—and he tips his head up at me, studying.

Astor’s floor hits as soon as awareness flows into the man’s face, and I leave on a salute.

I’m smarter this time, and as soon as I reach Astor’s door, I knock firmly, hoping to preempt any phone calls from security downstairs.

The door opens immediately. Astor didn’t even check the peephole.

Her face, her gorgeous, stunning, heartbroking features greet me, and I don’t let her get a word in.

“I don’t remember much about that night,” I say.

Her brows, ever so slightly, lift in surprise. “What?”

“When my parents died. I only get snippets sometimes.”

Astor leans against the doorjamb, as if she’s too exhausted to put weight on her feet.

“Can I come in?” I ask.

She rubs a hand across her forehead, pushing her short hair back before it falls back into place. “I guess.”

Astor steps back, and at the little trip and jig she does, I finally notice that maybe it’s more than exhaustion weighing down her limbs.

“You get some drink on?” I ask as I kick off my boots and shed my jacket.

She points to me as my jacket is halfway off. “Don’t act like you’re staying long.”

Hint received. I shoulder the coat back on.

Astor weaves into her kitchen, picking up a half-empty highball glass of brown stuff. I close the space between us in way less time, and palm the drink. “Mind?”

She furrows into a glare as she watches me down the rest of the liquor.

“Wow,” I say and hold the glass out for inspection. “That’s some good stuff.”

“Delicious,” she drawls, then beelines to her couch. “Why are you here again?”

“Because we didn’t finish our conversation from lunch.”

She peers around her shoulder. “Was that conversing?”

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