Page 21 of Dragon Prince of New York

It doesn’t matter. I’m done chasing men who aren’t emotionally available. I want someone who’s truly invested in a relationship. Maybe one of the guys Jess set me up with for my birthday will end up being perfect for me.

That’s what I need. Casual dates with lots of different guys to figure out what I want. I jumped into things with Tim. I won’t do that again. Now’s the time to explore and experiment.

I don’t need Cyrus and his awkwardness, no matter how attracted I am to him. In just a few days, I’ll meet multiple men who actually want to go on a date with me.

For the first time since Jess told me about what she planned for my birthday, I’m actually looking forward to it.

Chapter 12

Finley

My favorite part ofstaying at Midas and Jeslyn’s place is the indoor lap pool. It’s about five feet deep, at least thirty feet long, and just wide enough for two people to swim side-by-side. Seriously, how rich do you have to be to have an indoor pool in a New York penthouse? Yeah, my brother-in-law is that filthy rich.

Guess that explains why people would want to kidnap me and blackmail him.

Hey, at least someone wants me. A dark laugh bubbles from my lips, but is interrupted by the sound of the door. It startles me so badly I end up inhaling water and having a coughing attack. Great, real attractive.

"Are you okay?" Cyrus frowns from the doorway, and I nod.

You would think with a place this big, we wouldn’t run intoeach other much, but we keep wanting to be in the same room at the same time. Like there’s some kind of magnetic draw between us.

I stop coughing and stand up, water lapping at my shoulders.

“I can come back later,” Cyrus says, but he doesn’t make a move to leave.

“It’s fine. The pool is plenty big.” It is, but the thought of Cyrus in here with me makes it suddenly seem small. “I was just going to swim a few laps. It helps me relax.”

“Same.” He sets his towel on a bench along the wall, then pulls off his shirt, revealing the swirling tattoos I’ve been dreaming about. Shit, I want to sketch him. I tried doing it from memory the other day, but it wasn’t right, so I ditched the attempt.

His physique is worth studying. There could be whole classes taught on the way his tattoos ripple when his muscles flex. He’s leaner than Midas, but strong and cut, like someone chiseled him right out of marble. Oh, that’s what I should do. Those swirls already look like marbling. I shouldn’t sketch him, I should carve him from some kind of hard stone.

He clears his throat, and I realize I’m staring. Shit. Wanting to hide, I drop under the water. It's too warm in here. I need it at least ten degrees cooler to calm the heat inside me.

He’s in the pool now, pushing toward me with slow,intentional steps. When there's only a foot between us, he stops and runs a wet hand through his golden hair. It looks longer now that it’s wet and hangs just a little in his eyes.

“How was your day?” he asks.

“Honestly, not great.” I drop my gaze, thinking about how frustrating the day really was and what drove me to the pool to begin with. A spilled coffee on the crowded subway. Dog poop on my shoe. And two disastrous interviews. Not a great day.

“You don’t have to be worried about what you heard the other day. You’re safe. I’d never let anything happen to you.” His hand brushes mine as it moves through the water. Accidental?

“It’s not that.” Not really. “I’ve been applying for jobs.”

He dips his head backwards into the water. “Aren’t you an artist?”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “A starving one.”

Wet hair drip down his stunning face, and his eyebrows curve as if to say, ‘really?’

“Okay, yes, I’m currently living in a New York penthouse, but none of this is mine. And I’m not planning on staying here forever.” I swish my hands through the water. “Trust me whenI say living with Jess and Midas is like living with animals in heat. I’ve lived here before, and I’ll do it for now—mostly just so I can get lots of cute baby snuggles—but I don’t plan on staying long term.”

I adjust the top of my swimsuit, pulling it up a little. His eyes clock the movement.

“But you want to stay in the area?” He swims slowly backwards, toward the other end of the pool. For some reason, I follow.

“If I can get a job and sell enough of my art to afford it.”

“Can I see your art sometime?”

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