Page 52 of Loving You

“He owns a plane,” Bronx said. “My brother’s partner is the pilot. It’s a whole thing. Please don’t ask.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. So, thisotherfriend…was he the one who was in your office last week?”

Ohfuuuuuuck. Bronx tried to breathe through it, but he felt when his face turned bright red. “You, ah…you were here last week?”

“You didn’t know it was me?” She grinned wider. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t actually hear anything except a loud thump when I knocked. The soundproofing is really decent. I’d be careful though. The younger staff here might not appreciate afternoon trysts.”

Bronx swallowed heavily, his throat hot and tight. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, leaning forward. “It sounds like you deserve a good friend and a little romp around the office. Besides, I was the only other person with a key that day, so no one else would have walked in.”

He let out a trembling breath and rubbed his hands down his face. “I’m really embarrassed, but thank you.”

She laughed again as she stood and walked over, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “Let’s have dinner soon, yeah? Maybe next Friday after the week is over?”

“That sounds amazing.” And it really, really did. He wanted this—wanted friends, wanted people of his own that weren’t tied to Jules. People who would never consider needing to choose between one person and another if things went to shit. “Mark me down. We can go to Lane’s restaurant. I get the friends-and-family discount, and if my son’s working, we can send a bunch of food back to piss him off.”

“Oh God, you’re one ofthosedads,” she said.

He grinned and shrugged. “I definitely am. And I’m not sorry.”

Veronica left his office laughing as he leaned back in his chair, and he let himself bask in the warmth of his feelings. Things were good. Maybe too good. There was room for another shoe to drop, but he was done being a fatalist. He’d never be a complete optimist, but he wanted to have hope. To have faith.

Bzzt. Bzzt.

He fumbled for his phone, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Monty’s name on the screen. They hadn’t talked much over the last week. His schedule had been murder, and Monty had court four days in a row and was stuck eyeballs-deep in paperwork when he wasn’t downtown.

He wasn’t expecting to hear from him for a while.

Monty: Big favor to ask.

Bronx: Shoot.

Monty: Have dinner with me on Sunday.

Bronx: Sparky, is that really a big favor?

Monty: It is once I tell you it’s at my father’s house.

Bronx sat back, all the air rushing from his lungs. Of course his answer would be yes. There wasn’t a chance in hell he was going to let Monty be subjected to that man by himself if he could help it. But God, he’d have to prepare himself because it had taken all of his restraint not to punch the fucker in the mouth in the ten seconds they’d been in the same room last time.

Monty: Sorry. I know that was too much to ask.

Bronx: Stop. Nothing you ask will ever be too much. Tell me what time to pick you up.

Monty: I usually get a car. It might be better that way in case you need to leave.

Bronx: Not a chance I’ll leave without you. He doesn’t scare me. What time do I need to pick you up?

Monty: I need to be there at seven.

Bronx: Then I’ll see you earlier than that. We’ll unwind before we head out.

Monty: You are too good to me.

Bronx: And your bar is too low. But I’ll fix that. See you soon, gorgeous.

He was laying it on thick, but it was impossible to care when it meant getting his hands on Monty again. When it meant spoiling him, fucking him, holding him, kissing him.When it meant making what was probably emotional torture into something else.

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