Page 52 of Mr. Charming

I climb in and slide all the way to the window. Tweetie sits on the other side and shuts the door.

“We have one more stop to make,” he tells the driver, and I give him my address.

The driver doesn’t seem to have a problem with the added stop. Rowan and Conor are arguing about some play from the game, and Tweetie remains so still I wonder if he fell asleep sitting there, until we reach my apartment and he opens the door.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells the guys.

Tweetie grabs my bag and walks me into the lobby of my apartment building. “I’d like to walk you all the way to your door. You know, so I can sleep tonight.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve survived this long walking myself home at night.”

He runs a hand through his golden locks. “It would give me peace of mind. I need a really good night’s sleep if I’m going to play well in two days and make your job easier.”

I chuckle. God, it feels so good being around him and just being able to be ourselves.

“Are you gonna make me beg?” he asks.

“Fine.” I press the button on the elevator.

He doesn’t say much on the way up, and I shouldn’t be sad that he really is just making sure I’m okay and doesn’t have a hidden agenda. But still, I wish things were different with us. It was like old times on that plane, working together on his social media, bouncing ideas off one another, no thoughts of the past and all the hurt and disappointment that lay between us.

We file out of the elevator and down the hall toward my door. I insert my key into the lock and step inside. He places my suitcase just inside the door.

I spin around, arms out at my sides. “See? All safe.”

“I’d come in and check for monsters, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to leave.”

My shoulders sink, and I’m bowled over by a wave of loss. “Don’t say things like that.”

“You know I don’t have a filter.” He holds my gaze.

“I know,” I whisper.

We stare at one another, and the tension crackles between us. How easy would it be to open the door wider, to step out of his way, and welcome him in? I could break the distance, press my lips to his, and take what I want right now. But I can’t. Because the aftermath will only destroy me like it did once before.

So instead, I say, “Thank you again. Get home safe.”

He nods but doesn’t move. “Always, Tedi.”

I inch the door closed, and he steps away from the doorframe. “Good night.”

“Sweet dreams,” he mumbles.

I shut the door, flicking the lock as a failsafe against myself and the poor decisions that wait on the other side of the door. My back hits the door, and I rock my head back and forth, squeezing my eyes shut.

I feel it, just as I did at Ford’s retirement party back in Florida three years ago. That chemistry mixing and bubbling between us until eventually we both lose control and succumb to the inevitable.

Twenty-Six

Tweetie

My feet drag along the carpeted floor of her building’s hallway. I force every muscle in my legs to keep walking toward the elevator and not turn around to go back to her apartment.

Tonight on the plane was the first time since she came to Chicago that I wished all that bullshit wasn’t in our past. That we were just two strangers meeting. But we aren’t.

So I take the elevator down to the lobby, walk out the front doors, and hop into the black SUV to head back to my condo—alone.

“How was that?” Conor asks from the seat behind me.

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