Page 118 of Before Now

I’m replaying conversations and interactions. Doubting every move I made.

I finish the remaining bourbon and then take one more hit, holding it in until I straighten up. I drop the roach in the ashtray on the outdoor coffee table and abandon the balcony.

Dropping onto the couch, I swipe my phone from where I tossed it earlier. Chase texted me mid-introspection.

if Director = (fucking + Tour Remi), then Foster = (best friend - vital info)^(You Suck) + Asshole

I’m uncertain if his math is right, but he gets his point across regardless.

The reality is, I didn’t plan on mentioning Remi to Chase at all—or Chase to Remi. Then the other night happened, and everything changed, and I haven’t even finished figuring out what it means.

But fuck, if seeing her at Chase and Val’s didn’t make one thing abundantly clear.

Remi Sinner is absolute.

And exactly like I thought, I was wandering until I got to where I’m supposed to be. It’s her. My endpoint has always been her.

Like I said, it’s complicated.

The response won’t buy me much time, but I’ll take what I can get.

I’ve no more than hit send when Remi sends a picture. A close-up of a door, part of the card scanner visible on the bottom right and two digits in the opposite corner. The last two in my room number.

I smile, shaking my head as I leave my phone and go to my door. When it opens, her eyes pop up, but mine detour down to her sage top. The straps meet behind her neck, and lace edges the low V in front. Add the bow tied right below her tits, and she’s a gift in need of unwrapping.

My gaze returns to hers. “Eventually one of us is going to knock.”

She hums, stepping closer until she has to tip her chin up, and I have to look down. “And ruin our streak?”

A smile plays at the corners of her mouth. I capture her around the waist, dragging her inside. She laughs, but my mouth connects with hers, and it morphs into a soft, sexy sound.

As ragged as the last three days have run me, kissing her surges me back to life.

I drop into one of the oversized accent chairs, cream to match the sofa, and she’s already crawling into my lap to straddle me. My hands flex against the front of her thighs once she settles.

Her lips brush mine. “You taste like bourbon.”

“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll taste like you,” I tell her.

She bites her bottom lip and looks down to where she’s playing with the front of my shirt, but then the tiniest scrunch appears between her eyes. I free her lip with my thumb, stroke across it.

“What just happened? What thought did you have?”

“You seemed bothered earlier before you left.”

When she flicks her gaze up, I read it easily. She thinks it’s because of her.

“Not because of you, Rem.” As much as I’d love to leave it there, doubt still lingers in her eyes. Mine lower. “A lot has changed since I last had you and Chase both in my life. The two of you meeting in person … You knew him before his accident. Seeing you together made me think about it.”

My head falls onto the chair back, jaw tightening.

She softly says, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” I run my knuckles down her arm. “I’ll never be sorry to see you.” I follow the bend up to her wrist and sweep over her pulse point. “I just fucking hate thinking about his accident. He fell and almost died. It still messes with me a little.”

More than a little, but it’s not her problem. I won’t let it be.

The scrunch between her eyes returns, curiosity swimming as she studies me, and I worry how deeply she’ll dissect. Through my flesh and muscle, down to the bone.

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