Page 63 of Yes No Maybe

“If youcango back to business as usual. Can you?”

“Of course. Itisbusiness as usual. Rowan’s a no-show and off-limits, anyway.”

“Prove it… Incoming.”

The redhead beelines toward me as if making eye contact was an invitation. Pursing her lips and watching me over the tops of her eyes, she looks determined. Sexy, too.Definitely your type, I imagine Rowan saying.

I check my phone. Nothing. I lean to see Rowan’s driveway. Nothing. Only a few guests linger over half-finished cocktails, and the staff is already cleaning up. My best hopes for tonight are over.

The redhead arrives with two whiskies. I down the one in my hand and accept hers. Her sparkly fingernails graze my hand as she gives it to me. “Mind if I join you?”

I give her a once-over, catching the way she shimmers—her dress, her eyes, her glossy lips. “If you want.”

Her lips curl. She leans next to me, her thigh brushing against my hand. “Should we talk about your books and how much I love them? Your party? The weather?”

“No. None of that.”

“Good.” She tilts closer, practically begging me to look at her breasts, which I do, of course. Her hand falls on my thigh and squeezes. “I’ve exceeded my limit on chitchat for one night. How about you?”

“I don’t do chitchat.”

She laughs, though I’m not kidding. Her fingertips dance along my inner leg. “Whatdoyou like to do?”

A minute later, she follows me inside.

Though I have a dozen rooms in my house, I take her to the downstairs guest bathroom. She hops up on the sink and sets a condom on the counter beside her ass.

Her dainty arms drape over my shoulders. Her red lips hover close to mine, daring me to kiss her.

I want to. To forget this night and put my feelings for Rowan in a discard pile of shit-stupid ideas. She doesn’t want me, so why not feel better with someone who does?

When I hesitate, she tugs down her sleeveless dress, revealing the lacy get-up pushing her breasts together.Come on, Jack.

With my hands clamped to the counter on either side of her, I still do nothing. I only loiter, close but not touching, taking her in but not taking her.

She wriggles out of the bra next, letting me see her, and I wonder how far I can take this without doing a damn thing.

Her legs spread wide, inviting me in. She goes for a kiss, but I recoil.

“Playing hard to get?” Her whisper dances over my lips, tickling me. Then, her hand travels slowly over my chest, tugs at my belt, and slips over me.

We’re both surprised at what she discovers. This woman does nothing for me.

“Sorry, honey. Too many whiskies.”

“Too bad.” She slumps, pulling her bra up. I help her from her perch. She puts herself back together, not hiding her irritation. Then, she leaves. And I feel like shit for all sorts of reasons.

I exit the bathroom and stagger down the hall into the open kitchen. Devin sits cross-legged in the center of the kitchen island, shaking his head at me. “So,notbusiness as usual?”

“Fuck off.”

If this were a novel, this would be the lightbulb moment when the hero realizes his dead brother is right. Maybe I am falling for her. The evidence is there, whether I want to admit it or not.

I don’t.

I don’t see the redhead again. The remaining guests say their goodbyes. The staff finish their work and leave.

Finally, alone, I shed my jacket and tie, kick off my shoes, and get another drink. Irritated, restless, and feeling the alcohol, I grab my laptop and carry it to a table outside.

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