Page 89 of The Situation
Me: I can be there in 26 minutes.
Tate: I’ll be waiting.
ChapterTwenty
Aurora
“What the heck is this?” I mutter.
I hit the brakes and slow roll to what appears to be a guard shack in front of two large metal gates. A man slides open a window as I roll mine down. He peers into the car as if I’m transporting illegal substances.
Perhaps I was put on a watch list, after all.
“Hi,” I say, though it’s more of a question than a greeting.
“Good evening. Your name, please.”
“Aurora Johnson. I’m here to see Tate Brewer.”
He lifts his collar to his mouth, pauses, and then turns back to me. The gates slowly swing open.
“Enjoy your evening, Ms. Johnson,” he says.
“Thanks.”
I roll up my window and proceed down the driveway, taking the bends and curves, until the forest on both sides finally cuts away.
Holy hell.
Jamie pointed out that Tate was a billionaire, but I didn’t give it much thought. That might’ve been a mistake because the house standing in front of me is the kind of place you see on an architectural show of award-winning designs.
The last rays of sunlight streak through the sky behind the towering structure. A blend of brick, wood, and stucco marries seamlessly on the facade, and a long porch stretches along most of the front. All that’s missing is a porch swing—and maybe a dog.
I survey the scene and try to decide where to park. There’s the front door, but there’s also an open garage door on the side of the house. I have no idea which one I’m supposed to use.
Making an executive decision, I park at the end of the sidewalk leading to the porch.
I turn the car off and get out, locking it behind me. My heart pounds harder with each step I take up the walkway. There’s no going back from this. If I go inside his home, things between us go from being a version of fuck buddies to something more real.
I gulp.
Just as I get to the bottom of the steps, the front door opens, and all of my nerves disappear.
Tate stands in the doorway with his shirt unbuttoned. His hair is messy from having my hands in it. He flashes me a bright, easy smile—the kind of smile that you see on people in advertisements where they’re pretending to be happy.
Only, this isn’t an ad.
“You found it,” he says, holding his arms wide.
I nearly jog up the remaining steps and launch myself into his chest. “What do you mean I found it? It’s impossible to miss.”
He wraps me up and holds me close, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“You got here fast,” he says, leading me inside. He puts my keys on a small wooden table by the door. “I got here about ten minutes ago.”
“Traffic was light.”
He grins, knowing damn good and well that I raced over here like a bat out of hell.
