Page 41 of The Tryst

David’s phone buzzes, and he shifts his focus to his text app. “You should meet him. Daddy Bancroft,” he says, but he sounds distracted as he reads his messages.

I don’t know much about his father. I only know a bit about his mom because she’s friends with mine. David’s dad lived in California, last I heard, but we didn’t talk about our parents that much during college, and, frankly, we don’t now.

His phone buzzes again. After a quick glance, he waggles it at me. “It’s Cynthia. She just got off work. Her boss is being a dick. Do you mind if I give her a quick call?”

“Go, go,” I say, shooing him away.

He scurries out of the diner and onto the street. While he’s gone, I open the thread with Nick, then tap out a reply to his cockyyou didn’tnote.

Lola: I guess you’ll find out tomorrow night.

I hit send, and a few seconds later, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. The skin on my arms tingles. I catch the scent of falling snow and freshly cut wood and the sound of wingtips on the linoleum floor of the diner coming closer.

Maybe my sense memory is conjuring up Nick because I’m texting him. Maybe I’m so caught up in waiting for tomorrow night that I’m imagining the way he smells, sounds, walks.

But when I look up, my breath catches, right along with my curiosity.

He’s here.

And he’s walking toward me with wild curiosity in his eyes, like he can’t believe his luck either. He’s wearing black slacks and a sky-blue shirt that hugs his pecs and his arms. His purple tie is loosened. His beard is just a touch thicker than it was when we first met. My mouth waters as I remember how that scruff feels against my thighs. Then, our gazes lock, and his hazel eyes are full of delicious thoughts.

I can’t hide my flirty smile.

Nick Adams looks even better than he did three months ago, especially when his lips curve into the most knowing grin I’ve ever seen. “Hey, beautiful.”

I nearly melt. Christmas has come early.

14

DADDY BANCROFT

Layla

Sure, I run into people I know in New York every day. But Nick is the last person I expected to see at this diner.

What are the chances I’d bump into him on…wait…is this his first day in town? I’m staring up at him next to me as I ask: “When did you land in New York?”

“Earlier today. I’ve been in meetings since I touched down. Maybe I should have…” He shakes his head like he’s dismissing his remarks about being busy. He drags a thumb along his jawline but stares at me as he goes, like he’s imagining touching me with that thumb. He eyes me up and down. “You look…”

He can’t seem to finish the thought.

But I can. “So do you,” I say, sounding as intoxicated as he does.

Yes, the vibe is still strong between us. Maybe even stronger. I suppose that’s what weeks of texting and FaceTiming will do for people. I embrace the corset superpowers even more. I stand, step close to him, give him a chaste hug.

Oops. I lied.

It’s not so chaste at all, since the second my breasts brush against his chest, he growls. Low, carnal, just for me.

“Mmm. I like surprises, and you’re a very good surprise,” he murmurs, then slides a hand down my back, settling possessively at the base of my spine. He presses harder, as if declaringmine.

I feel like his. I didn’t expect to want that, but now I do. Perhaps because I feel like his in a passionate way, a sensual way, even under the fluorescent lights in this retro diner, with “My Sharona”playing overhead.

With his hard body a magnet for mine, I have another answer to my earlier worries—things aren’t different now that we’re out of Miami.They’re better.Stronger. We didn’t just happen because of the heat, the scene, the decadence of South Beach.

It was the decadence of us.

But if he keeps holding me like he wants to strip me naked tonight, I might turn into a puddle on the linoleum floor tiles.

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