Page 129 of The Tryst

That’s interesting, and I hope it means everything I think it does. “Something you want to tell me?”

She leans closer, her hair swishing over her shoulders. “I started the pill recently. It’s working now. And I’m safe.”

I get to have her bare. My body is a furnace. “I’m safe too.”

I offer her my cock, and she takes it.

My woman sinks down on my shaft, moaning as I fill her. A dirty smile spreads as she wriggles around on my dick, like she’s never been happier.

Well, that makes two of us.

I am the luckiest man in the world as I fuck the woman I love.

Maybe it’s kismet. Maybe it’s coincidence. Or maybe it’s making a choice and then doing everything in your power to own it.

44

A FIELD DAY

Layla

A frog valiantly tries to cross the street, hopscotching past trucks on the screen as festive retro arcade noises beep from the Frogger console.

I’ve arrived early at Cosmo’s in the Village for the Saturday lunch I set up with David, so I’m at a booth, watching the door like a hawk as someone plays the retro arcade game nearby. But the frog pancakes, dying a pixelated death on the arcade screen.

I don’t want to be the frog today with David. I twist the skulls on my fingers as I wait. I’m not usually fidgety. But waiting for David has nerves flying under my skin.

The last time I was here, he told me about the woman he fell for.

Now, we’re going totalkabout how I banged his pops.

Fun times.

I twist the rings some more, but the motion does nothing to settle my worries. I pop in my earbuds and turn to Ethan’s newest tune. He sent “Blown Away”to Harlow and me, and I can’t stop listening to it. But right when my friend’s beautiful baritone threatens to break my heart, David steps into the doorway of the shop, scanning the room for me.

I hit stop so fast, then with anI fucked upsmile, I wave to him.

I brace myself since I can’t read his barometer. Especially when he gives me a chin nod, then strides over to me. A chin nod is not a smile.

“Hey, Mayweather,” he says as he reaches me, and I’m not sure if I should hug him, so I don’t pop up. I want to respect his need for space if he needs it.

“Hey, Bancroft,” I say. Or maybe I squeak it.

He slides into the booth across from me. But before he can say a word, I dive headfirst into the most important thing. “How’s Cynthia? She gets out tomorrow, right?”

“She does,” he says, like he’s proud of her. “And she got your self-care basket the other day and pretty much jumped out of bed.”

“That’s great. Not the jumping, but that she liked it,” I say. I sent her a gift—some candles, face masks, makeup, and yummy lotion.

“She said she didn’t know what half of the makeup brushes were for,” he adds.

Shit. Does that mean I picked a stupid gift and she secretly hated it?

“Oh. I hope that wasn’t a bad—”

“She really liked it. And I like that you sent it to her.”

That’s good, but I don’t feel like we’re making real progress.

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