Page 43 of The Playboy

“You know what I find funny?” I turned at the next light. “That’s not the first time you’ve pointed out a trait that you think I enjoy about you. But you’re so quick to point out how I shouldn’t be interested in you, how I shouldn’t have come looking for you, and how you’re not someone I should like. Is that your way of teasing me? Or you enjoy that you’ve been owning my mind and that turns you on?”

She didn’t immediately respond. “It’s flattering. I can’t lie.”

“Then, have dinner with me this week.”

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

A date. A term I hadn’t used in so many fucking years.

A week ago, if you’d told me I’d say that word to a woman, I would have laughed my ass off and bet every dollar to my name that I wouldn’t.

But one look from across the club had changed everything.

There was no way she could know the kind of power she held.

“Yes,” I replied.

She drew in a long inhale. “Let’s take it one step at a time and get through tonight first.”

Where she had sucked in the air, I was loudly letting it out. “You say that like it’s a punishment to fuck me.”

“That’s not it at all. It’s just that …” She glanced out the window as I looked at her. “I’ve hit a period in my life where everything is so muddy and complicated. I don’t even have time for me, never mind someone else. I go to the club to unplug from my life”—she connected eyes with me—“and what you gave me was total amnesia. And that’s what I need tonight too.” Her voice had gotten softer with each word.

“You want me to fuck you into forget mode.”

She nodded. “Please.”

“And that’s all you want from me?”

When she didn’t respond, I decided to give her a piece of me so she would understand the magnitude of what I’d been admitting to her. “I haven’t dated a woman in seven years. Not because they haven’t tried. Fuck, they constantly try. I just don’t let it happen. And I don’t believe in no strings attached—women can’t seem to handle that. There are always strings. Therefore, I do my thing, and I’m out.”

“So, you’re telling me you’re the king of one-night stands.”

I laughed. “I’ve certainly earned that title.”

“And here we are, on a soon-to-be night two.”

“Which is why I just told you that about me.” I looked at her before I switched lanes. “I’ve said things to you that I’ve never said to another woman. I know you’re going to ask me why. That’s your favorite reply—it keeps the attention off you.” I smiled at her. “But the truth is, I don’t know why. I just can’t seem to be able to get enough of you. That’s why I want to have dinner with you. Why I want your number. Why I want to be able to reach out to you in the interim.”

“But dinner and texting—that’s more thanthis.”

Jesus, the roles had flipped.

“Would you rather me saymeet me in my room? Is that less muddy?”

A second passed before she said, “Your room?”

I pulled into the hotel, parking by the front entrance, where two bellhops were waiting—one coming to my side and the other going to Brooklyn’s.

“I thought we were going to your home?” she asked before I had the chance to explain why we were here.

“This is my home. This is where I’m living.” I climbed out and met her on the curb, my hand going to her lower back.

She whispered, “I don’t understand. How is a hotel home?” But as she spoke, she kept her head down, refusing to meet my eyes.

“I’m working on Kauai for the next couple of months, and this is where I’m staying. Home is LA.”

As I led her through the glass doorway and into the lobby, she placed her hand over her eyes, like a visor.

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