Page 82 of The Playboy

When I needed to focus on what I had to accomplish before I graduated, rather than writing a few sentences of a paper and having an image of him fill my head.

When I needed to complete my shifts at the hotel, earning the money I needed to survive without being consumed by him.

When I needed to dance away my evenings at the club, unplugging from everything and everyone, without wondering if I was going to see him there.

And once I received my degree, I needed to concentrate on finding a position within a company where I could make a difference. Where they would listen to my suggestions rather than blow me off and tell me I knew nothing, like the hotel I worked for now.

I wanted to feel needed.

Valued.

Respected.

Something told me I would find that at Spade Hotels, especially because Macon had said that they needed someone like me. Someone with my skills and passion.

But really, it was the other way around. Spade Hotels was whatIneeded.

Those words hit me like a boulder, rippling across the surface of my brain, and as the whole picture came into view—my wants, my future, my dreams—I realized what was in front of me.

Our home.

I was parked in front of it, and I couldn’t remember a second of my commute here.

Oh God.

My lungs, still so tight from all the bursts exploding through my body, had a hard time filling as I shut off my car and walked inside. My sisters were in the kitchen, standing at the counter, chowing on some chips and salsa.

“And she went to the club again,” Clem said, her stare dipping down me. “Were you also alone this time?”

The dress was a dead giveaway, but I wasn’t trying to hide where I’d been. “Sorta.”

“Sorta?” Jesse repeated.

When I got close enough, Jesse wrapped her arm around my shoulders, and as soon as I was at her side, she leaned her face toward mine and kept it there for a second too long. “You smell like cologne …”

I pulled back and looked at her.

“Like an expensive, yummy, super-sexy cologne,” she added and moved around to my front and rested both hands on my shoulders. “All right, spill it, Brooklyn.”

I glanced from her to Clem. “That’s actually what I was going to talk to you about tonight.” A bolt shot through my body, reminding me that the feeling of Macon wasn’t even close to being gone. “I’ve sorta met someone.”

“Again with the sorta,” Clem joked.

I stepped back, the movement causing Jesse’s hands to drop, and I went to the fridge. I took out the bottle of vodka we kept in there and found three glasses in the cupboard, pouring a couple of shots’ worth in each. I added ice and a little Diet Coke from a random can I’d found by the ketchup.

“Does this make it easier to talk about?” Clem asked when I handed her my concoction. “Because for someone who isn’t much of a drinker, it’s interesting that the moment we start discussing cologne and the man you sorta met, you’re handing us vodka.”

“Yes.” I nodded for backup. “And it’s layered, so all the things”—I held up my glass—“will help.”

“I’m lost,” Jesse said.

Since we didn’t have a kitchen table and I needed distance to think, I said, “Come on. I’ll explain everything. Let’s go in here,” and I led them into the living room/shared bedroom. I sat on my bed and pointed at theirs, instructing them to do the same. I waited until they were settled before I continued, “I’m just going to lay it all out there.” I paused. “I met a man.”

“Tonight?” Jesse asked.

I crossed my legs, holding the drink on top of them and a pillow in my other hand, hugging it against my side. “A couple weeks ago, at the club. I’d never seen him there before—not that I pay much attention to the people who go there since I really do my own thing, but he didn’t look familiar. We talked, connected, and”—I sighed, unable to hold in the air for a second longer—“he’s everything, you guys. Extremely successful, devastatingly handsome, smart, charming.” I was saying all the things I’d been thinking, but hadn’t yet voiced out loud because, ironically, this was the first time I’d ever spoken about Macon. And really, I could go on and on, those descriptions not nearly strong enough to cover the depth of that man. But there was something else that needed to be mentioned, something vital. “He’s into me. Like really, really into me.”

“Of course he’s obsessed with you,” Clem said. “If he wasn’t, there would be something grossly wrong with him.”

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