* * *
Colette: He won’t say yes.
* * *
Theodora: Except that he might. Even if there’s only a five percent chance, isn’t it worth a try? I could call him if you want.
* * *
Colette: Don’t you dare!
* * *
Theodora: But we’ve been friends forever, Colette. He knows what a rational, grounded person I am. If I make it sound like a good idea, he’ll be primed and ready to listen to your Perfectly Decent Proposal with an open mind.
* * *
Colette: No. And if you go behind my back, I will never speak to you again, Theo. I’m serious. This is my body and my decision. If I decide I want a man to knock me up, I’ll be the one to ask him to do it.
* * *
Theodora: That’s the spirit! Ask him! I’m rooting for you, mama. Talk to you soon and happy baby-making!
* * *
Colette: *eye roll emoji*
* * *
Theodora: *peach emoji* *eggplant emoji* *happy baby emoji*
Chapter Four
Zack
I pull into the roundabout in front of Colette’s apartment building on Friday afternoon ten minutes before I’m due to pick her up and almost keep driving.
This is crazy.
I should be focusing on my music, not diving headfirst into a fling with a woman who’s on the rebound. Colette’s right—we barely know each other. We could be a match made in hell. Sure, we’ve already agreed to keep this low key, but even a friends-with-benefits situation can go hideously awry with the wrong person.
What if she hates my sense of humor?
What if she gets clingy and won’t give me time to write and record?
What if that kiss last night was a fluke, and we end up being incompatible in bed?
My mind flashes back to the feel of her lips hot on mine as she rocked against my erection, and my cock instantly gets hard, eager to assure me that compatibility isn’t going to be a problem.
Jesus, what’s wrong with me? My entire future is on the line—if I don’t nail this first solo record, I won’t get a chance to make another one—and I’m letting my dick call the shots.
If it were just your dick, you’d be fine. But you like this woman. You know you do. What happens when like becomes something more, and she’s still hung up on her ex and only up for casual sex?
“Nothing like heartache to inspire a slew of Top 40 hits,” I mutter to my reflection in the rearview mirror.
But my gaze remains steady and calm.
I’m not afraid of heartache—pain is a part of what you risk when you’re living a full life—and I don’t want to write Top 40 hits. That’s my new manager Chip’s plan. I just want to make music that’s real and honest and mine.
If that music happens to take inspiration from getting dumped by the most breathlessly beautiful woman I’ve ever met…so be it.
“I guess you didn’t come to your senses last night, either?” a lilting voice murmurs from the passenger side of my new Tesla Model S, another impulsive thing I’ve committed to in the past few weeks.
I turn to see Colette peering in through the open window, and my heart punches my ribs the way it does every time her eyes meet mine. One blue and one a murky green, her eyes are unusual, to say the least, but it isn’t their color that gets to me. It’s their…depth.
Colette is one of those people you can dive into and never reach the bottom. She’s clever, curious, and kind, a combination I’ve never been able to resist. Add in plush pink lips, silvery blond hair, and a barely there sundress made to inspire Let’s-Get-It-On songs, and I’m a goner. Fighting the pull I feel when I’m with her would be pointless, and I’m not the type to waste energy fighting battles I can’t win.
So I don’t bother to hide the appreciation in my voice as I say, “You in that dress… Jesus…”
She laughs, biting her lip as she brings a hand to her hip to smooth the shimmery fabric. “I know. It’s scandalous, but it’s so hot in my apartment, and I couldn’t bear the thought of putting on more clothes.” She cocks her head. “But I can go change if—”
“Don’t you dare.”
She smiles, and my heart slaps my ribs again. “You’re sure it’s not too much?”
“It’s just enough,” I say as she tosses her small suitcase into the back seat and slides in beside me, though I know I’m going to spend the entire drive fighting to keep my eyes on the road. The deep V at the front of her dress and the apparent lack of anything underneath are already making me wish I’d picked a closer destination for the end of our day one drive.
I can’t wait to be alone with her, to kiss her, taste her, and discover every inch of the whisper-soft skin beneath that dress. My balls are already aching between my legs, which bodes for a torturous three-hour drive.