Chapter 3
VIVIAN
Friday, August 25, 6:00 PM
I’ve been unpacking and organizing all week, with online orders and furniture deliveries arriving non-stop. My hair, a messy ponytail on top of my head, has pieces falling down at the nape and stragglers hanging in my face. I’m sweaty, gross, and covered in box residue. I walk over to the thermostat and crank up the AC, wondering why I didn’t do that hours ago.
I take a moment to look around my new place. Things are coming together. My new home is gorgeous, freshly remodeled, and right on the river. It’s a four-story townhouse with a rooftop deck to die for. The sunrise over the river is spectacular! My front door faces south toward the water, and my morning runs are incredibly convenient—I’m just steps away from the Riverwalk.
The move happened quickly. I barely had time to order the essentials before I arrived. I stayed in a hotel for the first few days until I had bedroom furniture and basic kitchenware. Most of the gym equipment arrived today, and I’ve hired people to assemble it early next week.
The Parade of Homes went better than I could have imagined. It was a huge success, and my father-in-law mentioned he might even buy the house Melissa and I worked on together as another investment property .
I’m wearing a loose pajama set with matching shorts and a tank, and I’ve just realized I forgot to put a bra on this morning. Not that it matters because I don’t have saggy boobs—I have implants, a perfect large B, small C on a good day. Ben always said they were the perfect handful. But freeboobing in a loose shirt makes me feel more sweaty and undone. Right now, I just feel gross from unpacking all day. I need a shower and to get out of the house. I decide to get ready and treat myself to a nice dinner. It’ll be good for me to explore the city.
While showering, my mind wanders to the embarrassing encounter with my new neighbor a week ago. God, he was so hot! I had come straight inside from my run and immediately texted Sarah about him. I keep replaying it as I wash my hair. I’d turned around for what I intended to be a quick glance at his glorious body, but ended up gaping at him for a few seconds too long.
Oh Lordy, his body.
Wow.
I didn’t know eight-packs existed in real life—I’ve only seen them on Instagram. His joggers had been riding so low that if they had slipped any further, he would have exposed the goods. I can’t get the sexy V shape of his muscles, prominently pointing down to his package, out of my mind.
God! He caught me staring at him! I was practically drooling, like I was in junior high again, watching my crush in Geography class. I groan in frustration, rolling my eyes, and roughly tugging at my hair while I rinse the conditioner out.
Ugh. How do I play this out?
It’s been a week, and I haven’t seen him since. I pray it won’t be awkward when I do. I know I’ll have to meet him at some point, but I hope that the more time passes, the more it will be forgotten.
I choose a cream, sleeveless, bodysuit with a plunging V-neckline and pair it with high-waisted, loose black leather shorts. The outfit is perfect for a date with myself. Since it’s going to be warm tonight, I grab my black heeled leather strappy sandals from Jimmy Choo. I switch my hair part daily and settle on barely off-center, finishing with soft waves. I chopped my hair two weeks before the move and am still getting used to it; my once long locks now brush my collarbone. Anything would have been an improvement from how I looked forty-five minutes ago, but as I stare into the full-length mirror in my bedroom, I decide that I look pretty damn good.
I walk back into my closet, reach for my black YSL bag, and stock it with my essentials for the evening. I turn to my jewelry drawer and clasp two simple gold necklaces around my neck. One has a small V for my name that falls to the center of my cleavage, drawing attention to the ladies—never a bad thing—and the other is a plain gold chain that sits two inches above it. I complete my look with a ring I had made with the ashes of Ben and Evie. It’s a double-banded gold ring with an opal-like stone in the center. It’s dainty, beautiful, and I wear it every day. As I slip it onto my middle finger, my eyes linger on my wedding ring. I removed it a few months ago when I started dating more frequently. It’s simple; a gold band from Tiffany’s.
Absentmindedly, I start to rub my thumb over its smooth surface, my mind drifting back to when Ben had planned to ask me to marry him. I’d made it clear that I didn’t want any jewels or diamonds. I’m not flashy with my jewelry and love simple pieces, so while he’d had the money to buy me a big gaudy ring, I hadn’t wanted one. My stomach rumbles, pulling me back to reality.
It’s 6:45, and I’m starved. With it being a Friday night, I know there will be long wait times. I check the mirror once more and, feeling confident, I head out for the night. There’s a restaurant around the corner that my friend, Kara, told me about. It has rave reviews, and after looking at the menu, I’ve been anxious to check it out. I step outside and breathe deeply, taking in my new surroundings for the next year.
It’s a beautiful summer night, and the temperature is perfect. My Maps app says it will be a ten-minute walk from my house—a walk I’m looking forward to after being cooped up all day. I step outside, the warm breeze brushing against my skin, and start my stroll. Luckily, these heels happen to be one of the more comfortable pairs I own.
* * * * * * * * * *
Holy shit. The restaurant is packed. I had anticipated that I would need a reservation, but with it being the last minute, I didn’t attempt to make one. I squeeze through the crowd to the hostess and pray they can fit me in.
The hostess looks up and smiles. “Good evening, do you have a reservation?”
I shake my head. “Do you have open seating at the bar?” I ask hopefully.
“We do.” She nods and points behind her. “The bar is behind me and to your left, toward the back. You should be able to get a seat within fifteen-twenty minutes.”
“Great. Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Our cocktail waitress is Ellie,” she points toward a tall blonde girl. “She can open a tab for you anytime, if you’d like something while you wait.”
“Thank you.”
I navigate through the bustling restaurant, the clinking of glasses, laughter, and the hum of conversations filling the air. The ambient noise is a mix of soft jazz playing in the background and the occasional shout from the kitchen. It’s the perfect place to lose myself in the crowd and enjoy a night out.
I walk toward the back of the bar, taking in the sleek lines and meticulous modern decor. The lighting is dim and moody, casting a soft glow in just the right places. I can’t help but appreciate the aesthetic harmony of the space.
At the bar, I eyeball people’s plates to see if anyone looks close to leaving. An older gentleman has a credit card in hand, waiting for his check. I flag down Ellie and order myself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. I really shouldn’t drink on an empty stomach—I’m a lightweight—but it will help pass the time .
After ten minutes, the gentleman gets ready to leave. I’m hovering, ready to dart for the seat. As he stands, the bartender throws a reserved sign down on the countertop, at the now empty seat that I have been waiting for.
What. The. Hell!
Frustrated, I glance at the couple next to the now reserved seat. They look as if they could be leaving soon. Hopeful, I wait patiently and Ellie brings me my drink. Ten more minutes, a full glass of wine, and a buzz tingling through me, I’m finally able to sit.
A drink menu is placed in front of me at the same moment an old fashioned is set down at the empty seat next to me; the invisible customer getting phenomenal service.
“Good evening, miss. My name’s Noah. I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Are you dining with us or just having drinks?”
“I’ll be dining.” He places a food menu next to the drink menu. I order a charcuterie board and browse over the menu.
“LEO!” the bartender shouts over to someone, startling me. A man approaches and takes his hand, greeting him with a British accent. I glance to my right and freeze; my heart starts to pound. Shit. I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s my neighbor. My oh-so-hot, good-looking neighbor, who apparently has a British accent that is sexy as hell! I listen to the two of them speak. My God , his voice is incredible. I didn’t think he could get any hotter, but this, this makes him hotter. Seriously, I could listen to his voice all day. I’d let him read me bedtime stories. My mind races, trying to figure out how to navigate this encounter without losing my cool.
He settles into his seat and rolls up his shirt sleeves, revealing a sleeve of tattoos on one arm and a Rolex watch on the wrist closest to me. I try to be subtle as I take in his masculine features. His dark brown hair isn’t long, but it’s not short either; it’s just the right length to run one’s fingers through, with a soft natural wave that gives it a polished, messy look. It reminds me of a shorter version of Bradley Cooper’s hair in The Hangover . His short, well-kept beard, more like a long scruff, frames his face perfectly, and his white shirt looks crisp next to his tanned skin. Suddenly aware of my presence, he glances over, then turns to look at me .
He furrows his brows. “You’re my new neighbor?”
It’s a question.
I give him a confused look. “I’m not sure,” I say, deciding to diffuse the awkwardness with humor. The only way out is through, right? “I’m having a hard time placing you with your clothes on,” I add nonchalantly, sipping my wine.
He chuckles, and two deep dimples peek through his beard, making me drool all the more. “Do you need me to remove my shirt? I believe you stared long enough to be able to recall every detail.”
Jackass… but also, drool.
“Ha!” I scoff. “If I remember correctly, you were staring first,” I challenge playfully.
He looks at me, holding my gaze, and nods, amused. “Well played.” He holds out his hand. “Leo Weston.”
I take his hand and shake it firmly, displaying confidence that I’m trying ever so hard to achieve.
“Vivian Walker.”
“Well, Vivian Walker, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” I say, grinning at him. “So…” I casually turn toward him and slightly lean against the bar. “Who do you have to bang to get reserved seating and a drink awaiting your arrival?”
“I know the chef.” He sips his drink, then looks at me with curiosity. “Are people still saying ‘bang’?” He smothers a laugh.
The dimples again. God, I love the dimples.
“Oh, I do.” Unsure if he realizes we’re quoting one of my all-time favorite movies, Crazy, Stupid, Love , I can’t help but laugh.
He nods toward the empty seat next to me. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“Nope… It’s just me tonight,” I say, smiling as I lean back in my chair, feeling oddly confident and flirtatious. “Sometimes, a girl just needs to take herself out.”
He swallows as his eyes meet mine. “Lucky for me,” he says, holding my gaze as the corners of his mouth lift into a playful smirk.
Beautiful .
This man is fucking beautiful.
“Guess we’ll see how lucky you get after a few more drinks,” I respond with a wink, taking another sip of my wine.
My heart races as I realize how bold that sounded. Did I really just say that? Well, no turning back now. I just have to own it.
Noah interrupts to take our orders.
“I’ll have the short rib,” I say, handing him my menu.
“I’ll take the ribeye, medium rare… and another one of these.” He picks up his glass and swirls it, the ice cubes clinking. Noah nods and walks away.
“So.” I drum my fingers on the countertop. “You’re British,” I say matter-of-factly.
“Am I?” he says skeptically, placing his hand on his chest. “Well done, Walker, that is quite the observation. I’m impressed.” Laughing, he slowly claps his hands together.
“Shut up.” Embarrassed, I playfully nudge him with my elbow. I pause for a moment, noticing the way he called me by my last name. “Okay then, Leo, tell me something about yourself.”
There is an unnaturally long pause before he says, “Care to make it interesting?”
I hesitate. “Sure… What do you have in mind?”
“Will you excuse me for a few minutes?”
“Of course.” I raise my eyebrows, wondering what he is about to do.
He walks off, leaving me alone. I pick at the charcuterie board, inwardly smiling. Tonight just might be fun. This may be the perfect start to my new life in a new city.
After several minutes, he reappears with a stack of cash.
“What’s all that for?”
“This is the game, Walker. We each get ten questions,” he says, handing me ten one-dollar bills. “You can only answer with one sentence, and you can’t ask a question that the other has already asked.” He grabs two fifty-dollar bills. “These,” he says as he hands them to me, “are for passing. Only two passes are allowed.” He then hands me a twenty-dollar bill, two ten-dollar bills, and two five-dollar bills. “These can be used for half- truths, to ask for more details about a question, or to ask a question that’s already been asked. You can raise the stakes or trump the other person with more money. Whoever runs out of money first loses, and the winner keeps the pot.”
I’m amused. “Okay, two things: one—what is a half-truth?”
“A half-truth can be used anytime, but… say you run out of twenties and want to pass, you can say ‘half-truth’ and give a vague response that is part of the truth but not the whole truth.”
I nod. “Alright, second—isn’t this more exciting for me? This is all your money.” I laugh. “What’s in it for you?”
“What’s in it for me? The chance to get to know you better through a friendly betting match, which I happen to love! Plus, I’m competitive by nature. I love winning, whether there is money on the line or not. I’ll go first.” He places a one-dollar bill between us with a confident grin. The seat next to me is now occupied, but Leo sits at the end of the bar, leaning casually with his elbow on the counter, a glint of challenge in his eyes. There is ample room for us to play.
“Where did you move from?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Salt Lake City.”
“Utah? Beautiful state. I’ve been there a few times for the Sundance Film Festival and skiing.” He takes a sip of his old fashioned. “You’re up, Walker.” He tips his glass my way.
I haven’t been called by my last name since high school. I don’t know why, but I find it endearing.
I place a dollar on top of his. “Are you from London?”
“Are you sure you want to ask that? What if I say no? Then you’ve wasted a question, and you still won’t know where I’m from.”
“Okay, I see your point.” Cautiously, I rephrase, “Where in the U.K. are you from?”
“London,” he says, his eyes shining with amusement. “My turn.” Another dollar goes into the ‘pot ’ .
Noah comes over with our food.
“Thanks, mate,” Leo says.
“You two need anything?” Noah asks .
Leo looks at me in question.
I shake my head. “I’m good. This looks incredible.”
With a nod, Leo gives Noah a look that says, I’ll let you know if I need you . He turns back to me as I take a bite.
I let out a moan. “Oh my God, this is so good.”
His expression turns serious. “Do you need some privacy?” He says it all British-like, priv-uh-see.
“Yes. As a matter of fact, I may need to get a room for me and this short rib.”
He laughs and continues, adding to the pile of money. “What do you do for work?”
I swallow and sip my wine. “I’m an architect.” His eyes widen as he lifts his brows in surprise. I’m accustomed to that response, working in a predominantly male industry.
My turn. I place my dollar in the center. “Same question.”
“You have to add one of your tens or twenties to ask the same question.”
I groan and place a ten in the middle.
“I’m a psychology professor at the University of Illinois.”
“Okay,” I say, placing another ten in the middle and giving him the same look he gave me. “I need to know more about that. Explain.” I’m shocked by his answer.
“Do you want to be more specific about what you want me to explain, so you don’t waste any more of your money?” he offers.
“Okay… let me think.” I cross my arms and lean back. “I’m surprised. I wasn’t expecting you to say that. I don’t know, how often do you teach? Do you do anything else in that line of work? You know… just… explain.”
“You’re cute when you’re flustered, Walker.” He grins at me. “This coming semester, I will have a lighter load than I’m used to. I have lectures three days a week and one on Monday afternoons. On Wednesdays, I see clients at my private practice.”
“That can’t be all,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “I feel like there’s more you’re not telling me. Are you giving me a half-truth?”
“Why do you assume I’m telling a half-truth? ”
Because I wasn’t born yesterday.
“No reason.” I pause. “You don’t do anything else?”
Leo emanates wealth. I grew up in Park City, practically a playground for the rich… so I know wealth. For one, my father-in-law is ungodly wealthy.
Leo’s dressed in expensive clothing, wears a Rolex watch, and lives in a multi-million dollar townhouse on the Riverwalk in Chicago. Psychology professor… doesn’t add up.
“You didn’t ask that. You asked about my psychology profession. Is that another question?”
I raise my eyebrow. “I don’t know, Leo , is that another question?”
“Touché,” he chuckles, signaling to Noah by looping his finger around in the air for another round of drinks. I’m already pretty buzzed, but the food is soaking up the alcohol, and I’m drinking slowly. One more round should be fine.
His playful demeanor is infectious, and I find myself more intrigued by him with every passing minute.
“Fine. I’ll give you this one for free, but no more! I also dabble in some real estate and business ventures.”
“Dabble?” I echo, my curiosity piqued. “That sounds like more than just a side hustle.”
He leans in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “Let’s just say I have a few projects in London and here in Chicago. It keeps me busy when I’m not teaching or seeing clients.”
I nod slowly, processing. “So, you’re not just a psychology professor. You’re a businessman too.”
“Something like that,” he replies with a twinkle in his eye. “Now, no more freebies. It’s my turn,” he states, placing his dollar in the pile. “Do you have any siblings?”
“Nope. Only child.” I place my dollar on the countertop. “What’s your favorite holiday?”
“Easy. New Year’s.”
I give him a look. No one picks New Year’s. Literally, no one!
“What’s your favorite drink? ”
“Easy,” I say. “Coffee.”
I ponder my next question as Noah sets our drinks down. “Have you ever been married?” I ask.
“Never. Favorite TV show?” he asks.
“ Schitt's Creek! ” I blurt out without even thinking.
Leo chuckles, “Are you channeling your inner Alexis right now?”
I laugh and shake my head, but then my expression softens. “Have you ever had your heart broken?” I ask, looking at him intently.
He turns somber and breathes out slowly. “Yes, definitely yes.”
Shit just got serious.
“This question doesn’t count, but did you just make this game up?” I ask.
His face lights up, and I can’t help but stare at him. His face is fucking incredible, and that tousled hair of his screams sexy bedroom perfection. He locks eyes with me, his dark brown gaze intense, and a slow, knowing smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“No. We used to play this in high school. But instead of betting money, we would bet articles of clothing. A reinvented strip poker, if you will.” His mouth parts into a full smile, showcasing his perfectly straight, white teeth. “I’d be happy to switch the stakes at any time if you'd like,” he adds.
“I bet you would.” In the most seductive way possible, I lean forward and whisper, “It’s a good thing I’m wearing underwear.”
His eyes slowly gaze over my body and land on my chest. A slow, mischievous grin spreads over his face, and he whispers back, “But I see that you are down one bra,” and winks.
A wave of heat washes over my entire body.
Holy shit.
I’m extremely turned on.
The glance.
The whisper.
The British accent.
The dimples.
The wink .
I cross my legs, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I haven’t felt anything remotely close to this in a long time.
Leo’s playful teasing brings a wave of nostalgia that feels strangely comforting. It reminds me of the way Ben used to joke around, making every interaction light and fun, no matter the situation. For a brief moment, the memory of Ben’s laughter and our playful banter washes over me, bringing both a smile and a pang of loss. I push the thought aside, focusing on the present and the intriguing man in front of me.
Just because I find Leo attractive doesn’t mean I loved Ben any less. Ben was everything to me, and his memory still holds a place in my heart. It’s okay to feel something new, I tell myself.
I excuse myself to the bathroom. My thoughts about Ben and the dull ache between my thighs are distracting… I can’t think straight. Jesus Christ , I’m so turned on—I don’t know if I can handle this.