Count On Me (BAEs OF BAYSIDE #2)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Rayne

I’m at The Aqua Hotel to get laid. No shame in my game. Just discreet.

It’s small, intimate, and far enough off Michigan Avenue that I’m not likely to run into anyone I know. The rooftop piano bar serves a chocolate martini with real Godiva, and the rooms? Mmm-mmm-mm. Beds like clouds and tubs deep enough to wash away work and responsibility.

So even if there’s no spark, I’ll still enjoy myself.

And if there is… well, I won’t be sleeping alone.

After a ninety-minute drive to Chicago, I’d picked up my key card, dropped my overnight bag off with the valet, then taken the hydraulic elevator—giving me just enough time to refresh my lipstick, fluff my curls, and adjust the thong threatening to slice me in half.

The rhinestones might have been overkill, but I’m a sucker for pretty panties, satin pajamas, and designer shoes.

When the door slides open, I step out. Louboutins clicking on marble, nerves rattling in my chest. I came early on purpose, to catch my breath and watch for his arrival.

Not that I could miss him. I’m embarrassed to admit how many times I’ve pulled up his profile pic.

Memorized every detail. We both had selected the one-night-only option and exchanged two brief messages through the app, confirming time and place.

If his voice matches his photo, it’ll be like soulful music—the grind-against-the-wall, make-you-forget-your-own-name kind.

I’m fantasizing again, but soon I’ll find out if the man starring in my imagination measures up off screen.

At the entrance, a jazzy rendition of an Elton John song floats through the air. Inside is dimly lit and near empty, points in the bar’s favor. Just two businessmen on a Thursday evening, drinks in hand, ties loosened… and him.

My steps falter.

He’s seated at a round table with the skyline spread behind him, an inky backdrop sprinkled with city lights.

His lips are kissing a tumbler. Bourbon, I’d bet.

Strong and sophisticated. Shoulders beneath a fitted blue blazer are broad enough to crowd a doorway.

The pocket square is a very nice touch. Number 876, alias The Gentle Giant, is even yummier in person.

He’s honey-brown like Rome Flynn. Short dark hair. Neat beard. Clark Kent glasses that suggest he’s harmless. But my unreliable knees know better.

I need a moment, and get it when he picks up his phone, allowing me to back out unseen and duck behind the wall. My heart racing, I video call my cousin Lot.

She answers on the first ring, her RBF filling the screen, mahogany locs piled into a fat bun.

I press a finger to my lips. “I’m here.”

“Where’s the Jolly Green Giant?” Her voice dips low to match mine.

“Gentle Giant,” I correct with an eye roll. “In the bar.”

“Lemme see him.”

“You know I can’t.” The airtight confidentiality agreement I signed with Secrets In The Dark—an exclusive “dating” site for singles requiring anonymity—was clear. No photos or personal information disclosed to anyone. That’s why I chose it.

“But trust me, his profile pic didn’t do him justice. He’s even thicker and finer with slutty black glasses.”

“Oooh, okay. Sounds on brand.”

My pulse ticks higher as I sneak another glance at him, still on his phone. “If conversation tanks, hell, we don’t even need to talk.”

“You really think you can separate your head from your kitty?” she asks, eyebrows arched. “You’ve never even had a one-night stand.”

True, but I’m drier than a week-old Popeye’s biscuit.

It’s been fourteen months since Colin Fraser.

A rebound. Lasted a whole three weeks. At least he was honest about not wanting anything serious.

Better than most. Definitely better than Hollis Brown, who wrung out my heart like wet laundry.

But I’m done settling for unavailable men.

It hasn’t made me jaded, though. I love love. I want to be somebody’s exclusive. Somebody’s forever.

One day. Right now, running for mayor of Bayside Harbor comes first.

“I’m good,” I tell her. “Not out here looking for a husband this time. Heart’s closed, coochie’s wide open.”

“Girl, you so crazy. Just be careful.”

“Wish me luck that he likes me.”

“Ssskt.” She kisses her teeth. “You don’t need luck for that. He hit the jackpot.”

“Thanks, boo. Better go before I’m late.”

I end the call and slip the phone inside my purse.

Stalling a moment longer, my fingers drift to the opal moon pendant at my chest, where milky-white patches scatter across my brown skin.

The same as those on my face, hands, and all over my body.

I spent years trying to hide that I have vitiligo. Not anymore.

Still, meeting someone new can stir those old insecurities. The necklace I gifted myself is a reminder that the moon isn’t one solid color either, yet it lights up the whole damn sky.

I step from behind the wall and strut in. Shoulders back. Black cocktail dress cut low, curves hugged tight.

He notices me instantly, his phone forgotten as he rises. Not quite a giant, but easily over six feet.

“Luna. It’s a pleasure.”

His voice is everything I thought it would be and more. The cadence is Trevor Noah—but deeper. Sexier. More Aldis Hodge after midnight.

“You’re stunning,” he says.

“Thank you,” I manage without drooling. “So are you.”

He smiles then. Not too much, not too little. A flash. White. Hypnotic. He offers his hand. It wraps warmly around mine like an open invitation.

Lot’s warning to be careful whispers in my head, but just in this simple touch with his hot, brown gaze locked on mine…

Careful doesn’t stand a chance.