Chapter 8
Jack
I wiped the slight sheen of sweat from my forehead and took aim, cleanly delivering the basketball through the net.
“Did you miss me last night?” Nate asked as he grabbed the ball.
I laughed. “Not one bit.”
Nate raised an eyebrow as he dribbled the ball between his legs. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
My friend knew me too well. Knew too I hadn’t had much to say when he’d asked about my late-night antics lately.
“Maybe it does,” I said as Nate took his turn shooting.
“And does that mean you’ll be the one canceling drinks next time?” Nate asked as I grabbed the ball.
“You know what? It just might mean that. But for a much better reason than working late on a deal.”
“That deal is going to make my company a lot of money though.”
“That’s a good thing then.”
“Yeah, but not as good as other things.”
I flashed back to last night. To Michelle’s body, half-naked. I’d need to get the rest of her clothes off tonight.
“You’re right. Definitely not as good as other things that I’m going to engage in again tonight,” I said with a wicked grin.
“Lucky fucker,” Nate whistled as the ball sailed through the net.
Maybe he was talking about the ball. Or maybe he was talking about the possibility of another time. The latter was a hell of a lot more exciting.
So exciting that I sent Michelle a text as soon as we finished shooting hoops that morning.
Jack: Are you still holding me to that foursome tonight? Because I plan on delivering.
Michelle: A quartet? Consider me game.
I texted her on and off throughout the morning, until it was time for me to head over to keep my appointment with Casey’s recommendation, and even then I kept up the volley on my walk to the Lexington Avenue building.
Michelle
Michelle: By the way, did I tell you that I woke up this morning thinking about what you did to me against the wall?
Jack: Did you touch yourself?
Michelle: What do you think?
Jack: That you had that gorgeous sexy O mouth going on this morning in your bed.
Michelle: Maybe I did.
Jack: Would love to see that. Fingers or toys?
Michelle: Both. And if you want to know more, you’ll have to take me to dinner.
Jack: That can be arranged, but I’m going to need to eat food, and eat you.
Michelle: How about you make arrangements for the former, and I do for the latter?
Jack: I’ll make reservations at a restaurant. I might need to taste you first though. Not sure if I can wait. I’ll text you later. I have a meeting in five mins. Walking into the building now.
Michelle: Mmm…I like the way you think…and I have an appt too. Can’t wait to see you again.
Jack: Can’t wait to see you.
I grinned wickedly as I turned my personal phone to silent, then tucked it into a desk drawer. I always gave my clients supreme focus, and that included not only silencing the phone, but placing it completely out of sight.
Besides, Jack was already front and center in my mind; I didn’t need to clutter my thoughts with even more of him when I had to focus on my next patient.
That man was some kind of magic, though; he’d been the only man whose touch had made me forget Clay.
Jack had been so overpowering, so dominant that there was no room for anyone but him in my head and heart.
He was a good drug, the kind who could wash away the bitter aftertaste of unrequitedness.
It would take a once-in-a-century eclipse to blot out the ache of loving someone who doesn’t love you in return. Longing had camped out in my heart for so many years it had squatter’s rights.
I clicked open my calendar, checking on the details of my next session. If I didn’t focus on my new patient, I was likely to spend all afternoon daydreaming about my new romantic interest, so I pulled up and scanned the notes from my office manager who’d arranged the appointment.
There was very little in here about the man coming to see me, but that was par for the course. I rarely knew much in advance; my job was to get to know clients during our time together with as few preconceived notions as possible.
So for my two o’clock, no first name, but the last name was Sullivan.
His sister had called to set up the appointment for him.
There was a line about “difficulty moving on from last relationship”—relatable—and a reminder that discretion of the highest order was vital, since the patient was a prominent businessman.
Not a problem. Never a problem. Discreet was practically my middle name, had been as long as I’d been in the job, particularly once I started to focus on intimacy issues.
Well, let’s see what we’ve got. I was ready to focus on this Sullivan fellow for the next hour.
When I heard a knock at two o’clock sharp, I opened the door to my office, and all thoughts rushed out of my brain but one.
I’d already met the man last night.