There. We're on a bit more even footing now.
I head next to Drake and stand next to him at the window.
We're just looking down on the streets of Midtown, right? So why the fuck is my cock twitching?
Do I want to fuck Drake right here?
I mean don't get me wrong. I'm not gay. I think I proved that to you pretty conclusively the other day with Natalie.
But just because I'm not gay doesn't mean that I can't appreciate man meat.
And if I have to be honest, I'll be the first to admit to you that Drake Carlton is a remarkable specimen of man. He has a great fucking body. He's got the confidence of--
"I want to talk to you about two days ago," Drake says, turning to me and not wasting any more words. "You know I didn't come all the way up here to look down at the view with you. But I appreciate that you didn't rush me, Sloane," Drake says.
I decide to just stare at him and let him continue.
"We've had our differences, you and I," Drake says. "But what happened the other day has taken this to a whole different level."
Well, that's the understatement of the fucking century.
I sigh, and gesture toward the sofa next to the window. Drake nods and sits down. I sit on the leather chair across from the sofa.
"We've been at each other's throats for a long time, Drake," I say to him, and he nods. "I think I'm a fucking venture capitalist because I hated you."
"There's a lot of anger to go around, Sloane," Drake says to me. "I made my share of mistakes."
And that's when it fucking hits me.
You know how sometimes you're just sitting there or talking to someone and they say or do something and it's a stupid insignificant thing, but it sort of puts everything into fucking perspective?
Scientists and behavioral psychologists call it an epiphany.
I call it an 'oh shit' moment.
And that's just what Drake has done to me right now.
See, he made mistakes. He just admitted he made mistakes.
"Drake," I say slowly. He looks at me. "You made a lot of mistakes."
Drake nods his head. He doesn't grimace, but he's quiet.
"I want you to know, I loved Meredith," he says to me. "I loved your mother with all my fucking heart."
I don't say anything.
"After she died, I don't know what happened, but I should've never married Linda," he says to me. "I know you didn't approve, but I didn't care."
It's not that I didn't approve.
Fuck.
Could it be that I didn't want to share?
Did I maybe want Drake to myself?
"I can't fault you now for marrying Linda, man," I say to him. "Otherwise, I would've never met Natalie."
That makes us both pause.
Natalie Vanderhill.
The girl with the beautiful face. The gorgeous fucking body. That tight heart-shaped ass. Those slender legs. That flat stomach. Those luscious tits.
And the dirtiest fucking mind I've ever seen in a woman.
"Natalie is...special," Drake says, choosing his words. I understand where my stepdad is coming from. It's a loaded fucking subject. "Hell, she's the reason we're in this room today talking to each other as civilized people."
"When you married Linda, there was a lot of hurt," I tell Drake, going back to my epiphany. I think I almost have it to put into words.
"But that hurt wasn't because I thought you were forgetting about Mom," I tell him. He's nodding, and looking at me now. "That hurt was because I thought you were forgetting about me."
"I wasn't close to even trying to be a good dad, Sloane," Drake says shaking his head.
"That's not it," I say to him and Drake looks at me.
What is that in his eyes?
He's my stepdad. All it can be is concern.
"I think, yeah, I needed a father," I tell Drake slowly. "But I think I was jealous of Linda because she was going to be your lover."
Drake is quiet.
And that's the fucking rub, isn't it.
I was jealous of my stepmom, not because I didn't want a new family coming in.
Because on some deeper level, I was attracted to my stepdad.
It's been an attraction that I haven't been able to reconcile all this fucking time.
So what did I do instead?
I lashed out. I got angry. I built walls. I never settled on one woman.
So much to tell Drake about. And looking at him, I see he hasn't turned away in shock or disgust anymore. He's smiling; it's an open fucking invitation.
We're going to finally bury the fucking hatchet. We're going to--
The phone interrupts my thinking.
"Mr. Hardman," Cheryl says with professionalism in her voice. "The investors are here to go over the final details on the investment of Dirty Lil' Angels. They're in the South Conference Room."
Fuck. This is a real meeting.
Drake understands though that we've had a fucking breakthrough. He gets up.