“Put that on your résumé. They next time they need someone for a terrible roller derby movie, they’ve got their girl.”
“It’ll be my Cinderella story. From socialite to derby girl.”
“I could see you rock it. It’d be pretty sexy, too.”
Heat spreads across my chest and I look away so he can’t see the stupid grin on my face.
“I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun, Eric. This was easily one of the best nights of my life.” We are standing outside my apartment and I don’t want the feeling to go away. I want it to last the whole night and then some. “You want to stay for a while?”
Eric cups my cheek in his hand and grasps my hip with his other. He pulls me in for a kiss that makes my toes curl and my knees go weak. It is cliché and delicious and beautiful. It is exactly the lead in I want for a night of passion with him.
“I can’t.” He whispers against my lips. “I don’t want to use you.”
“Please use me,” I counter. “Use me hard.”
“You deserve more than that.” He kisses me again, softer this time, and taps my nose. “I’ll see you again soon, Derby Princess.”
I watch him walk away, held up by my front door. This evening was more than anything I could have hoped for, but it left my heart more twisted than ever. A darkening area of my brain knows this can’t go on and can spell ruin, but a bigger, brighter part wants to get lost in him and never find the way out.
I don’t know where to go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ERIC
A bright white envelope sits on my desk when I walk in Tuesday morning. Our interdepartmental envelopes are a disgusting yellow, so it’s not another note from Hazel in accounting. Her “memos” are nothing more than a thinly veiled plea for a date.
Not interested. Not with Kate in my life. Whatever is going on with her. I haven’t told a soul and don’t plan to. I don’t understand what happens to me when I’m around her, but I’m tired of fighting it. I’m tired of busting my ass in the gym and in the courtroom to sweat her out. It hasn’t worked.
Time to just embrace it.
“Sophie, do you know what this envelope is?” I call over my shoulder. “Who brought it?”
“No idea, Mr. Stevens.” She pops her head in the office. “Want me to ask around?”
“Nah. I’ll just have my coffee first. Wanted a jump on it.”
I pour a cup and study it. As a habit, I don’t like opening envelopes first thing in the morning. Anything could be in there, and I mean anything. A client’s ex once mailed me her used panties. Another time, an attempt at blackmail.
Never try to blackmail a lawyer unless you’ve got something really, really fucking good. That guy didn’t.
Caffeinated, I sit down and slice it open with a pocket knife, expecting the worst. Hell, for all I know it’s an announcement that I’m a daddy or some shit. Never sticks, though. God love those condoms, ladies.
I pull out a stack of photos that take me only seconds to recognize. It’s the prints from my fake date with Kate at Descanso. I’d almost forgotten about them at this point and have no idea what took Paxton this goddamn long to print them.
There are at least three dozen here with the film taped to a signed form, assuring there are no other copies floating around. Standard procedure every time we do this shit.
I flip my desk phone over to Do Not Disturb and go through all the glossy photos slowly, taking my time to savor each one. Paxton is getting pretty good after this many stings. He really knows how to angle it so things look convincing.
If I recall properly, though, not much convincing was needed on the part of Kate McArthur. She had walls up, but she willingly knocked them down to let Sir Eric on over. It’s fun, though, to see her reaction to my flowers and picnic. I spent so much time vying for angles in the beginning, I missed most of it.
The way she looks at me in these stirs more feelings in my gut. Feelings I can’t ignore any longer. I touch her face in each of them like I’m touching her in real life and feel an overwhelming sense of… happiness? Pride? Joy?
“I see you got the pictures.”
Paxton materializes in front of me and I nearly jump out of my skin at the surprise. Hastily trying to restack them, I cough and shrug.
“Not bad, Pax. You’re on your way to a Terry O’Neil award.”
“Shame I couldn’t get the naughty ones later. Your floor was too high up.” I shoot him a look but he laughs. “I’m kidding, bro. Kidding. Though it would have made for some great evidence. Unfortunately, I think most of the judges know what your bare ass looks like.”