Illicit ✔

twenty-four 🔥

"And to Michael."

"Michael?" Delilah blinked, eyebrows scrunching as she lifted to her elbows. "Is he still talking to you after all this?"

Coralie wrinkled her nose. "Somehow, yes. And... maybe he's my way to move forward. Maybe he always was, but Ryan came in and distracted me. With him gone... I might be able to focus on Michael and what he has to offer, which looks a lot more stable now that Ryan's fog is clearing from around my head."

With a weak smile, Delilah brought Coralie's hand to her mouth and kissed it. "Make sure he's not some rebound you're using to get over Ryan faster. Michael is a good guy, babe. So be good to him."

Coralie started being good that very afternoon. Michael had sent her several messages since she'd landed in San Francisco, and she decided it was time to be honest with him. Well, as honest as possible without mentioning her sultry, illicit adventure with Ryan.

He doesn't need to know about that.

She called him, and he replied on the second ring, breathless, claiming he'd just gotten out of the shower.

"I... I think the gig freaked me out, so I needed some space," she said, her throat clogging and her lungs tightening. She hadn't thought of the gig at all in the past week; she'd been too busy sucking on Ryan's lips, ogling his dick, and basking in his muscular arms. But it wouldn't be completely wrong to use it as an excuse for being distant with Michael. "So I took off, for a few days. I can't explain why, nor can I tell you where, but... I'm home now. And somewhat normal again."

If he doubted her, Michael didn't sound like it. "Whatever you need, Cora. I'm happy you're okay. Do you want to meet up for coffee? Dinner? A walk? Or do you need more time?"

Browsing through her Facebook on her laptop, she stumbled upon an update on Ryan's page. It was a picture of him, his girls, and his wife; beaming from ear to ear, sipping on tropical cocktails on a beach in what looked like southern Spain.

If she hadn't been on the phone with Michael, she would have slammed the laptop shut and thrown it against the wall. Two days ago he'd abandoned her in that damned Parisian hotel room, and already he was taking vacations with his perfect spouse and their perfect children? He'd only recently ripped her heart to shreds, and already he posted photos as if it had never happened? As if they'd never shared a bathtub and kissed until their lips were chapped and made love so often they could barely feel their limbs?

She clicked out of the browser and double-tapped on her folder containing her most recent songs, eager to write up another hate-filled melody.

"You know what? Dinner would be nice." She typed everything that passed through her mind—every insult she wished to hurl at Ryan's face, every reproach she yearned to fling at his sleeveless tank top and his flawless skin. "Something simple though, okay? I'm still a bit out of it."

"You got it. I know just the place. Pick you up at seven?"

She heard Michael shuffling, and wondered if he was clothed, or wearing a towel around his defined lower half—and then she muffled a laugh at the thought. If she was picturing him without clothes on, so soon after Ryan's deception, something told her she'd be all right in the long run. Maybe he'd animate feelings in her gut.

"Seven is perfect."

***

Not that she expected an explanation or a remote sign of life from him, but Ryan didn't say a word to her after posting his pretty family pictures. And though hours prior she'd been sobbing about how much she missed him, she refused to waste any more time dwelling on what they could have had. They wouldn't have it, and the sooner she accepted that, the sooner she'd heal.