RILEY
"And the Boston Red Sox snap their two-game losing streak in a three-one win against Chicago. Make sure to tune in tomorrow night. We'll be going on the road to Florida, where the Sox will play the Tampa Bay Rays."
Beckett turns to me as the game ends, and we do a double high-five. "Have you been to the ballpark here in this area?"
I shake my head. "Haven't had a chance. But I've been to Fenway a bunch of times."
"There's nothing like Fenway." He leans over and scoops his phone off the coffee table in the lounge. We've gone through a six pack and I'm a little tipsy. Unsteady, I climb to my feet while he's still seated.
I stare unabashedly at him while he's tapping on his phone. He really is handsome in a wholesome kind of way. He's like leading Hollywood man good looking, like one of those actors named Chris. But there's also an edge to him. I squint drunkenly at him.
"Okay, tomorrow night...Sox vs Rays...here we go. Click, click." Beckett looks up at me. "Just bought two tickets for the game. You want to go?"
A little giggle leaks out from my mouth. "Tomorrow? Is that Sunday? I barely know what day it is today. What time is the game?"
"Yep. Sunday. Tomorrow, six at night."
Thursdays used to be the nights that Gabriel and I would get Cuban sandwiches from our favorite restaurant, then sit on his yacht and eat them while the sun set. Sometimes we'd even sleep on the boat. My favorite night of the week, honestly. We'd lie in our bathing suits on the bow and talk.
"Sure, I guess," I say slowly. "But I need to double check my work calendar. I think it's open, though. I'm pretty sure I'm not working."
He shoots me a confused look. "You work on Sunday nights?"
"It's news, so we work all the time. But I think I'm free. I'll let you know."
Beckett smiles, showing a row of dazzling, white teeth. "Cool. Let me have your phone and I'll give you my number."
"Uh, I don't have it with me." Which was probably stupid. I've been down here all this time with a strange man without a cell.
A thought chills me to my core: what if Gabriel tried to call or text? I'm suddenly gripped with the need to check my phone.
"Oh, no worries. Here." He holds his phone toward me.
I put my number in his contacts and hand it back. He again taps on the screen. "I'm sending you a message with my number now."
Beckett stands and stretches. "Well, I guess it's time to call it a night. I'm working a book fair tomorrow and have to be there early."
"Let's walk out together."
We clear our beer bottles and snack wrappers, shut off the TV, and leave the community lounge.
"I didn't ask you," I say as we walk out. "Why are you watching TV in here?"
"My TV died, and I really don't like watching games on my laptop or phone."
"Me neither," I cry.
We're at the elevator. His hand hovers over the up and down buttons. "Which floor?"
"Twenty. You?"
"Twenty-five. And now it's my turn to ask you a question."
The elevator doors slide open. "Go for it," I say.
"You said the story with your ex was a long one. Want to give me the short version?"
The doors glide close, and I'm acutely aware that I'm in a confined space with a man that is not Gabriel.
When I met Beckett at Cath's gallery, he seemed oddly focused and intense. Tonight, he hasn't exhibited either of those traits — until now. There's something about the way he's staring at me that makes me hesitate to answer.
"It's way too long for an elevator ride. And honestly, it's the past. Why dwell on it?" I manage a breeze sweep of my hand through the air and force a laugh.
He grins and I shift my gaze up above the elevator door. We're on floor fifteen. Almost there. Tonight I'm thankful for a building with a rocket-like elevator.
"I get it. Sorry to pry." He stuffs his hands in his pockets. A sheepish expression clouds his face, which is actually quite handsome. "I guess it was my stupid way of asking if you're single."
The elevator stops at my floor and the doors open.
I edge out with a grin. "Yes, I'm single."
I'm about to add a but. That's when the door begins to slide open.
"Good. See you tomorrow. Meet me at six in the lobby. Text me if anything comes up."
"Okay," I call out, a little louder than I should, hoping I haven't woken the neighbors. The last thing I want is to make a terrible impression on them my first weekend in the building.
But no one is around.
I'm alone now in this hallway. It's a little eerie, for reasons I can't quite put my finger on. Still wobbly from the beer, I quickly walk to my apartment and let myself in, making sure every one of the five locks Gabriel had installed is secure.
# # #
GABRIEL
"Oh, Gabriel, I want to fuck you right here in this cabana."
I lean out of the kiss and grin. Then I begin to laugh. At first it comes out as a cynical bark, but then I have to tip my head back and let it rip. This is a fucking terrible idea, kissing Stephanie out here.
"Babe, I'm not into public sex."
She slides her hand between my legs, cupping my erection. It's one of those standard erections. Not rock hard (like it would get with Riley) but an acknowledgement that sex could potentially happen.
Except it won't.
"Then take me back to your place." She pushes out her bottom lip, which has lost all of its lipstick from kissing.
I sit up, extracting myself from her grip and ignoring her little whines of protest. "Sorry, Stef. I've got a long day tomorrow. Got a lot going on, and I really need to be going."
My father will be here by this time tomorrow. Christ knows I need a full night and day to prepare for that.
Plus, the mere thought of bringing this woman back to the bed I once shared with Riley feels sacrilegious—a desecration of our sacred space. Guilt floods my veins, a tidal wave of shame, as I reflect on the past half-hour spent entwined in this woman's arms.
"Please? You've left me with lady blue balls."
I smirk at her. "I don't think that's a thing."
She finally sits up. "It is, and I'm feeling it. But okay, I get it. I like a challenge."
We roll out of the cabana and stand. There are several more people in this outdoor lounge area, and I notice them staring at us. Surely they all knew what we were doing, because several other couples out here are doing it, too. No surprise there; I'd seen the private candy bowl of Molly in one of the VIP rooms. I'd declined, because I didn't want that kind of night.
Instead, I'd experienced a far worse one.
"Well, that was fun," Stef says, stuffing her foot into her high heel.
It feels too intimate to see her upright like this out in the open. I can't wait to get the fuck out of here.
# # #
RILEY
Surprisingly, I wake up the next morning without a throbbing headache. I emerge from my cozy new bed, only to be greeted by an unwelcome burst of sunlight flooding through the window.
I groan at the sight of the clock. "Blergh, seriously?" I mutter when I realize it's the ungodly hour of six-thirty in the morning on a lazy Sunday.
Seeking refuge, I cocoon myself under the duvet, attempting to reclaim the blissful land of dreams. But alas, my mind has other plans—it's a riot of thoughts, ranging from Gabriel to Beckett to the countless boxes still lurking in every nook of this condo.
"Damn it!" I exclaim, flinging the covers off in frustration.
Unfazed by the early hour, I shuffle barefoot into the kitchen, still donning my tank top and shorts. The first order of business: coffee. I had splurged on a fancy espresso machine recently, anticipating the need for some serious fortification. I fire it up and position myself by the open window, gazing out at the peacefully slumbering city while silently thanking Past Me for such a wise coffee-related investment.
Just as I take my first sip of the much-needed elixir, a brilliant idea hits me.
Why not go for a run?
What an awesome idea! I'll start this new chapter of my life with exercise, clean eating, and perhaps even meditation at that yoga studio that smells like patchouli and feet. All that time wasted on Gabriel? I'll redirect it towards personal growth.
With newfound determination, I hastily throw on my one running ensemble—a matching top and shorts I purchased ages ago during a similar burst of fitness enthusiasm. This time, it's going to stick, I vow as I lace up my sneakers.
Descending in the elevator, I pop in my earbuds, ready to jog to my carefully curated Taylor Swift playlist. That's when I spot a hulking figure standing about twenty feet away on the street. I march up to him.
"Gabriel sent you, didn't he?"
The man, whose name is Fede, I think, sheepishly nods. "He mentioned you might not appreciate my presence."
Anger bubbles up within me, infuriated that Gabriel had accurately predicted my reaction. Sure, I knew there would be bodyguards lurking, but the timing remained uncertain. Andre had assured me they would respect my privacy.
"Well, prepare yourself for a morning jog," I snap, and tear off down the street.
I start off strong, soaring through the city streets. Vaguely aware of Fede trailing me in an SUV, I can't help but feel utterly ridiculous because, truth be told, I'm not exactly an Olympic sprinter.
Okay, fine, I'm not a runner at all. I'm more like a lumbering bear. That's how I imagine I look.
Nevertheless, there's an odd satisfaction in pumping my legs and slapping the pavement with my feet. I persist, passing abandoned buildings, the courthouse, and that falafel joint Gabriel adores.
Why can't I stop thinking about him?
Now I'm good and sweaty, and I've jogged about ten blocks. I consider slowing to a walk but knowing that Gabriel's men are following me and will likely report back to him make me continue. I shouldn't care, but I do.
I wheeze and huff back to my condo building, sweat pouring down my face and into crevices that I didn't know I possessed. I almost stumble off a curb, then right myself. I look up to find the bodyguards in the SUV staring at me.
"Want a ride back?" Fede shouts from the passenger window.
I ignore them. Embarrassing!
Before I stagger inside, I turn to the SUV and flip them my middle finger. Give that message to Gabriel, boys. Childish, I know. But it makes me feel a little better about my fucked-up situation.
Fede and the guy driving burst out laughing.
"Dicks," I whisper, yanking the door open.
All I want is to submerge myself in cold water. I stand under the spray, gasping. My plan for exercise needs to be a bit more thought out. I can't flail around on the streets like I did this morning.
Perhaps I need to rethink the condo's gym.
Once I'm out of the shower, I guzzle two glasses of water and grab a yogurt in the fridge. Running on an empty stomach probably wasn't the best idea.
I check my phone as I eat, perusing the news, my email, and my texts. There's nothing interesting, which is a relief. If there had been some large news event, I'd be tempted to head into the office and volunteer to work instead of unpacking.
I take a quick spin online through several newspapers, then end up at one of the region's gossip pages. I like to keep tabs on the city's rich and infamous, mostly because it gives me story ideas.
I scroll through some photos of a charity party, and stop at one. I squint at the caption.
Gabriel Greco and Stephanie Smith attended the party and obviously had a smashing evening...
The photo shows Gabriel holding the hand of a beautiful brunette. His hair is rumpled, his tie is undone, his shirt is unbuttoned and rumpled.
He looks like he just had sex. Or rolled around in a dumpster. I zoom in on the photo and see what I think is red lipstick on his neck.
My anger bubbles over like molten lava flowing through my veins. That bastard! He's already hooking up. Two weeks is all it took for him to forget me.
Fuck. Him.
I quickly navigate to the text that Beckett sent last night. Before I can stop myself, I tap out a message.
I'm totally clear for tonight! Can't wait to go to the game with you!