Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
I chuckled and rolled on my side, remembering how Hugh’s impression of Princess Anna from Frozen—“This is awkward. Not you’re awkward, I’m awkward. You’re gorgeous. Wait, what?”—had been so pitch-perfect I’d burst out laughing, and the sound had echoed around the tiled bathroom. Hugh had blushed and tried to stammer out an indignant excuse involving babysitting his roommate’s nephews, which had only made me laugh harder. The resulting splash fight had nearly drained the tub… and led to round three.
Being with Hugh had felt like stepping out into the first winter frost back when I was a kid—like the dormant brown-and-gray world had acquired a new sparkle, like I was suddenly wide-awake and conscious of every cold, clear breath I took—and I was greedy for more time with him. Greedy enough to wish Hugh hadn’t already left the suite. Almost greedy enough to wish I could call him and ask him out…
Almost.
I levered myself up to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing my hair off my face, and saw a small white scrap of paper on top of my phone on the nightstand, gleaming like a beacon in the murky light.
Oscar—
If you’re interested in continuing to practice your oral skills, give me a call. If not… well, thank you for a truly lovely evening.
Give my best to Frank.
—Hugh
I stared at the words written in a confident masculine scrawl, along with the phone number written below them. My gut tightened, and my mouth went dry.
There was a time not long ago when I would have already saved Hugh Linzee’s number in my phone, set up our next date, and sent him flowers just to make sure he was thinking of me.
The man was head-turningly handsome. Mature. Engaging. Funny. So damn kind. He wanted romance—deserved it—and I could give it to him easily if I let myself…
But then what?
A few weeks or months or years down the line, the spark between us would die, either with a bang or a whimper. No doubt about it.
Maybe Hugh would have a career opportunity on the West Coast he couldn’t say no to. Perhaps I’d start to wonder why paparazzi showed up each time we left my apartment or get tired of him expecting exorbitant presents all the time. Maybe he’d throw a temper tantrum when I refused to pull strings to get him a job he wanted, and the antique Steinway the movers had just brought to my new place would be damaged almost beyond repair again. Or worse—I physically shuddered at the thought—perhaps he’d look at me with sad, gentle eyes and say something incredibly kind about how he loved me but wasn’t in love with me; that the timing just wasn’t right; that it wasn’t me, it was him, and really, wouldn’t we be better off as friends?
I didn’t want to think any of those things would happen with Hugh… but then, I hadn’t foreseen them with any of the men I’d spent time with over the years either. I wanted to think that Hugh was different… but every man had seemed different until he wasn’t. And no matter how hard I’d tried, the result had always been the same: I started out excited and hopeful, and I wound up alone, having lost another small piece of myself.
No more.
I dragged on a pair of shorts and headed for the other room to give Frank his breakfast. On the way, I crumpled up the note and tossed it in the bin without saving Hugh’s number. There might come a time in the future when I was weak enough to think that maybe this time with this man could be different, so better to remove any temptation now while I still could.
I would not be contacting Hugh again.
It only took three months for me to break that vow, but in my defense, it was for a good cause.
“Hey, so, I wanted to discuss something with you. No pressure…” my assistant, Lesya, began, then hesitated.
I glanced up from the reports I’d been reviewing and eyed her over the top of my desk. She was alternately toying with a strand of hair that had fallen from her tidy bun and fiddling with the string of the tea bag on the to-go cup that she’d had delivered along with our lunches.
A clear, deep blue sky stretched out beyond her over the city skyline, giving a false sense of mild fall weather when I knew for a fact it was cold as balls outside. Another few weeks of the newly frigid temps and I’d be looking for any excuse to visit a nice sandy beach somewhere.
“No pressure,” I repeated, cocking my head. “I get chills when you say those words. Like, remember last month when Chan Greely wanted me to increase my pledge to the youth arts foundation, and you wanted to discuss me finding some programs that ‘understood the concept of diversity’ before I wasted my money again, no pressure?”