The Hot One

by Lauren Blakely

  Oh shit.

  I’m lingering on him again.

  I shoo him from my brain once more as Violet says, “What about you?”

  “What about me?” I ask as I dig my thumbs around her shoulder blade.

  “Last time I saw you, you said that you’d been trying to break the habit of thinking about your ex-boyfriend,” she says, reminding me of my own words. I cringe.

  “Right,” I say, guilty as charged.

  “So . . .?”

  I swallow and fess up. “Well, we wound up getting back together, actually.”

  Violet flips up on her side. “You did?”

  I tap the headrest, gently reminding her. “I can’t work my magic if you’re on your side.”

  “I know, but tell me stuff. How did that happen?”

  “I’ll tell you, but let me do it as I rub, okay?”

  She returns to her front, wriggling around till she’s back in the position.

  “Here’s how it started . . .”

  I rub and talk. Violet asks questions as I go. “So what happened after the wig party?”

  “We had earth-shattering, toe-curling sex.”

  “Yum.”

  “And I spent the night.”

  “So what’s the problem, then?”

  “In the morning, things started to go downhill,” I say, and then I tell her about the proposal. “It’s crazy, right?” I ask as I knead my hands over her lower back.

  “Yes, it’s too soon to propose. He jumped the gun. He was pretty impulsive.” She breathes out heavily as I dig my thumbs along her spine. “But what if there’s a middle ground? Something in between you leaving and him proposing?”

  “But I didn’t leave,” I insist. “I had to come here and work.”

  “Sure,” Violet says, her tone understanding. “But to him, it might have felt like leaving.”

  Leaving.

  My chest hurts, a fresh, sharp pain.

  I know how that feels. To be left.

  27

  Tyler

  * * *

  Carly pretends to toss a bone to the skeleton of the Tyrannosaurus Rex.

  “Good boy,” she says, clapping. “Look, Tyler. He’s chasing after it.”

  I point to the bone-retrieving dinosaur. “He’s almost got it. You can do it, boy,” I say as we weave through the lobby of the Museum of Natural History, one of her favorite places in the city.

  She also happens to be a huge fan of Night at the Museum, so this trip is a total win-win.

  The only problem is I’m not feeling like such a winner today.

  I’m feeling like one helluva loser. As we stroll over to the bison exhibit, I try to pinpoint where I went wrong this morning. Asking her to marry me felt so goddamn smart, so fucking strategic when I walked into Katherine’s jewelry store on Fifth Avenue after my drinks with Simon the other night. With one grand gesture indeed, I was rewriting the past. Repairing all the damage that had been done. A clean sweep.

  And I’d be keeping her forever.

  Or so I thought.

  I heave a harsh sigh as I rub a hand over the back of my neck. So much for my plans. I failed abysmally at assessing Delaney’s wants and needs. Proposing to her seemed brilliant. The best way to let her know I’ve changed. I’m not the man who walked away. I’m the man who’ll stay.

  Carly tugs on my shirt. “Can we go see the capuchin monkey?”

  “Let’s track down that banana eater,” I say.

  Now is not the time to sort out my romantic fuck-ups. It’s Carly time, and for the next two hours, we do our best to play our own version of Night at the Museum as we wander through the exhibits. Along the way, I ask her how the big multiplication is going at school.

  Her hazel eyes light up with excitement as she rattles off the new math facts she’s learned, and how much she likes her teacher.

  Her words from the day at the park echo into my present dilemma.

  “My teacher says the key is to follow the steps. Don’t cut corners, and take your time.”

  Ding, ding, ding.

  I grab tight to the brass rail in front of the stuffed buffalos to steady myself. That’s where I went wrong. Delaney was right. I treated her like a business transaction, focusing solely on the outcome. I thought I could slam dunk my way back into her heart. I didn’t take the time. I didn’t follow the steps. I cut all the fucking corners.

  But a relationship is built on a foundation that needs corners.

  As well as bricks, mortar, and plenty of time to shore it all up.

  I skipped those steps, figuring I could apply my business strategy to romance.

  But the truth is, I went only for the endgame with her. While I might go big in deals, I do so with meticulous strategy and preparation. I am a man with a playbook and a rock solid game plan. That’s why I can brave the risky deals for my clients, because I’ve done the homework.

  With Delaney, I didn’t study, but I thought I’d win the deal anyway. I flash back to Clay’s words when I landed the Jay Benator deal. He told me that the deal wasn’t as crazy as I thought. “You knew your stuff,” he’d told me. “You took the time to understand what Craig needed, and then you delivered so you could get your client’s goals met. That’s why you’re one helluva daring attorney.”

  After I drop off Carly with her dad that afternoon, I head uptown and go for a walk in my neighborhood, running through scenarios—how to apologize, how to prepare, how to explain what I really want from Delaney. I cycle through all our conversations in the last few weeks, reviewing every detail, weighing what matters most, and adding up the facts.

  I stop at a café, grab a coffee, do a little research on my phone, then make a few calls. Just like I did when I showed up at her work ready to strip, I have all my details together. I won’t be Bungee Jump Tyler this time.

  I'm just grabbing my phone to dial her number when I see a message from her that makes me sit up straight.

  28

  Delaney

  * * *

  My morning is mercifully short, so I do what any self-respecting woman would do in this situation.

  Call for backup.

  The soldiers are ready. Nicole and Penny wait outside Nirvana, and the second I leave, Nicole declares it’s time for a walk and talk.

  We march toward one of our favorite lunch spots while I give them the full download. Nicole’s eyes approximate saucers and Penny’s morph into moons. Great. I’ve officially shocked my best friends. That’s how crazy my love life is.

  We stop at the corner of the street, waiting for a light. “Everything was going so well,” I say, half-frustrated, half-sad. “It was perfect. It was bliss. It was everything I imagined a second chance would be.” I look at Nicole, my voice wavering with emotion as I recall how lovely the last week had been. “You said give it a week, and I did, and we had a great time, and we communicated, and we talked about things. I was open with him, and he was sweet and caring with me. And then boom.” I slap my palms together, making a loud clap. “A proposal. Out of the blue.”

  Penny meets Nicole’s eyes, and they nod in unison.

  “Uh oh. You two are up to something,” I say as the light changes and we cross.

  Nicole speaks first. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but . . .” She takes a deep breath then exhales. “But I think he only did it because he loves you.” I’m about to respond, but she raises a hand. “Hear me out. I’m not saying you should get engaged after one effing week. But I am saying, in his own weird, warped, twisted way, the man is trying to show you he’s changed.”

  “By leapfrogging into an engagement?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

  “Men don’t always make sense,” Penny offers, and I mutter true because there’s so much wisdom in those words. “Sometimes, they take two steps forward and one step back. Or they take twenty steps forward when they should take two.”

  Nicole jumps back in. “The point is, he might have missed on the timing of this one. He might not be showcasing c
hange in the best way possible. But, at the heart of all this, I think he is changing.”

  I shoot her a pointed look. “I thought people don’t change.”

  Nicole shrugs and smiles. “Maybe they do for someone as amazing as you.”

  Penny says, “Go see him. Try to find a middle ground.”

  “Something in between twenty steps and two steps?” I ask.

  “Exactly,” Nicole says.

  I look at my watch. “Mind if I skip lunch? I should try to track him down.”

  They both shoo me away, but as I walk, I see a message that stops me in my tracks.

  When I was younger, my dad used to take me to the park. Anytime I wanted to go, it seemed. A monkey, he’d called me, because I climbed everything. I swung across the bars like they were my personal jungle. I clambered up the slide faster than anyone. Those crazy high crisscross rope structures? They were my stomping grounds.

  And my dad always waited for me at the bottom, ready to encourage me to do it all over again.

  Then once I wore myself out, he took my hand in his, and we walked home. Together.

  He was, by all accounts, a good dad.

  As I find myself wandering through Central Park, staring at the email from Joe Thomas, I flash back to those memories, rather than the ones of my parents arguing. I stop at a playground, watching the kids chasing each other, swinging with nannies, scampering with mothers and fathers. And I remember what this felt like when I was one of those little kids.

  Wrapping my hands around the edge of the fence, I wait for the storm to lash me.

  For the hurt to swoop down like a bat from a darkened sky.

  Surely, this is when the memories will wound me the most—as I regard the tableau of what I lost. But as I run my thumb over the screen of my phone, staring at the number in Canada, and the Gmail address, too, I brace myself for the hurt to crash into me.

  For the wave to tug me under.

  Only, as I look up from the phone to stare at a little blond girl swinging high, kicking her feet happily, all I do is smile.

  And the truth hits me.

  Beautifully.

  Peacefully.

  And without regret.

  He left and didn’t look back.

  Time for me to look forward, and only forward.

  There’s nothing I need from him anymore.

  There’s nothing he can give me.

  Curiosity is a powerful motivator, and it drove me to track him down. But he’s not a former classmate from college who I’m curious about. He’s not an old friend I’d catch up with over a cocktail.

  He’s the man who gave half his DNA to me and then walked out fourteen years later.

  I don’t need to make small talk with him.

  I don’t need to talk to him at all.

  This is my life, and it’s just as good as it’s been since he left.

  I let go of the fence, turn on my heel, and head to the other side of the park.

  29

  Tyler

  * * *

  I stand in my doorway, waiting for the sound of the elevator. A few seconds later, a soft whoosh tells me it’s here. When the brass door slides open, I expect her to be sad. Crying. Distraught. But she’s none of those. Instead, she walks down the hallway with purpose. She wears yoga pants, sneakers, and a black V-neck T-shirt—her work attire. Her hair is pulled high in a ponytail.

  “Hey,” I say softly, when she reaches the doorway. The damn organ in my chest hammers hard against my ribcage, thumping like it’s trying to escape. I’m fucking nervous and excited all at once. And I’m hopeful, too. “I’m glad you’re here.” I hold the door wide open, and she comes in. “Tell me what you found out. I want to help you. Like I told you I would.”

  She stops, licks her lips, and says, “I know you do. But as I was walking over here, I realized something important.” She gestures from me to her. “That I want to talk about us first.”

  The word reverberates. I have no fucking clue what us is. I have no idea if I messed up us completely. But she came to me. That’s a step, and steps are what I need to take, not leaps. “Talk to me.”

  The door falls shut, but we don’t move. We stand in the entryway, not far from where I proposed this morning.

  Her features are soft as she speaks. “I wasn’t leaving this morning. I know it might have seemed that way, but I was just going to work. I was thrown for a loop, though. I felt like a prize, like just your next victory.”

  I jump in. “You’re not. I swear you’re not. I wanted to show you that you’re so much more.”

  “I get that, but at the time that’s all it seemed like. It seemed impulsive and unplanned.” She runs her hand lightly down my arm. “But I understand now that it came from the best intentions. And I love the sentiment.”

  “It was impulsive,” I admit, with a you-know-me expression. “I’ll probably always be a little impulsive. But I also want you to have faith in me.”

  “But you see, I already do, Tyler,” she says, her eyes fixed on me, her voice steady and sure. “You don’t need to prove yourself. You don’t need to come to my place of work and strip for me again, or jump through any more hoops.”

  I wiggle an eyebrow. “But you do want me to strip for you again?”

  She nibbles on the corner of her lips. “I absolutely do.”

  “Good. Because I’ve got some new moves.”

  She smiles. “I look forward to the next show. And that’s because you’ve already earned your way back in. Let’s just move forward now.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Us. There’s still an us. But it never hurts to confirm. “So we’re doing this? You want me, impulsive side and circumspect one both?”

  She flashes a flirty smile and slugs my arm. “Yes. I like all your sides, both the naked and the clothed, too. And even though we might argue, I’m not breaking up because you proposed.” She rolls her eyes.

  I grab her hand and squeeze hard. “You’ve got to know why I did it. I fucking love you, and I wanted to give you security,” I say, needing to explain my actions, needing her to understand. “I couldn’t give that to you before, and I want to do it now.”

  She places a palm on my chest. “I know now that security isn’t something I can find from you.” She lets go and taps her breastbone. “It’s in me. It’s right here. I have my inner strength. I’ve learned. I’ve grown. I have great friends, an amazing business, and this sexy, smart, and sweet guy who’s back in my life,” she says, and I mouth you do have all that. She gives me a smile, then her voice goes serious again. “All I want is for us to take it day by day. Let’s just keep being in love every day.”

  I smile because that’s the easiest thing in the world. “That’s not a problem at all. That’s like breathing, Delaney.”

  She smiles softly. “And someday, maybe someday soon, when it feels right to both of us, ask me again. For now, let’s just go to parties, and meet for lunch, and kiss on street corners, and make love all night long.”

  My heart dances a jig. This is the true second chance. Not the one I leaped too hard at this morning. But a real one—a do-over that’s not about fixing the past, or erasing mistakes, but one that’s about forgiveness and moving on.

  I dust a soft kiss on her forehead. Relief floods me as she sways closer to me. But then I wrench back because there are things I still need to say. “I’m sorry I was pushy this morning. I’ve got an asshole in me, and I’m trying to keep him down, but sometimes he crops up.” She chuckles, but I’m not done. “I’m especially sorry for what I said about intimacy and challenges. That was unfair. So fucking unfair.”

  “I was reactive, too. I got angry, and I don’t like that side of myself. So let’s put it behind us and just be a couple, and see where we go.”

  “I like the sound of that. I realized this afternoon that I need to just take things as they come and not try to jump fifty feet ahead too soon. My niece actually helped me realize that.”

  She smiles. “She did?
Carly?”

  “I’m not sure it was intentional, but sometimes that kid has the wisest observations. The things she says about life and school and whatnot make me realize I need to slow down and take my time, especially when it’s something as important as you.”

  “I like having time with you,” Delaney says softly.

  “And I like having this second chance with you.”

  I kiss her. It’s soft, but insistent. A kiss that promises we’ll make mistakes, but we’ll learn from them. A kiss that says we’ll try our best not to hurt each other, but when we do we’ll work on forgiveness.

  When we separate, I look her in the eyes. “I want you to know I’m not going anywhere. Maybe it was crazy to ask you to marry me after a week. But I know in my heart and soul, whether it's this week or next week or next year, you and I can have an amazing future together.”

  “Me, too,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “I believe that, too.”

  I cup her cheek. “Just let me love you. Let me take care of you.”

  She smiles as she ropes her hands around my neck. “That sounds perfect to me. And by the way, the ring was gorgeous. You picked perfectly.”

  A burst of pride spreads through me. “Glad I did that right. And that ring is safe and sound inside my signed Los Angeles Dodgers baseball plexiglass holder for that sometime when you’re ready for me to ask again.”

  “That ring is keeping good company, then.”

  “You know it.” I take her hand, guide her to the couch, and adopt a more serious tone. “Tell me what you learned about your dad,” I say, since her message said she’d heard from the detective and wanted to talk to me.

  She draws a deep breath. “I did want to talk to you about him.”

  I furrow my brow. “You don’t now?”