by Cari Quinn
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Nice greeting, man.” Drew clapped him on the back and kept running. He wore track pants and a T-shirt that indicated he didn’t give a fuck. Sawyer guessed that meant he hadn’t come from work. “Don’t return phone calls anymore?”
“From solicitors? Hell no.” He started to pull his headphones back on and growled when Drew yanked them out by the jack.
“What are these? Relics from an earlier age?” Drew dangled the big over-the-ear headphones and shook his head in obvious disgust. “Come into the twenty-first century, dude. We have cookies.”
“Like you eat cookies.”
“I do so. Who doesn’t eat cookies?” Drew tossed his headphones at him and jogged backward while Sawyer looped them around his neck. “So, why don’t you wanna be my friend no more?”
Sawyer didn’t grin, but it was a close thing. “Have you been drinking?”
“I fucking wish. I had the day from hell. Two crying chicks, three no-show models, four missed appointments—it’s like the kinky Christmas song, without the doves or the milking maids.”
Sawyer laughed and hit pause on his MP3 player, since Drew probably wouldn’t wind down anytime soon. “Sorry to hear it. So you cut out early to hit the gym?”
“No way. I hate the gym. Bunch of sweaty jerks. I prefer nature.”
“You live around here?”
“Nah. I have a sweet pad on Long Island.” Drew grinned. “I came here for the express purpose of stalking you. Luckily you were coming out of your building just when I pulled up. How’d you miss my sexy beast?”
“You brought a woman with you?”
“No, ass. My car. Jesus. Sorry,” he called to an irritated mother who had to shift her baby carriage onto two wheels to avoid Drew’s backward flight. He switched to running normally and glanced at Sawyer. “’69 Mustang. Black. Primo condition.”
“Your favorite number.”
“Damn straight. The car’s a beaut.”
“Why are you stalking me?”
“Because I want to see you make a buttload for showing your ass. And other things.”
Sawyer picked up the pace, hoping to lose Drew. No such luck. The other man matched his speed easily. “I’ve been busy. Haven’t had time to think about the agency.”
“Busy doing what, exactly?”
“Working. What I did long before I met you people.”
“Ooh, us people.” Drew rubbed his chest as if he were wounded. “Such animosity.”
Sawyer chuckled. “I don’t have any animosity. I’m just weighing options.”
“How about banging chicks? You still do that too, or did you take a vow of celibacy after your nuts got crushed?”
“My nuts aren’t your concern.” Sawyer stared straight ahead as he navigated around a pair of bicyclists. Drew rejoined him on the opposite side. “I’ll call Hot Shots once I decide what to do. Stop fucking leaving me messages.”
“Christ, moron, I haven’t been calling because of that. I’ve been calling because your lady’s living alone in a studio apartment and relying on me and Con to help her move. And her ex.”
Sawyer stopped at the sudden stitch in his side. “She’s not my lady.”
“Okay, then. See ya.” Drew veered left to jog off the path and laughed as Sawyer grabbed his arm. “Thought so.”
“She’s living in a studio?”
“Yeah. It’s a decent building. Near a lot of stuff. Including Con, who may or may not live on the top floor.”
“Well, that’s good. So he’s nearby if she needs something.”
“Yeah. Con’s a full-service kind of guy.”
“You’re not going to make me jealous. Just FYI.”
“Who was trying to?” Drew bent to retie his shoelace. His sneakers had to have cost a couple hundred bucks and looked untouched. “You don’t want the poor woman to have some friends? She’s in a brand-new city, single for the first time in years, trying to make her way… Oh yeah, did I mention single?”
Sawyer mopped his sleeve over his face, partly to soak up the perspiration and partly to hide his smile. “Wanna go get something to eat? I got my three miles in.”
“Three? Pussy. I do five every morning.”
“You really want to compare our training records? Especially since I have it on good authority you’re an entire decade older than me?”
“I’m thirty-four.”
“Yeah, and I’m twenty-five. Old fucker.”
“If I wasn’t so goddamn mature, I’d kick your ass.” Drew shoved back his windblown dark hair. “Yeah, let’s go eat. It’s on you.” He grinned at Sawyer’s scowl. “Just FYI.”
Half an hour later, they were splitting nachos and sharing a pitcher of margaritas at Nan’s Taqueria.
“I normally don’t eat this shit.” Drew gestured at the food. “Nor do I drink margaritas. But when in Brooklyn and all that…”
“Uh-huh.”
“Damn, you’re a sourpuss. I see I arrived just in time to do my duties as a good employer and passable friend, despite you not viewing me as such.”
Sawyer scraped more cheese and jalapeños on his pile of nachos. “And what are your duties, pray tell?”
“Dude, call her. Seriously. She’s in a vulnerable place right now, so I doubt she can handle making a move like that herself.”
Sawyer’s fingers tensed around his loaded nachos. “Is she all right?”
“Yeah. She will be.” Drew reached for the pitcher and sloshed more of the blue-green liquid into his glass. “But she could use a friend. She could use you.”
He didn’t want to pump Drew for information, but he had to know. “Has she mentioned me?”
Drew’s hesitation said it all. “No. But I don’t think she would to me. She did ask me the week after we went to the strip club how you’d gotten scratched, though.”
“Did you tell her it was one of your wily women?”
“Not in so many words.” Drew’s infectious grin smoothed away a lot of Sawyer’s bad mood. “But I made it clear it wasn’t your fault.”
Sawyer lapsed into silence. He drank some of his margarita, then shoved it aside in favor of his glass of water. He wasn’t going to fall into the drinking trap again, even if it was weak mixed drinks. If he couldn’t think about Layla without hitting the booze, then he’d just have to not think about her. Not picture her smile or imagine her fresh citrus scent or the way her hair trailed over his skin, as light as a swatch of silk and as fleeting as a wish.
He’d stop thinking altogether if he had to. Just work like a mindless drone and run until his bones ached. Eventually that ache would catch up with the one in his gut.
“We could always do it real casual like,” Drew continued, crunching tortilla chips with his usual aplomb. “Have a get-together for the agency, and you could come. Then your eyes could meet across a crowded row of sex toys and yadda yadda.”
Sawyer played with his straw wrapper. “I need her to come to me. I told her I was here. The ball’s in her court now.”
“Honestly, dude, I think she’s relearning how to swing. Maybe she’d appreciate a push.”
“Like what?”
“You expect me to do all the work here?”
Drew’s miserable tone made Sawyer laugh. “You’re the one pretending to be Mr. Lovelorn. I thought you’d have an idea.”
“Operative word there being pretending. I suck at romance.” He braced his forearms on the table and leaned in, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “You want sex tips, I’m your guy. Want the perfect gift suggestion to make a chick cream her panties? Also your guy. When it comes to the violins-and-roses side of the equation, I’m clueless.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“Sorry. Not buying it. You know exactly what to do; you’re just afraid of getting your balls lopped off.” Drew forked up more nachos. “A valid consideration, I grant you, but she’s not going to do that.”
“How do you know?” He felt like a dumbas
s for asking, but he needed some kind of confirmation. Some reason to hope.
“I saw how she looked at you that night at the club. Then at the Hot Shots party, how the two of you danced together, lost in your own world.” Drew’s blue eyes were clear and free of amusement. For once, he wasn’t kidding around. “She’s got it bad. As you do. So have it bad together and stop making the rest of us pay the price.”
“You just want me to sign with your agency.”
“Yeah, so? It’d be a good move for you. And when it’s not anymore, you walk.” Drew shrugged. “Stop making it so hard. Take a stand, make a choice. Then live with your actions.”
“Thanks, Dale Carnegie.”
“Fine. Be fuckin’ miserable and broke for all I care. Cling to your morals and your pride and your dick. See if they keep you warm.” Drew saluted him with his frosty mug. “Meanwhile, I’ll keep banging the babes and raking in the cash.”
“Yeah,” Sawyer agreed, tossing back another gulp of his margarita. One more wouldn’t hurt. “Your sense of romance blows. So does your delivery.”
Drew flashed a grin as he waved at one of the waitresses. Another special friend of his, no doubt. “Never claimed to be a poet.”
“So how’d you get so spectacularly bitter? Just out of curiosity.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. Surely you must’ve been serious about someone once or twice.”
Drew popped a jalapeño into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Yeah. Once. Not repeating that experience again.”
“Didn’t end well?”
The guy pretty much had a perma-smile but not now. “You could say that.”
“Yet you’re lecturing me?”
“Who better to?”
“Good point.” Sawyer swallowed hard. “Would you keep an eye on her for me? In case it doesn’t work out.”
Drew thwacked him on the back hard enough to bruise a kidney, probably his idea of affection. “It will. Long as you make a move.”
Sawyer was still considering that move when he let himself into his apartment later that night. They’d gone to the gym—Drew grumbling all the while—to work off their dinner with a game of racquetball, and when they parted, Sawyer couldn’t deny his mood was about a thousand times better. For the first time in weeks, he felt truly hopeful. Layla, even the mention of her, always had that effect on him.
The answer came to him when he was standing on his balcony, staring out at the night. Missing her. As he’d missed her every night since the last time he’d seen her, more than a month ago.
Drew was right about one thing: he couldn’t hang around any longer waiting for his life to start. The time was now. Win or lose, rise or fall, he had to let her know he believed in them with all his heart.
Now he just had to convince Layla.
* * * *
Sitting cross-legged on the floor in her new apartment a few days later, Layla opened the large white envelope without noting the return address. She’d left the office a couple of hours early to get caught up on some paperwork, but her mind was elsewhere. As usual.
She glanced at all the touches she’d added to her new apartment. The cheery hanging plant she’d hung by the bed in its little alcove. The daybed itself, plumped with huge silk pillows that doubled as seating around the wide wicker coffee table. The narrow bookshelf she’d found antiquing last weekend that Aidan had helped her lug to the apartment. It still had room for a few more books if she was judicious.
Slowly but surely, the studio was beginning to feel like home. She intended to have a dinner party soon to christen the place, though she had no particular desire to eat, drink, and be merry. But too bad. She’d moped enough, and it was time to move on. Even if her memories hurt every time she took a breath. Some things cost more than a person realized. All that meant was they’d been worth more.
“It was so fucking worth it.”
No doubt about it. If only she could’ve known how much she would pay for those nights in his arms, she might’ve said no. Or not.
She could hear his voice in her head, see his smile when she closed her eyes. Her fingers itched with the desire to touch, but he wasn’t there.
Sighing, she looked at the papers she’d tugged out of the envelope. She’d brought home her mail in the futile hope of sorting through it while she had time to consider each résumé carefully. She still hadn’t found her star. A lot of the models she met were attractive. Some almost perfect. But none of them had “it,” not like—
Her breath clogged in her throat. She was holding a Hot Shots agency contract, signed by Sawyer. She double-checked the address on the envelope, saw it was made out to her. Then read and reread the line listing her name as his agent.
Sure she’d somehow made a mistake, she flipped to the back page and the signatures. Above Sawyer’s small, cramped handwriting was a bright yellow sticky note.
You’re the only agent I ever wanted. I trust you.
And then the two words that were her undoing: Love, Sawyer.
She shut her eyes and held the pages to her chest like a girl with a love letter. What did it mean? He simply wanted her as his agent? Or he wanted everything, as she did more with every passing moment?
For half an hour, she paced, the papers clutched in her grip. She had to contact him. She glanced at her watch. Not quite three o’clock. Still business hours. Not that she cared. Whatever happened, happened. She wouldn’t freak. Much.
When she couldn’t stand herself anymore, she sucked in a breath and called.
“Layla.” The relief in his voice rolled over her and made her shudder. “Let’s not talk on the phone.”
Yeah, she was freaking. Big time. “I…okay. Where should we meet?” Is my apartment okay? My bed?
“Anywhere.”
“When?”
“Now.”
The urgency he didn’t bother hiding made her grin so widely that her cheeks ached. “How about the Promenade?” She glanced down at her hastily donned sloppy jeans and baggy T-shirt. Yep, she’d definitely need to change. “I’ll meet you at the bagel shop on Montague. Say forty-five minutes?”
“That’s perfect. I’ll see you then.”
Her stomach concaved as she clicked off. Brooklyn Promenade, one of her favorite spots in the city. So romantic and beautiful, even on a cool day like this. That wasn’t the location for a professional meeting. It was for lovers.
God, she wanted him to be her lover—and so much more.
Temperatures were forecasted to be in the fifties tonight, so she dressed in jeans and a chunky cable-knit sweater. Instead of donning a jacket, she decided just to walk fast. Her cheeks burned hot enough with nervous anticipation that she doubted any chill could touch her.
As she walked toward Montague, she checked her watch again and again. She wouldn’t be late. Luckily, Con’s building wasn’t too far away. She was also lucky to know a trust-fund baby who’d given her such an amazing rate on the rent, because she wouldn’t have been able to afford even a studio in this part of town otherwise. Brooklyn Heights and Park Slope were now officially beyond her pay grade.
But she was happy where she was, and incredibly grateful that she and Aidan had grown even closer after their breakup. She’d always considered him her best friend, and the past month had proven that he really was. Though it would’ve been so easy to slip into sleeping together out of comfort and familiarity, they hadn’t since the night before she’d left the townhouse. That had been their official good-bye, despite all the evenings they’d spent together since. She was worried about him, way more worried than she was for herself. He was embarking on a whole new life, whether he could accept it or not. He’d never meant to hurt her, of that she was sure. And she couldn’t regret anything, not when it had brought her to this point.
To Sawyer.
She’d already rehearsed the speech she would give him. She wanted to start over and take things slow. Date, send flirty texts, ease into the possibility of a relationship. Maybe not e
ven sleep together again for a while. They had all the time in the world and no reason to rush into something heavy. This time, they could get to know each other and enjoy learning.
Hopefully he wouldn’t balk too much. Assuming his contract and note even meant he wanted more with her. She’d just have to wait and see.
Leaves crunched under her feet as she hunched her shoulders against the wind. It was such a lovely fall soon-to-be evening, the scents of wood smoke and bubbling cheese from freshly made pizza trailing on the breeze. Everyone she passed seemed to be smiling, and she found she was too, at least until she caught sight of Sawyer lounging against a tree near the bagel shop. Then she full-out grinned and picked up her pace.
“Is one of those for me?” she asked, catching him off guard. He startled when he swung his head toward her, his eyes going comically wide. She pointed at one of the two bagels he held, her mouth already watering.
“Uh, yeah.” He shoved it out so fast she almost ended up wearing it. “Plain toasted bagel with cream cheese. Hope you like strawberries. Do you?”
The edge of nerves in his voice made her want to giggle. Thank God it wasn’t just her. “I love them.” Proving it, she bit in and moaned, so long and lusty that at least two passersby looked back. Sawyer, on the other hand, looked fascinated by her mouth.
“Good?” he asked, his attention still on her lips.
She swallowed a chunk of strawberry. “So good.”
“Will you moan again if I buy you another one?”
“I’m hoping to moan tonight when there aren’t bagels involved,” she said soberly, relieved when he started to grin.
Uh, yeah, great way to ease into a sexual relationship. Throw out innuendoes first thing.
“I think that can be arranged.” He held out his arm, and she accepted it, her heart giving one hard jolt. It settled at once, about as quickly as the rest of her did. Despite the prickle along the arm tucked into his body, being this close to him felt so natural that her nerves vanished.
