I doodled on my notepad while Davis, the project manager for the Arboretum overhaul, droned on about budgets and permits.

Turning in my chair, my focus shifted to the general vicinity of the Twin Souls offices.

Maybe I should text Taryn and try to reschedule our date?

Date …

Sure, I wanted to fuck the girl stupid, but that didn’t make it a date.

Not that it mattered. She was pretty clear in her text.

Something came up. I’m going to have to cancel. Maybe some other time.

“Chase?”

I shook my head to clear the fog, and found eight sets of eyes peering at me with concern. Clearing my throat, I focused on my notes. But the only thing I’d written was a bunch of lyrics about sliding doors and missed opportunities.

“So where were we?” I asked, clasping my hands in front of me.

Davis tossed his pen on the table and sighed. “Let’s revisit this at another time, folks. Our fearless leader is a bit distracted today.”

Davis was ten years my senior, and well respected in the business, but he didn’t run The Phoenix Group. I did.

“I appreciate your concern, bud,” I said. “But time is money. My money. We’ve got a crew at the Arboretum waiting on permits. Let’s figure this shit out.”

Chatter erupted once again, and Violet, my CFO, slid some documents in my direction. “You okay?”

What the fuck was with everyone today?

“Fine.” I glanced over the numbers, and none of them sank in, so I shoved the paperwork aside. “Bottom line it for me, Vi. What are we looking at?”

Following along as Violet went over the raw numbers, my gaze flicked to Davis. And since he looked sufficiently chastised, I gave up on the idea of ordering him into the field for the rest of the week to grind it out in the Texas sun.

When the meeting adjourned, I went back to my office and tried to concentrate on the paperwork, but all I could think of were Taryn’s fingers in my hair and the way the sunlight framed her body when she was above me.

Snatching my phone from the desk, I turned it over and over in my hand.

“One more taste.”

The words no sooner left my lips than I was tapping out a message.

Is this an all-night kind of something, darlin’?

Licking my dry lips, I stared at the screen, my pulse racing when dots jumped around the little box.

I’m not sure.

I sat back, smiling. “Me either, baby.”

“Who are you talking to?” asked Calista, hovering by the double doors to my office with a look of confusion.

A flush rose from my collar, and I tossed the phone on the desk like she’d just caught me trying to place a call to my dealer. And then I was smiling, because, maybe she did.

“No one. What are you doing here?”

Calista took a seat, twisting her hands in her lap. “It’s about Laurel.”

A twinge of apprehension corkscrewed in my chest. If Laurel had scared Calista off, my chances of helping her dropped by half.

Grabbing the folder of checks Violet had given me, I picked up a pen. “What about her?”

“I thought maybe you could join us at a meeting tonight.”

A meeting.

As in: gut dumping in front of a room full of strangers in a church basement.

I allowed one uncomfortable shift in my chair before replying, “I thought Vaughn was taking her.”

A Zen-like smile curved Calista’s lips. She was a hardcore twelve stepper, saved from falling over the edge by the meetings she attended. “There’s always room for one more.”

“I’m a little busy,” I said with a shrug. “I’m sure y’all have it handled.”

Calista’s smile faded, and after a long moment she leaned forward. “You wouldn’t be under the impression you’re cured, would you?”

I wasn’t cured. I’d never be cured. And if I had a doubt, the look on Calista’s face served as a stark reminder. We’d met in rehab, and sometimes when I looked at her, that’s all I saw. The reflection of who I used to be in her eyes.

“Nope,” I said flatly. “But I’ve got it handled. It’s my program. I’ll work it my way.”

“And what way is that?”

Averting my gaze, I searched for an answer. In reality, I hadn’t worked my program for damn near fourteen months.

“Fine, Calista.” I smiled, hoping the mock irritation masked my true emotion: dread. “Where and when?”

She checked her watch, a worn timepiece far past its fashion expiration date. “A half hour.” Hopping to her feet, she slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “First Baptist on Trinity.”

“I’ll see you there.”

As soon as she was gone, I picked up my phone to get directions. Because unlike Calista and Vaughn, I didn’t make a habit of memorizing the addresses of every NA meeting location in the city.

The box with Taryn’s text begged for a reply, so I tapped out a message.

I’ll be around all night. If you get finished early, or late, come by.

The drive to the church took all of five minutes, not nearly enough time to prepare. And though I’d never been here before, I trudged down the rose-lined path on the side of the building, the sweet scent invading my nose as I searched for a set of stairs. Meetings like this were always tucked away, perhaps for privacy, but more likely so unsuspecting churchgoers wouldn’t stumble upon the ugliness.

I took a seat behind Vaughn and Calista, who had Laurel caged between them. She turned, a surprised smile curving her mouth when she saw me.

I’m as surprised as you are, darlin’.

I smiled back.

Fifteen minutes later when the quasi leader of the group opened the floor for confessions, I couldn’t force my lips to bend with a forklift. I hated being here. Loathed everything about the weakness that made it a requirement.

My phone buzzed and, latching onto the reprieve, I fished the device from my pocket, a calm washing over me when I saw Taryn’s name. If I were honest, it was like the feeling I used to get before I scored.

I could probably drop by. It may be late though.

That was as good as a yes in my book, so I nudged Vaughn’s shoulder.

“Gotta go,” I whispered, when he twisted to look at me. “Business emergency.”

Confusion creased his brow, but I didn’t stick around to explain. As I headed for my car, I tapped out a text to Taryn.

Good. I really want to see you.

Fuck, Desperate much? I held down the delete button.

I really want to fuck you.

I smiled at that one, because it was true. More than true. But still not the vibe I wanted.

You feel like sharing a pizza?

Satisfied, I hit send, then slid behind the wheel of my car. The air conditioning blasted my face as I pulled onto Trinity Blvd, gunning the engine like someone was chasing me.

Patting the pocket of my T-shirt for the phantom pack of smokes, I tightened my grip on the wheel.

You don’t smoke.

As I waited in line at Rudinos Pizza for the custom pie, I wondered if my control was an illusion. Did old cravings ever really die, or did they wait for a moment of weakness, rearing their ugly head when you least expected it?