“You have some explaining to do, mister.”

“Is that so?”

She nods for me to come in. I shake my head.

“Lunch and a movie.”

“Yes. I need to grab my jacket and purse.” She laughs.

“I’ll wait for you. I’m trying to be a gentleman.”

Her lips twist to the side. “Gentlemen wait in the hall, even when they’re invited inside?”

“It’s the only way for me to be a gentleman at the moment.”

She blinks a few more times, with a contemplative expression stuck to her face.

“Ellen, you can grab your coat and purse so we can go to lunch and a movie like I told Harrison we would be doing, or you can stare at me like that and we’ll be forced to play my favorite game in lieu of lunch and a movie.”

Her gaze meets mine. “What’s your favorite game?”

“It’s called Fuck Ellen.”

Her lips part, eyes widening a bit more as a rosy color works its way into her cheeks. She eases the door shut and returns a minute later with her purse and coat. “Lunch and a movie it is.” She smiles, locking the door behind her.

After she slips her keys into her purse, I take her hand. The last time I held a woman’s hand in public, I was walking her out of a restaurant. Less than thirty minutes later, she was trapped in an overturned car, taking her last breath.

“You have two cars?” Ellen eyes me as I open the door to my black Jaguar Coupe.

“I do.”

She shoots me a sly grin. I’m not sure what it means.

I cup both sides of her head and bend down. “You have to give me something,” I whisper over her lips. “I’m dying a little here.” I kiss her. She fists my jacket and kisses me back as if she, too, was dying a little before this moment. I don’t want lunch. And I sure as hell don’t want to watch a movie. I want to possess every inch of this woman, because when I’m with her, I feel deserving of more.

“Now, get in.” I smack her ass. “Before I break any more promises.”

*

Ellen

“Who was the gentleman who arrived at my door this morning?”

Keeping his eyes on the road, Flint smirks.

“He was handsome … and large. We used over half the bottle of lube before we got it to fit.”

“Half a bottle, huh? Clearly he didn’t know what he was doing.”

“You’re such an ass, Flint Hopkins. My dad was on the phone with me when it arrived. Seriously, who’s your weekend gofer?”

He shrugs. “I can’t reveal my sources.”

“Fine. Then let’s talk about my eviction notice. I want you to let me stay. I made you and Harrison dinner last night. He played with my rats. We danced to the Beatles. You gave me a welt just below my ass. And we’re going on an official date. You can’t kick me out.”

“I can. And you can have a little tantrum if you must … but it’s business.”

“Ahhh! Why are you being so irrational about this? We’ve had sex. You said we’re friends. You can’t kick your friend out. You just can’t.”

He chuckles and I want to smack him.

“I go for the jugular in the courtroom against attorneys that I’ve known for years. I know their wives and kids. I’ve attended baptisms and graduations. We are friends, but inside the courtroom they are opposing counsel and I do whatever is in the best interest of my clients, even if it means tearing my friend’s case apart and making them look unprepared and incompetent.”

He pulls into a parking spot.

I get out before he has a chance to open my door. When he goes to take my hand, I slip it in my coat pocket, so he rests his hand on my lower back and guides me into the restaurant. It’s a nice café with a bakery—I love the smell of fresh-baked bread. We’re seated in a booth by the window. It’s dreary out, almost like it could snow. I’m feeling a bit dreary as well.

“Wine?”

I glance up from my menu. “Fuck you. I’m pretty sure you’ve ruined wine for me.”

“Fair.” He nods slowly. “I acted childish at our last outing. I’ve gathered from your recent change in mood that it’s your turn to act childish.”

I slap my menu down on the table. “I’m sorry I’m having trouble with this, but I am. You can sleep with me or evict me. I just don’t think you can do both.”

He scratches his stubble-covered jaw. It’s the first time I’ve really noticed that he hasn’t shaven in a few days. “Hypothetically … and please focus on the word hypothetically because this is not an actual option, I’m just curious … would you rather stay and we never have sex again, or have sex again and find a new office space?”

“That scenario is too emotionally detached for me to even consider it.”

“It’s hypothetical.”

Leaning back in the booth, I cross my arms over my chest. “What’s not hypothetical is that you’re not the only dick to ride. So if I had to choose between riding one dick and finding new office space or riding another dick and staying where I’m at … I’d choose to find a new dick—hypothetically.” I don’t really mean it, but dang! I’m pissed off about this.

“You’re being fucking ridiculous.”

“I am not being ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. The way you make me feel special and wanted one minute and the next you’re tossing my ass out like the trash.”

“It’s business.”

“It’s not business!”

Flint looks around as the handful of patrons in the restaurant look our way.

“I have one child to deal with, I don’t need another.” He tosses a twenty on the table and stands, slipping on his jacket.

We haven’t ordered one thing. Is the money for my lunch? A cab? What the heck? Before I can shimmy out of the booth and grab my stuff, he’s out the door.

“You’re leaving me?!” I button my coat as the cool air takes my breath away.

“Yep.” He unlocks his car.

I grab his arm and yank on it until he turns to face me. He pulls out of my grasp and bends over to get in my face.

“I deal with bickering idiots all week. I’m trying to raise a child who feels emotionally a world away from me. The last thing I need is a manipulative woman asking for favors that are not fair to ask and then treating me like a random ‘dick to ride’ just because I have the balls to stand up to her.”

I shove him back so he’s out of my face. “I signed a contract with you. I didn’t ask for an unfair favor. I ordered business cards with my new office address. I painted the space. I had my name put on the door and I paid for my name to be added to the sign out front, all to the tune of over a thousand dollars. THEN … my landlord gets out his calculator and adds two plus two and discovers a music therapist plays MUSIC! Now I’m stuck looking for a new place because you were too damn stupid to use your brain before you took my money and signed on the dotted line.”

Wow. I just said all of that. And I didn’t have to think. The words have been waiting to come out, and I didn’t realize it until now.

Here it is … the silence. We’ve danced around this issue for weeks. I’ve tried to be playful and charming, he’s tried to be polite and accommodating. But the truth is … he’s never going to let me stay, and I’m going to hold a grudge if he makes me leave. All the sex in the world won’t change it. Not dinner. Not playing the guitar with Harry. Not lunch and a movie.

And this sucks because I genuinely like Flint Hopkins. But what sucks even more … this rental agreement and the eviction notice are my proverbial glassful of wine left on the table. It’s my trigger, and triggers hurt like hell.

“I’ll drive you home and tomorrow I’ll have Amanda cut you a check to cover the signage and business card expenses.”

I stare at his chest. I can’t even look him in the eye. “I don’t want your money and I don’t want a ride home.”

“Ellen, it’s cold. Just get in.”

I shake my head as I walk back to the restaurant. I’ll call a cab or I’ll walk, but I won’t get in his car because I just need a very long moment to find my balance again.

*

It’s a bit late for a clean break, but I catch a cab home, grab a few boxes, and drive to the office in search of something resembling closure. The parking lot is empty on this Sunday afternoon, so I park right in front of the door to make it easier to carry out my stuff.

After I get the boxes packed and my not-so-fancy desk disassembled, I call my clients for the week and reschedule them, letting them know I’ll contact them soon with the new address. If I don’t find a new place by the end of the week, I’ll make house calls. Dad will be proud.

My phone rings. I don’t recognize the number; it’s out of area.

“Ellen Rodgers,” I answer.

“Ellen, it’s Lori Willet, your dad’s neighbor.”

“Hi.” I tape up the last box.

“Forrest found your dad passed out in the yard. They just left with him in the ambulance. We’re on our way there too. I’ll let you know more as soon as we get there.”