Something shifted beneath her, and Amanda bolted upright, gasping and confused. She had no memory of what she’d been dreaming, but she understood what had awakened her. Derek had rolled over, and her head must have slid off his chest and onto the mattress.

She allowed herself a satisfied smile as she recalled the way he’d kissed his way all over her body, leaving her warm and tingly. And then, when he’d moved on to kiss between her legs, not letting up until she’d come three times, well, then she’d done more than tingle.

He’d refused to let her return the favor. Instead, he’d pulled her close, and she’d fallen asleep tucked up against him. Now, though, it was time to come back to reality.

With a loud exhale, she shook herself, trying to erase the grogginess. She ran her hand through her hair, caught a glimpse of the clock, and sighed.

Past ten.

Part of her wanted to snuggle back under the covers and go to sleep. But the part that was still sane and remembered her no strings, no relationship commitment told her to get her ass out of bed and go home.

Stupid sane part…

She dragged herself to the bathroom, quietly gathering clothes along the way, careful not to disturb Derek, who looked like he could sleep for a year. Only when she was inside the small room did she flip on the light and get dressed.

A few minutes later, she cast one quick glance back to Derek, then dragged herself out of the room. The door closed with a soft snick, and she grimaced, hoping it didn’t wake him. She knew he was tired; she was tired for the same reason.

The thought made her smile, and she hurried toward the elevator, leaning against the wall until the doors open, and she could step out into the lobby. Her sneakers made no noise on the tile floor, and she kept her head down, startled when she heard a deep voice calling, “Amanda?”

She turned and saw Easton Wallace, tall and chiseled, pushing himself up out of an overstuffed leather chair in the lobby bar.

“Easton!” She hurried forward, accepting his hug. “I haven’t seen you in months. What have you been up to?”

“I was in LA for a while. Saw Jenna out there. Depositions and a huge document production.” He shook his head, like a dog shaking off fleas. “Thank God that’s over.”

“Why are you here alone?”

“I was with a date, but she got called into work. She’s a surgeon,” he added, in response to her questioning look.

She glanced at the two glasses on the table where he’d been sitting, and he laughed. “Scotch for me, cranberry juice for her.” He indicated the abandoned chair. “We’d just ordered some chips and guacamole. Want to join me and catch up? I can get you something other than her discarded juice.”

She hesitated, feeling strangely guilty about sitting with another man while Derek was asleep upstairs. Especially Easton. Not that there was anything between them now, but they’d gone out a few months ago. But it wasn’t serious—Amanda didn’t do serious—and they’d become good friends. And Easton still fed her potential clients.

Amanda was pretty sure that Jenna was convinced they’d slept together, and Amanda hadn’t bother to correct her. Jenna was convinced Amanda was nursing deep scars after Leo and that getting involved with other men would act as a healing balm. Jenna was probably right. Not that Amanda would ever admit that out loud.

“So what are you doing here?” he asked, after the waiter had delivered the chips, and Easton had ordered her a drink. “Hot date?”

“I was visiting a friend,” she said primly.

“Uh-huh. Let me guess, you’ve got some new guy on the hook, and you’re about to lure him into buying a million dollar property.”

“You asshole.” She shot the insult at him as a joke—and she knew perfectly well that he was joking, too. But it hit a little too close to home. She was about to hook Derek up with a condo. And she was sleeping with him. True, she’d purposefully not gone there when they’d first met, but now…

“Kidding.” He put his hands up in supplication.

“Change of subject. How’s Jenna seem to you?” From her own conversations, Amanda was worried that Jenna missed Texas too much.

“She seemed iffy on the job. I don’t think it’s quite what she expected. But I’m sure she’ll rally.”

Amanda sighed and nodded, and they continued in that vein for a while, discussing mutual friends, movies, and other random topics. When Amanda had finished her drink, she put the glass down and started to stand. “It’s been great catching up, but I really should get home. I need to—”

Derek.

He was standing right across the lobby, his eyes fixed on her, his expression unreadable.

Nausea crested, and her stomach flipped over. “I—”

But she couldn’t manage anymore.

“Amanda?” Easton stood, and when she didn’t move, he turned to look the same direction. A second later, he turned back to Amanda. “Who is that?”

The question pulled Amanda back to herself. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” She snatched up her purse and walked as fast as she could toward Derek, but he saw her coming and moved to the elevator. She was only a few feet away when he stepped onto a car, then turned to face her.

She started get on, too, but he held out a hand, his palm flat. A virtual wall between them.

“Derek, it’s not—”

But she didn’t get to finish. The doors closed, and he was gone.

She gulped in air, telling herself he was the one being an ass. She hadn’t done anything wrong. She was just talking to a friend.

Besides, they had no commitment. Had made no promises.

All true.

So why did she feel so guilty?

---

She couldn’t sleep, and at one in the morning she finally gave in, and grabbed her phone, intending to send him a text.

But when she opened the app, she saw there was already a message waiting—several, actually—and she realized that the phone had switched to DND mode after eleven.

Derek - I’m sorry. I should have stayed and talked. I was an ass. Let me know if you need more of an apology.

Derek - A pox be upon my soul.

Derek - May the fleas of 10000 camels infest my armpits.

Tears filled Amanda’s eyes, but they were the good kind. Relief and laughter all rolled together.

Amanda - Trying to decide if I should say something or see how this escalates.

Derek - About to try plagues of Israel. Save me.

Amanda - I’m sorry, too.

Derek - No need. You didn’t do anything. (Did you?)

Derek - Ignore that. Our deal was no commitment. None of my business.

Amanda typed out her response—is that what you want?—then erased it before hitting send.

Amanda - Bumped into an old friend. His date ran out on him. We caught up.

Derek - wipes brow in relief.

Amanda - So we’re good?

She cringed the second she pressed send. The question sounded far too needy. But there was no calling it back. Too bad she didn’t live in another age. With a letter she could have hightailed it to her mailbox and pulled back the envelope.

But of course they were good. That was pretty much the point of the whole text conversation.

But if they were good, why wasn’t he responding?

Frowning, she closed the app and re-opened it, then checked her signal strength. All good.

Damn.

She was about to power off her phone—at least then she wouldn’t know he was actively ignoring her—when the doorbell rang.

She glanced at her watch, considered ignoring it, then felt her phone buzz in her hand.

Derek - Knock Knock

Grinning, she hurried to the door and flung it open. “Who’s there?”

“An asshole?”

She shook her head as she ushered him in. “No. Definitely not. How did you find me?” She realized for the first time that she’d never given him her address.

“We corporate big shots have all sorts of underhanded methods to find people.”

“Uh-huh. Well, however you managed, I’m glad you did.” She drew in a breath, and asked the lingering question. “We’re good, right? We’ll see each other again next month?”

“Actually, no.”

“We’re not good?” A shock of panic cut through her. “But—”

He took her hands. “We won’t see each other next month. I’ll be in Europe all of October.”

“Oh.” The weight of her disappointment surprised her. She licked her lips. “This isn’t a brush-off, is it?”

His smile was gentle. “Did you not read all my groveling texts? Honestly, it’s going to be a pain. Twenty hotels in twenty-five days. Pity me.”

“Maybe when you get back I’ll have found the perfect condo for you to relax in and shake off all that European dust.”

He took a step closer. “I hope so.”

Suddenly, she was very aware of her own breathing. “Um, so when will you be back?”

“The Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Will you be in town or traveling?”

“I’ll be here.” She grinned. “That’s what I’ll be thankful for.” Had she really just said that? It was true, but had she really said it?

From the breadth of his smile, she supposed that she had.

“Good. It’s a date. Or, I guess, since we’re not dating, it’s a non-date.”

“Absolutely,” she said, with a perfectly straight face. “Non-date.”

He took a step back toward the door. “About earlier, I know we said no promises.”

“We did.”

“And no commitments.”

She nodded.

“I still didn’t like it,” he said. “Seeing you with another man.”

She licked her lips, her pulse strong in her neck. “And I felt guilty when I saw you, which is crazy since I didn’t do anything but hang out with a friend.”

“You know, considering all of that, it really sounds like we’re dating.”

She lifted a shoulder, trying to appear casual when she felt anything but. “And sometimes generic tastes like the real thing. But it’s not.”

He studied her, then nodded slowly. “Fair enough.” He bent forward and kissed her cheek. And as he did, he whispered to her. “Just keep in mind, sometimes, generic is better.”