Mateo doesn't call me on Monday, as he's promised. He doesn't call me on Tuesday either, and I make up my mind that I'm sure as hell not going to call him. His mouth on my body—his tongue pushing against my sex as I writhed and moaned beneath him—has haunted my dreams every night since he walked away, leaving me dazed and confused in my doorway. Even with those images seeping into my brain at each and every turn, I'll be damned if I'm going to reach out to him and beg for more.

Still, I find myself checking my phone in the middle of the week when I go out to lunch with Lucy and my sister. Their personalities have always clashed—Bella’s never had a problem calling Lucy a know-it-all to her face—but my sister had messaged earlier to ask what I was doing on my afternoon off and I couldn’t say no when she invited herself to lunch. I haven’t gotten to spend time with either of them in weeks, and I love them both. Before Lucy arrived, I warned Bella to be nice, but it doesn’t seem like she took my request to heart. We’ve been here less than thirty minutes, and she’s already making Lucy squirm as she talks about her sex life with Leo.

Admittedly, I can do without her tale of the grapefruit and the blowjob—because the idea of citrus fruit anywhere near genitals sounds painful—but I’m used to my sister’s stories. As long as I don’t have to accidentally walk in on her having sex again in my lifetime, I can listen to Bella talk about performing the act all day long.

“So … what about you, Lucy?” Bella inclines her head to one side and wiggles her eyebrows. “How are things in the land of whips and chains and handcuffs?”

Lucy’s face gradually transitions from pink to red, and she clears her throat a few times. “You do realize there are kids in this restaurant, right?” When she looks over Bella’s shoulder, my sister turns in her seat to observe the only two children present. Both are toddlers, and both seem oblivious to the conversation taking place three tables away as they scribble on the coloring sheets the restaurant hands out.

Twisting back around, Bella jabs her tongue in her cheek and crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her cleavage together in her tank top. “Oh God, Luce, they’ll never look at a grapefruit the same way again!” At the vicious glare Lucy shoots her way, Bella rolls her eyes and chuckles. “Jesus, you’re no fun.”

“I’m fun. I just don’t talk about it during lunch.”

My sister lifts a bare shoulder. “Your loss.” She casts her attention my way and arches a questioning eyebrow. “You’re quiet Twin B, and you haven’t tried to mediate once. Why aren't you mediating?”

“Because you’re both grown ass adults.” And because my thoughts have been fixated on an entirely different person. My hands shake as I bring my coffee mug to my lips, my gaze darting between them over the rim. “Plus, I'm not in the mood to break up your arguments while I eat lunch.”

Lucy flushes again, dipping her face to her plate as she mumbles an apology. “Sorry, I'm a little on edge today. Naomi wants to start test groups for the new line on May fifteenth and I’ve been working my ass off to get ready.”

“That’s in a couple of weeks,” I say, twisting my lip to one side. When Lucy scored her new job, she had told me they wouldn’t bring in groups to test her company’s fitness wear until the middle of this summer. She sighs, and I offer her a sympathetic frown. “Let me know if you need any help.”

As Lucy promises me she will, Bella mutters something that sounds suspiciously like my baby sister has become the prude’s tool, and I squeeze my eyes to thin slits. Before I can toss back a sharp retort, my phone beeps on the table. I check it a little too swiftly, earning a knowing sound from my sister. After I look at the text—and manage to give myself a healthy slice of disappointment because it’s from Julian Noble and not the man I had naively hoped it would be from—I turn my phone facedown, my shoulders sagging.

“You’ve been checking that thing so much it’s going to go dead.” Lacing her fingers together on the table top, Bella races her tongue from side-to-side between her teeth. “Something to do with that date you texted me about on Saturday night? How’d it go? Did he give you the—”

“Bella,” I groan, cutting her off before she can say the words D, dick, or cock. She offers me a wicked grin and a slow nod. “And it went… well. Not like you think well, but … yeah.” If well and yeah can be described as Bailon confusing the hell out of me; me gyrating on his center island until I was practically speaking in tongues; Bailon confusing me yet again by his attitude after said gyration; and then not hearing a single word from him since.

Yeah, it went well. So well, in fact, that every muscle in my body—right down to my core—tenses just thinking about it.

“You went out with the accountant again?” Lucy’s thin eyebrows squish together as she sips her soda. After she downs half of it, she continues, “I thought you said he was an asshole.”

“That was Friday night. I went out with … a different man on Saturday.” Saying that out loud sounds so much dirtier than it does in my head. Clearing my throat, I pull at the collar of my tee shirt. “It went okay.”

“Did he show you that room?” Bella demands in a low, conspiratorial voice, and I kick her beneath the table. Her running shoes are made for high-impact, so I end up doing more damage to my bare toes than to her foot. “You know, the one from Lucy’s picture?”

My best friend’s head jerks back, and I wince under the full weight of her hazel stare. She steeples her fingers against her chin for a moment, then blinks. “The room from my picture?” she asks, her voice an octave higher than usual. “You went to B’s place?”

My sister freezes halfway into grabbing her phone from her purse. “Wait, what?” She presses her lips together and rakes her gaze from my face to Lucy’s and then back to mine again. “And suddenly, shit’s gotten awkward. I’ll be right back.” Darting an apologetic look in my direction, she makes a hasty exit toward the restroom and doesn’t have the nerve to look back.

Fucking Bella.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal to say anything,” I tell Lucy, who’s staring across the table at me like I’ve just ripped her heart out and dropkicked it across the room. “If it hurt your feelings that I didn’t mention him, I’m sorry, Luce. Seriously.”

“No … it’s fine. It’s just that…” She touches her throat and her eyes widen again. “It’s B. I guess I’m just a little stunned. I mean, look at you. You can have any guy in Boston that’ll make you happy and treat you well, and you went out with him of all people when he’s—”

She interrupts herself at my expression—flared nostrils and mouth set in a firm line and clenched hands. I love Lucy. Other than Bella, she’s the best friend I’ve ever had, but I refuse to deal with the judgment. We rarely argue, and I’m not about to start one, so I tell her in a careful voice, “Lucy, I chose to have dinner with Bailon. Yes, I talk about wanting marriage and a child, but I don’t need a man at all to make me happy. I’m attracted to the guy, and I’m old enough to have a little fun if that’s what I want to do with my time. If you don’t like that, I’m sorry. He’s honest about what he’s thinking. He’s smart and good-looking and…”

He sends me flowers and brings me vinyl records of my favorite song and he makes my body sing with the stroke of his fingers and tongue.

And then, he doesn’t call.

I pray the look on my face doesn’t mirror the frustration churning between my stomach and ribcage.

“Just don’t judge me for going out with someone for myself,” I say at last, a defeated rush of air departing my lungs. Lucy moves her head up and down, her lower lip trembling as she reaches for her drink. “Besides, like I said. It was only dinner.” And I was dessert. “We’ll probably never see each other again.”

* * *

When I arrive at work on Thursday night and spot the flowers—a colorful bouquet of roses and Peruvian lilies—at the nurses’ station, I freeze in place. Butterflies swarm my belly, and I swear I can hear my heart thumping over the sound of one of the doctors being paged on the intercom. For an instant that seems to last far too long, I wonder if they’re from Bailon. He’d sent flowers before without warning. Taking a deep breath, I force my feet to move toward the counter where I discover that the flowers are for me—along with the rest of the NICU staff.

I try not to let the disappointment consume me, especially when I glance at the handwritten card and find out who the arrangement is from. “Thank you for all you did for my twins,” I read aloud, a small smile jerking across my face. “They’re doing great at home! We are so grateful to you and your incredible staff. Mr. and Mrs. Victor Lucero.”

The Lucero twins had been discharged a few mornings ago, on one of my days off, and while I had hoped I could say goodbye before they left, it’s a relief to hear they’re adjusting at home. When I bring up the twins and the flowers from their parents to the reporting nurse fifteen minutes later, she beams.

“I heard their mother spoke to Carrie about you,” Angela says. At the mention of a patient speaking to the charge nurse about me, I yank my gaze up from the chart I’m reviewing. Moving her hands from side-to-side in front of her chest and shaking her head, Angela laughs. “Maybe I shouldn’t have started the conversation like that. It was all good things, I swear. The Luceros were very impressed with you. Said you had a fabulous bedside manner.”

The tension in my shoulders slowly loosens and I groan in relief. “Don’t scare me like that,” I say breathlessly, lowering my attention to the chart. “I thought they complained or—”

“Are you kidding? They loved you! You know … Carrie’s retiring this year. You think you might put in for her position?”

“No master’s degree,” I say, even though I know for a fact Carrie doesn’t have a master’s either. She had told me as much when I sought her opinion about going back to school a couple of years ago—before the baby fever set in. “What about you? You’d be really good at it.”

Angela makes a face and shakes her head. “I have too many kids at home. Besides, Sam’s thinking about going back overseas for a contract job, so I don’t want to take on any more responsibility. You on the other hand…”

Once again, every muscle in my body goes rigid. There’s a part of me that wants to thank Angela for reminding me of my marital and childless status, but I give her a smile I pray isn’t as brittle as it feels as I grab another chart and begin to glance over it. “Who knows,” I say through my smile. “I might change my mind by the time Carrie leaves.”

After Angela finishes giving me the report from the day shift, I settle into my normal routine. I make my rounds, checking the equipment in the unit and taking note of the feeding schedule for the babies in my care. Right before visiting hours end at seven, I meet the parents of one of our newest patients. McKenna is a beautiful baby, seven pounds with a head full of dark hair, and I expect she’ll be able to go home any day now. While she was born with a low body temperature and low blood sugar, both have rapidly regulated to normal levels over the last forty-eight hours. As I change the diaper of one of my other patients, McKenna’s mother tells me about her new daughter’s army of brothers who are waiting at home. I’m still grinning at the photo she shows me of her boys boasting big brother tees long after she leaves for the evening.

But the highlight of my shift—the part that makes me forget Bailon for a brief and beautiful moment—is Baby R. He’s no longer suffering from withdrawals and he’s strong enough to take a bottle now. Holding him carefully, I feel a flutter in my chest as I sit down with him for a feeding, rocking back and forth as I hum “Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps” softly. I’m not supposed to get attached, but the thought of social services eventually coming for him clenches my chest.

I had hoped that one of his family members would step forward, but so far nobody has. Earlier, Angela had told me that his mother was finally picked up over the weekend for possession and assaulting an officer, and remembering my friend’s words now, I stroke the baby’s soft cheek.

“Someone’s going to fall head over heels for you, little man,” I whisper before placing him back in his incubator. “I promise.”

At the end of my shift, I'm in a good mood. There were no emergencies tonight, no moments that left me drained, and I actually had time for a lunch break. I sing under my breath—the same song I hummed to Baby R earlier—and power on my phone for the first time since I came to work as I walk to the parking garage. The song dancing on my lips quickly turns to a low, strangled growl. There’s a black BMW parked directly beside my car and the body sitting behind the wheel is one I’m all too familiar with.

“What the fuck?” I hear myself whisper, and I move in the opposite direction of my car until my back bumps against a concrete pillar.

When my phone vibrates in my hand, I nearly jump out of my skin. I glance down at the screen, a harsh lump forming in the back of my throat because the last few texts are from Mateo.

A moment later, the BMW’s door opens and he steps out looking like sin personified. His amber eyes lock with mine and then a slow grin inches across his features.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you,” he says.