“Gimme a sec, I’l be out in a minute.” I hang up the phone, shut my laptop down and slip it into my bag. I buzz Serena, the admin I’ve had since I landed here and inherited her from the guy whose office this used to be, before he retired and moved to South Beach.

“What’s up, boss? You need me to grab anyone? Coffee?” her voice crackles brightly through the intercom.

“Not tonight, Serena. I’m out. You can go if you want.”

I move around my office, tidying up some files I’ll need for a meeting with some investors Monday, putting everything in a big pile like a prop. They say a cluttered desk is the sign of a cluttered mind, then what the fuck does an empty desk mean? I make everything look somewhere in between on purpose, even though I’m anal about keeping an organized desk.

“You sure, Caleb?” Serena says with excitement in her voice. I know she’s just bluffing, that she probably already has her jacket on, had it on the second I told her I was leaving.

“I’m sure. I’m shooting around tonight. I want to get in there before it gets too crazy with college kids.” I hang up, duck under my desk and palm my basketball, hooking it onto my hip as I walk over to the door. “Get out of here,” I say to Serena. “Go.”

“Anything fun planned for the weekend?” Serena asks, getting out of her chair and pulling her raincoat on. She’s a pretty young girl, but I’m far too much of an ethical, stand-up guy to ever try something with her. I glance out the window of the executive suites, the floor I worked my ass to get to, and it looks like all the clouds have rolled away, leaving bright spring sunshine in their wake. Perfect weather for shooting some hoops.

I hold the ball up in the air and indicate it with a wag of my eyebrows. “This is tonight. Nothing else for the rest of the weekend, though.”

“That’s a pity,” she says sarcastically. I know what she means. She’s not the only person in my life who wants me to settle the hell down and get married. Everyone from my admin to my boss knows that I’m not close to it. They try to nudge me further along, try getting me close with the power of suggestion, but I’m fucking impervious.

But I don’t get mad. They think there’s something unnatural about being a bachelor at my age, but I figure that if it’s good enough for Clooney, maybe I’ll follow in his footsteps and settle down later in life, if at all.

For now, I have enough. Well, except for one thing. The girl I claimed and couldn’t keep.

All that shit they say about loving something and letting it go? Maybe there’s some fucking truth to it. Not that what happened last night was love. It was pure sex, plain and simple. But I’ll be damned if I ever let something that good get away from me again.

I furrow my brows, knowing that I’ll never have sex that good again, and fuck, I didn’t even get my dick wet.

She was the only one who got wet.

I’m about to adjust my growing cock when my buddy Mike comes striding down the hall, looking like something out of a scotch commercial.

“Are you getting better looking?” I say as the sunlight coming through the windows flash against him.

Mike and I came up together. We’re like brothers. Same prep school, same college, same bullshit parental units who pushed us down a straight and narrow path to a legacy that they wanted, that they thought would serve us.

I don’t have much to complain about because my parents gave me a damn good life, and I’m not angry. Just a little conflicted, and who the hell isn’t?

Mike is a good guy, and good looking to boot. He’s got a shaved head and a trimmed beard, and he makes the dome look good. He’s an excellent wingman, and the girls love to flirt with both of us. We’ve never gone there, fucking the same girl at the same time, but shit, we’ve shared by accident before.

Let’s just say that in our circle, New York City is like a small town. Unfortunately, outside our circle it’s the biggest place on earth. And if Ava moved in my circle, it wouldn’t have taken until last night to meet her.

“Look at you, man,” Mike says, walking past Serena’s desk and bringing me in for a bro-hug. “You look good. You make the tube socks look great.” He scratches his chin and smirks.

Along with my tube socks, I’m also wearing some old-school shorts like the ball players back in the day used to wear. I didn’t lose a bet or anything. I just think it’s a cool fucking look. I don’t give a shit if I’m judged for it. I like it.

“Classic look, that’s what this is.” I take a step back and turn around to model, and Serena gives me an exaggerated nod as I spin around slowly with my arms outstretched. “Don’t let anyone take away your Jordans.”

“I think I saw that outfit once,” Serena says thoughtfully, scratching her head. “Yeah. It was when I was cleaning out my dad’s basement when he sold his house. He had some old VHS tapes and I didn’t know what they were.” She taps her finger against her bottom lip like she’s struggling to remember what these mystery tapes were. “I dusted off the old tape player and turns out basketball players wore shorts just like that back in the 70s.”

“The 70s were a better time,” I say, holding the ball above my head. “The music, the graffiti on the subway. Plus, I was born.”

“Okay, beast,” Mike says sarcastically, adjusting his backpack across his shoulders. “Let’s go. We’re burning daylight here.”

“Go home, Serena,” I say as Mike and I make our way toward the lobby on our floor. “And try to stay out of trouble.”

She waves, gathering up her phone and taking her time to grab her purse.

“I can’t believe you never -” Mike says, running his hands over the top of his head.

“Don’t even go there,” I say. “That’s not me. You want me to cause a conflict of interests? A scandal? No way.”

“But I mean, have you seen her lately? She looks like she got fake tits, or something. I don’t know. She’s fucking beautiful.”

“I don’t need to dip my pen in the company ink,” I say. And it’s true. I’m not jeopardizing everything I’ve worked for to get my cock sucked or to have my admin’s tits between my hands.

We pass the reception desk and we’re almost at the exit, when I see her emerge from the hallway.

I grind to a halt and let my eyes pass easily over her body. It’s like I’ve been wandering the desert looking for water, parched and dry, and I finally see an oasis. Okay, maybe I’ve only been thinking about her for about twenty-four hours, but it feels longer than that. It feels a hell of a lot longer than that.

She’s so fucking cute and casual, and nothing like what I saw last night. She’s traded in her little black dress for a pair of denim shorts and a t-shirt, and somehow, she’s even more gorgeous now, bare-faced without makeup. Makeup is supposed to accentuate your features, right? For Ava, you don’t fuck with perfection.

And she freezes in place, taking me in. Her mouth parts, the corners tip up a little, and her eyes sweep across mine. I can’t tell if she’s trying to place me or trying to control herself from jumping on top of me.

Her hands go to her hair, behind her head, and she pulls her ponytail tighter on her head. All I can think of is wrapping her cute little ponytail around my tight fist and bringing her face down to my crotch.

And...there it is. Her eyes linger on mine for a moment, and she scans down, stopping at my mouth and dragging her teeth across her bottom lip, and her eyes inch down slowly like a magnet is bringing them lower and lower, until…

Her gaze lands on my crotch, my inches pushing against the inside of my boxers, held in by the fucking minuscule joke of a pair of short I have on over them. My blood pumps into the head of my cock when I see her ogling me, her mouth open, her eyes wide.

Her head whips back up and her gaze bolts onto mine before she shuffles past us quickly, taking a fast turn into the office, her sneakers squeaking on the polished tile floor.

“Friend of yours?” Mike asks, tugging on his chin, turning around to see my girl hurry away.

I’m fucking dumbfounded. She’s a messenger? I guess the service I used to bring me my gear is working in overdrive to deliver sexy girls to the offices of guys all over the city.

“As a matter of fact,” I say, pushing my basketball into Mike’s chest, “I need to go talk to her.”

I stride after her, past the glass walls of conference rooms and a few of my colleagues’ cubicles.

“Ava, stop,” I say, chasing after her. Who the hell am I? I’ve never chased a woman before. Literally or figuratively.

And for a second, I feel like a goddamn fool in what I’m wearing. Sure, my package looks amazing in these shorts, but I don’t want to put her off.

“Ava. Don’t do this to me again.”

My heart is nearly leaping out of my chest when she turns around slowly, her body first, and then her face.

“Why are you here?” she asks in a small voice, hugging a manilla envelope to her chest. “And why...what are you wearing?”

Her nonplussed look melts into a smirk. There’s my girl. She brings her fingertips to her lips and lets out a laugh I’m not expecting. I’m expecting a girly little laugh, a fake giggle for show, but what comes out of her mouth is a joyous expression at what a doofus I look like.

Got her.

“I will inform you that this was a respectable look back in the day. Maybe you could learn a thing or two from me. History. You know, pay some respect to your elders.” I put my hands on my hips and turn one of my toes out, feet parted.

As the door behind her opens, her expression changes; it gets icy, and her face tenses up. Murray comes out of his office and puts a hand on her shoulder.

What the fuck? I had a feeling she liked older guys, but not that old.

“Ava, thank you.” He takes the envelope from her and rubs her upper arm like she’s a puppy who’s doing a good job playing fetch. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this. The only people you can trust with things like this are your own flesh and blood.”

Flesh and blood? My face flushes hot and then cold.

Fuck.