“The fuck you doing, woman?”

“Watch the f-bombs, Alistair,” I cautioned. “It’s not good for Tammy’s blood pressure.”

“She’s stepping on my feet.”

“Maybe she has a crush on you.”

“I heard that. I’m not that deaf.”

Grams cackled from her chair in the corner, while four couples turned in circles to the steady music.

I’d spent the rest of the day making calls for the gala and getting briefed by Mallory on the responsibilities of coordinating with the band and the venue. Avery’d been out in meetings most of the afternoon, which was a boon.

At least before, when he’d been impossible, I’d known how to act around him. Now it was like we’d declared a truce. A truce on the tenuous ground of two shared secrets.

One, that the department might be going down in flames.

Two, that Avery and I put together were hot enough to start our own four-alarm blaze.

The revelation that he’d been thinking about it even longer than I had did strange things to my brain.

I’m a relatively evolved human being. But there was nothing evolved about the question that’d been relentlessly pounding in my head all afternoon…

How does he fuck?

Lights on or off.

Fast or slow.

Hard or soft.

Top or bottom.

The possibility had never occurred to me but now that it had? My brain took it. Ran with it.

Drove it over ten state lines.

He’d been attracted to me for awhile.

Had I been attracted to him too?

Was it all just because we wanted what we couldn’t have?

No matter when the feelings had started, yesterday’s kiss had changed things. I just didn’t know how.

Just after six, I’d taken the subway to my destination, which was tucked away in a sleepy residential part of Boston.

I’d changed after work into soft, faux-leather leggings. My sleeveless V-neck was a pale pink, a color I didn’t wear to work. But it was stylish and comfortable.

The music stopped. “All right, that’s good for today. I should let you go before Dr. Thatcher tries to have me killed.”

“I feel wonderful,” one of the women offered.

“That’s the blood thinners, Gladys,” Grams piped up.

My “class” consisted of five women and three men at the local retirement home. I’d come in and teach them dance once a week, when I could. Every other week when I couldn’t.

Not that “teaching” was the right word. They all knew how. They’d been raised in a time when the high point of the week had been going to a dance. Flirting with the opposite sex. Practicing moves that, today, we’d think of as sweet but boring.

It wasn’t boring. It was the opposite. There was something beautiful about turning around the floor with another person, knowing that you synced up perfectly in a way you never could in the real world.

All of them were funny. Genuine. Had stories that would make you laugh until you cried, or peed. And I liked spending time with them.

“Thanks for the break, Grams,” I said as I walked her slowly down the hall to her room. She waved to a woman passing the other way. I lowered my mouth to her ear. “You guys still at war since she ‘forgot’ to tell you about brownie day last week?”

“Oh no, dear. It’s not worth holding grudges like that. Or about anything, really. They age you prematurely.”

I got Grams back to her room. “You have plans the rest of the week?” she asked.

“Yeah, just got a tax rebate for a hundred bucks. Let’s roll on over to Atlantic City and drop it on strippers and blow.”

“I’ll get my pacemaker checked first. I’m not sure Dr. Thatcher would approve.”

“My ears are burning. I wouldn’t approve of what?”

I turned to see a shape hovering in the doorway. “Strippers and blow,” I answered.

“As a general practice, no.”

“Charlie, get Dr. Thatcher to help you put away your props.” I arched a brow. Grams just did that sweet smile thing only old people can pull off.

“All right, I’ll see you later.”

I brushed past the man in the door. “You don’t need to help me. This is below your paygrade, Dr. T.”

The man with dark hair and amused eyes stared down at me. “It’s fine. Call me Danny.”

I led the way to the recreation room and collected the Bluetooth speaker, plus the props—a box of hats and other fun things—and tucked them away in the closet at the end of the hall.

“She thinks I need something in my life,” I explained. “Other than strippers and blow.”

“Right. So you’re not seeing anyone?”

“Not seeing anyone.” I didn’t add the part where I’d had two different vibrators that’d lasted longer than any guy I’d dated since moving to Boston.

“You want to get a drink sometime?”

“I drink alone.”

That should’ve been enough to send any normal guy for the door. But Dr. Thatcher persisted.

“Usually I can at least get a ‘maybe.’ I mean, I’m a doctor. I’m not divorced. I have impeccable hygiene.”

“I’d lead with hygiene. Build to the doctor thing.”

He grinned as he picked up my phone and put his number into it, then texted himself so he’d have mine. “There. In case you ever want to get a drink alone with me.”

When I slid into my Uber, I glanced at my phone, at the number Dr. Thatcher had put in.

Maybe Grams was right. It wouldn’t kill me to go one a date.

I flipped to my online calendar, my fingers scrolling over the surface of my smartphone. Avery’s was in line with mine, and my gaze drifted there.

Why should I care what my boss was doing when I’d been hit on by an attractive, perfectly nice doctor?

Because I have the world’s worst taste in men.

My gaze landed on an entry in the calendar.

Oh shit.

I’d booked the client meeting for Avery weeks ago. Before our agreement.

Back when you were still fucking with him.

This was not going to go over well if he didn’t understand.

Charlie: We need to talk. Call me ASAP

I waited, tapping my phone on my knee. Buildings streaked past, bright lights behind dark facades.

I chewed on my lip. Finally made a decision.

I leaned forward, holding out my phone to the driver. “Change of plans. I need to go here.”