Every molecule in my body is begging for Leighton.

I want to tear off that dress.

I want to plant my face between her legs.

I want to pin her to the wall and fuck her senseless.

But none of that is in the cards.

She isn’t mine.

I’m not about to fall for a woman in love with someone else. Not again.

Her blue-green eyes fill with hurt as she stares up at me.

But there’s nothing I can say to fix that.

Nothing I can say to change things.

Even so, words find their way to my lips. “I’m sorry.”

She blinks and a tear catches on her lashes. Her gaze goes to the floor. She steps sideways. “I’ll let you get dressed.”

“Leigh.” Stay. Talk to me. Tell me it’s me. That there isn’t another guy. That there’s only me.

She responds by pulling the door open.

Her footsteps move through the hall.

I strip, hang the suit, change into my street clothes, pay.

But she isn’t in the main room.

She isn’t in the department store.

She isn’t in the parking garage.

She’s gone.

* * *

Ryan: Talk to me.

I spar until the dojo closes. I shower. I fix dinner.

My cell stays silent.

All night.

All morning.

She’s there, behind the counter, when I get to Inked Hearts. Her eyes meet mine for a second then they go to the shop computer.

Dean shoots me a what the fuck did you do look.

I wave him off. Wash my hands. Wait impatiently for my eleven o’clock. Turn all my attention to his classic pinup tattoo.

But she’s there when he checks out.

She smiles her usual oh, please do go on about whatever you’d like to discuss, you’re just so interesting smile. Twirls her purple hair around her pointer finger. Presses her tits together as she hands over his receipt.

I walk him out.

Go back to the counter. “Leigh.”

Her eyes stay on the computer.

“We’re supposed to be adults about this.”

“You’re sorry. I’m sorry. What else is there to say?”

“Are you?”

“What?” Her voice is curt.

“Sorry?”

Her lip corners turn down. Her eyes scream no. But still, she nods. “I let the line blur. I won’t do it again.” She turns her entire body away from mine.

She might as well scream leave me alone.

I know her well enough to know there’s no sense in arguing.

She’s hurt.

She’s insisting it was a mistake.

She’s in love with someone else.

Fuck, something doesn’t add up.

I try to find an explanation in my suite, but there’s nothing. I’m still cursed with an inability to understand women.

Or maybe I’m just unable to understand women I care about.

We’re quiet all day.

She leaves without saying goodbye.

It’s the same all week. All business, no pleasure. No teasing her, or watching her eyes light up as she smiles, or laughing at the way she roasts me at every fucking opportunity.

I still bring her lunch.

And she still eats it.

And taking care of her still satisfies me in a way nothing else does.

But everything else stays fucked.