Page 68 of A Taste of Vanilla
“You can still go upstairs alone,” he says.
“I know.”
“You can ask me to leave at any point.”
“I know.”
“I’m not him.”
The words are blunt, and my breathcatches.
“No,” I say. “You’re not.”
His gaze holds mine for one steady second.
Then he nods.
I turn toward the back door and insert the key with shaking hands. Not from fear, but from nerves. From wanting.
From the reckless, terrifying, wonderful truth that I am about to do something entirely for myself.
Behind me, the man says nothing.
He only waits. Patient and controlled.
I unlock the door and look back at him. “Coming?”
His eyes drop to my mouth, then lift. “Yes.”
I step inside, and this time, when I make a bad decision, it feels like mine.
six
. . .
Practical Men with Questionable Piercings
HALSTON
I watchhim take in my place, his eyes landing on the mattress on the floor.
“It’s just temporary,” I say, almost embarrassed.
“It’s a nice place,” he lies. Then he adds, “You should text Oliver.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“He asked you to.”
“I’m sorry, are you trying to seduce me or help Oliver safety-parent me?”
“I’m not trying to seduce you.”
That should not be disappointing.
My eyebrows lift. “No?”
He takes a step closer. Slowly. My pulse reacts like a woman who has never seen a large man move with intention.
