Page 23 of Wrong For Me

“Last night was perfect,” I tell her.

She pulls back enough to look up at me, her expression adorably shy. “Could we maybe do it again sometime? I’m here for two more days.”

I ignore the stab I feel at the mention of her leaving—it’s way too damn soon for me to be feeling like that—and try to focus on the other part. She wants to see me again.

“I would like that.”

Her phone rings again and her expression clouds with frustration. “That will be my ride.”

I walk her to the front door of the sparse little apartment I’m sharing with Bodhi for the summer, hating the fact that she’s going. But she stops in the entryway, rising up on her tiptoes to press her lips against mine. “Thank you,” she murmurs against my mouth.

“Can I get your number?”

She grins. “You know, I kind of thought you might ask for it at the festival.”

“I should have,” I tell her. “I wanted to.”

She searches my face. “Why didn’t you?”

“Didn’t think you’d want to go out with a guy like me.”

She frowns. “That’s silly. Why wouldn’t I want—”

But her question is interrupted by another trill of her cell phone, this time accompanied by a burst of a horn outside. She sighs, then pulls a slip of paper and a pen from her purse. She jots something down before handing the paper to me. On one side, I see what appears to be a book store receipt. On the other, she’s written her number.

Her expression is a little shy when I look back to her. “Call me?”

“I definitely will.” Hell, it’s probably going to be a struggle to even wait until she gets back to her villa before I start to blow up her phone.

She rises up on her tiptoes to press a quick, final kiss to my mouth and then turns to go, her blond hair shining in the morning light as she ducks through the door. And then she’s gone, leaving the apartment feeling much colder than it had been a moment ago.