Next - Second Chances

CHAPTER 7

Thank goodness she’d had the good sense to come back to his apartment this time. The last time, with Nolan, had been a disaster she wasn't keen to repeat.

But for Nick, the name Nolan Chance was a brand, a searing burn in her memory. It was enough to make her stumble, the abrupt surge of nausea almost making her trip over her own feet in her haste to escape this luxurious prison.

“Thanks though, have a good night!” she called out, the words clipped, too bright. She pulled the front door open and all but dove through it, the heavy click of the latch echoing her desperate need for distance.

She practically sprinted down the hall, her heart hammering against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat urging her towards the elevator. He lived in a swanky place, all polished chrome and understated wealth. And yes, he had a great body – the kind that made women gasp and whisper. His smile, too, was a weapon, potent enough to make her forget her own name, almost enough to make her soak her panties right there in the dimly lit bar. But the music had been too loud, the atmosphere too thick with unspoken promises, to really get a read on his personality. She’d convinced herself it didn’t matter, not when his fingers had brushed the inside of her forearm, tracing the delicate lines of her palm. It had been a smooth move, she’d thought, a silent boast of the control he possessed, the teasing torment he’d brought to the bedroom. She had never been more wrong.

Out on the footpath, the cool night air was a welcome shock against her flushed skin. She pulled out her phone, the glowing screen a beacon of sanity. The ride-share app showed her taxi was only a minute away. Relief washed over her, quickly followed by a fresh wave of mortification. With a sigh, she navigated to her contacts and hit Rick’s name.

The timing was impeccable. Rick picked up just as her cab glided to a stop beside the curb. Perfect. She hated small talk, and cab drivers, bless their hearts, were the worst offenders.

“Hey Rick, where are you?” she asked, her voice a little breathless.

The music blaring in the background was almost as loud as the thumping in her chest. She pulled the phone away from her ear just long enough to confirm her address with the driver before pressing it back to her ear.

“At the club,” Rick’s voice boomed, laced with amusement. “Are you done with that guy already?” He laughed, and she fumed internally, already anticipating the barrage of questions she’d face when they were at work tomorrow.

“Yeah, it was a quick release, so to speak,” she quipped, regretting the phrasing the moment the words left her lips. Rick’s laughter escalated, a booming, mirthful sound that sailed through her phone and bounced off the interior of the cab earning her a look from the driver through the rearview mirror.

“Are you coming back out?” he asked, still chuckling.

“I don’t know, I’m kinda sore and tired.” The admission felt raw, a little too honest. She didn't like to be vulnerable, even with Rick.

“Sore?” Rick’s voice held a note of genuine surprise now, his laughter momentarily subdued. “That guy was pretty big.”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t sure how it all worked, if you know what I mean.”

“TMI Nick, TMI!” Rick shrieked, his laughter returning with a vengeance.

Nick chuckled, a hollow sound. She glanced at the driver in the rearview mirror, but he kept his gaze fixed on the road ahead, though she thought she saw his shoulders shake with a silent laugh. “I thought it was going to be a winner, a gold medal performance, but it was barely a participation medal,” she said, and Rick dissolved into another fit of laughter.

“Come out,” he urged. “This place is hopping.” The music in the background pulsated like a frantic heartbeat, and it was tempting.

“No,” she said with a sigh of resignation. “I’m not failing twice in one night.” The words were out before she could stop them, a weary confession.

“See you tomorrow for brunch?” he asked, a softer tone in his voice now.

“Yeah, see you then. I’ll text you when I get home,” she added, a sudden wave of fatigue washing over her.

She hung up the phone, the silence of the cab a stark contrast to the earlier cacophony. She leaned her head against the cool window, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. All she wanted was to forget the last hour, to forget the fleeting touch, the awkward fumbling. All she wanted was to stop thinking about the last time she’d actually had great s*x. The memory, when it surfaced, was a dull ache, a ghost in her thoughts.