I look for the bartender, and then refill my own glass. “Shut the fuck up, Len. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I turn until my back is against the table like Len’s. I let out a slow breath. Has it been five minutes yet? Where’s Shyla? I search the room. I look out the wall of glass at the terrace. Ah, sitting on a patio lounger. Good. Maybe she’ll stay there.

I frown, trying to make sense of the last twenty minutes. After two years, Chrissie pops up in my life at a party looking the way she looks, sexy and available. Not bringing Jesse. Talking about our fucked-up history. Wanting to continue the talk in private.

Christ. I don’t understand any of this. Instinct warns me not to follow her for whatever it is she has planned. Both of us know I’m going to. It’s why she left without even bothering to wait for my answer.

Some things never change. She’s holding every part of me in a viselike grip by simply being here. It feels exactly the same. I am angry with her, frustrated by her, consumed by her, and oh, definitely ready to fuck her. Though I don’t think that’s on the agenda.

Talk? What does she want to talk to me about?

I set down my drink. “Go out on the patio, Len. Keep Shyla out there until I come back to the party.”

Len gives me a pointed stare that screams don’t do this, but he nods.

I start maneuvering through the crowded rooms. Nothing. Not here. I glance in, smile and move on. I try the kitchen, and quickly exit after startling the staff there. I hold up. Where the fuck is she? There are only two places I haven’t checked. The terrace…and my bedroom.

Oh, she wouldn’t be there. I make my way to the back of the apartment. I open the door and there she is.

Chrissie is sitting perfectly still on the floor, her back against a small sofa, a bottle of scotch and two glasses on the table in front of her.

I hang back. God, she looks exquisite. She didn’t turn on the lights. There’s only the soft glow from the fireplace bathing her, and her blond hair is falling in loose curls over one shoulder so the gentle curve of her neck is fully exposed to me. Her head is tilted just enough to make the delicate line of her jaw alluring.

How is it possible that she’s even more beautiful than she was two years ago? I softly closed the door. I turn the lock. Click.

She whirls to face me, and the color in her eyes darkens.

“I’m sorry it took so long for me to find you,” I say, striving for a neutral tone. “I tried every room. Even the kitchen. I wasn’t expecting to find you in here.”

Chrissie lifts her chin. “I wasn’t expecting to be in here.”

She stares up at me, saying nothing.

I’m not sure which way to go. I opt for direct.

“Do you want to tell me what’s going on, Chrissie? Why you’ve gone to so much trouble to talk to me face-to-face?”

She flushes. “I don’t know. It made sense when I left California. It doesn’t anymore.” She exhales, frustrated.

I sit on the floor beside her, close, but not touching.

“Well, if you don’t know, love, I sure as hell don’t.”

I smile.

Her breathing calms.

She laughs.

To keep myself from touching her, I fill the empty glasses with scotch. I hand one to her.

She takes a sip, then studies me for a moment. “I didn’t come to New York without Jesse by accident.”

Interesting.

“I sensed that five minutes after you got here.”

She nods.

“I’m sorry I’m being such a pain. It was all clear in my head before I got here. I don’t mean to be difficult. It’s been such a rough year for me. Shock after shock after shock. Learning about your illness. Then Kaley getting ill. All those endless tests before she was well—”

She takes in a deep breath, unable to finish.

I don’t like the feel of this.

She fixes her gaze on me, intense and worried. “One day everything makes sense and then nothing does. Then I’m here. With a whole bunch of stuff I need to say. Only I don’t know how to say it.”

She makes another ragged exhale of breath. She finishes her drink, sets the glass on the table and quickly refills.

That was more Chrissie-incoherent than usual. Is she drunk?

“Why are you drinking so much?”

She laughs. “That sounds really weird coming from you.”

“Chrissie, what’s going on?”

She shakes her head in an aggravated way. “I’m sorry. I’m making a mess of this. Don’t think I don’t know that. I’ve been a pretty big mess since Kaley got sick.”

Now I’m annoyed. Why does she keep circling back to her daughter? Kaley’s illness was a minor one. A blood infection cured at hospital. When I heard, I called Jack. According to him, she’s fine now.

I feel alarm. Maybe he lied to me.

“Kaley is all right, isn’t she?”

“She’s perfectly healthy these days. It’s just been a lot to process, OK?”

I nod, but I don’t fucking understand why she wanted someplace private to talk to me about her daughter.

Those enormous blue eyes fix on me. “I’m acting like an idiot, aren’t I?”

She makes a small smile.

God, she is beautiful, even when she’s frustrating the hell out of me.

I smile. “No. Not an idiot. Never.”

She exhales loudly again. She smiles, staring at a vacant spot in the room in that way she has when she’s trying to organize her thoughts. “I’m not sure how you’ll take this, Alan. It will probably make no sense and make me sound like a bitch. It’s just…I’m married to Jesse. You’re getting married. It feels like we are finally done and in the past. It makes it harder for me to know what the right thing is to do.”

I hold my reaction to that tightly leashed. She’s right. That made no sense and it did make her sound like a bitch.

“You said you had something to tell me,” I prompt.

Her enormous blue eyes cloud over.

Shit. Why did I have to say that so coldly?

“I don’t want to lose your friendship, Alan. It is important to me that you never hate me.”

I grab a cigarette from my pocket and light it. There is a strange feeling of déjà vu to this. I’ve lived this moment with her before, when she was married to Neil. It didn’t make sense then. It doesn’t make sense now.

I’m starting to feel anxious. Nervous. I don’t know why.

“Chrissie, whatever it is you have to say, just say it.”

Her eyes flash. “Please. I’m trying to. But what I have to say isn’t easy. I’m trying to explain. Your illness, it terrified me and it made me think. About all kinds of things. Us. The past. How short life is. None of us knows how long we have. There are things between us that I need to fix. Correct. This isn’t easy for me.”

I wait until she is calm.

“Nothing is going to happen to me. You’re worrying for nothing, Chrissie. And I think by now even you should be able to figure out we will always be friends. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

Instead of calming her my words have made her more frantic. It’s an odd reaction. “You can’t know that for sure.” Her fingers tighten around her glass until her knuckles are white. “What a mess I’ve made of everything. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. I hope you know that, Alan.”

After too long she looks at me, pinning me with an intense stare, her bright blue eyes pleading and leveling and arousing.

She flushes. “I’m sorry, Alan. I shouldn’t have come here.”

Now I just want to end this and get away from her. I stand up, putting distance between us. I’m beginning to dislike her for the anticipation I feel in my cock, her emotional botheration and my complete inability to do anything but love her. Even in ghastly moments like this.

“Then why don’t you get the fuck out?”

I don’t know which one of us is more shocked by that. Oh God, did I just throw her out? It’s the last thing I want.

She stands up.

She sets her glass on the table.

“Chrissie, I’m sorry.”