And the phone keeps ringing. Dex’s gruff message starts up. I have to blink hard. Just hearing his voice gets to me. But is it a bad sign that I’ve gone straight to voice mail? Is he avoiding my call? I wouldn’t blame him.

I hate leaving a message. But part of me is relieved that I can say what I have to say and then hang up, without the threat of him telling me he’s done.

Please don’t be done with me

“Hey, it’s me. Fi. Shit, that rhymes. I hate it when I inadvertently rhyme. I mean, if you’re going to do a rhyme, own it, right?” Shut up, Fi. I take a breath, my palm slipping on the case of my phone. “I…ah…There was this couple kissing. By the ticket counter. I don’t know if they were leaving each other or reconnecting. But they were so into each other, you know? And it hit me. I’ll never kiss you again. Never feel your arms holding me close. And…”

Shit, I’m about to blubber. My hand wipes so hard at my eyes it hurts. I swallow hard. “It hurt, Ethan. Too much. How can that be? How can it be that you already feel like a part of me? But I guess you are because the idea of never being with you again… Fuck. I’m babbling. Again. But Ethan—”

The loudspeaker blares, announcing that it’s time to cut off all electronics.

I hunch over, turning my body toward the window. “Ethan, forget what I said, okay? I’m sorry. I was being a coward. I want you. Just you. I don’t care about the rest. Please say it isn’t too late. That I didn’t fuck us up before we really began.”

“Miss?” The flight attendant is hovering. “You have to turn off your phone now.”

I glance at her, tears in my eyes, holding up a hand. “I’ve got to go,” I say into the phone. “I’ll be in New York tonight. I…just… I’m sorry, okay? Call me?” I lick my dry lips. “Okay, then. Bye.”

Ending the call, I sit back and stare out the small window. And hope he still wants me too.

Chapter Seventeen

Dex

I don’t see the message waiting for me until I’m out of the shower and scrubbing a towel over my dripping hair. I don’t know how long I stand there, phone in my hand, deliberating over whether I want to hear what Fiona has to say now or later.

The room is cool, prickling my bare skin. I should get dressed, go down to dinner with Ivy and Gray. I’d rather not talk to them or anyone. Just go back to my empty-ass town house in NOLA and paint until my eyes blur.

But Fi called. Which means I’m going to listen; I’ll never ignore her.

My heart thuds hard against my ribs as I hit the play button and put the phone to my ear. Her slightly husky, lilting voice is a kick in the guts. God, I miss her.

Then I listen, really listen. And slowly sink to the floor. My lips wobble on a grin as I lean my head back against the edge of the bed.

I listen to her rambling, breathy message again and again. I want her so badly my muscles tighten with the need to move. A low laugh leaves me. I can’t help it. I’m happy. Truly happy. I still have no idea how to make this work. But I know one thing: I have a chance with Fiona Mackenzie. Protecting that has now become my number-one priority.

Fiona

“Hey. I got your message.” Even though it’s through the phone, Dex’s voice sinks into my heart and warms it all up.

“Yeah?” It’s all I can think to say, I’m so nervous. Me. Nervous over a guy. Over a football player. Next thing you know, I’ll be buying his jersey. Although, really, I probably should show a little Dexter support.

“Yeah,” he says back to me softly.

I lean my head against the stinky cab seat and just smile. “So…we’re good?”

“Cherry, let me lay this down for you. I’m all in. I want you. I always have.” That voice of his goes deeper. “You going to let me have you?”

Jesus. I cross my legs tightly, heat pulsing through me. “You’ve already had me.”

“That was only a taste.” It’s a rumble in my ear, all his need and impatience a driving force that leaves me breathless and thrumming. “I want more.”

“Ethan. You’re killing me.”

He curses under his breath, and I hear him sigh. “I’m killing myself. I know this isn’t ideal. Just…” He’s clearly struggling to give me some word of comfort. “Can you place your trust in me? That I’ll find a way for us to be together?”

My hand cradles the phone to my cheek, a weak substitute for touching him. But it’s all I have. “I can do that.”

Again he sighs. This time it sounds relieved. “Thank you. Look, I’m going to go. I…” He stalls out. It’s like I can actually hear his mind switching gears, so the sudden lightness in his voice isn’t even a surprise, though his words are. “Found your panties balled up at the bottom of my bed, Cherry.”

I choke out a laugh. “God. Give them to Ivy and she’ll mail them back to me.”

He makes a noise of disbelief. “You want me to give your underwear to your sister? Hell no.”

“Dex! Those are Myla.”

They’d been a very expensive birthday present from Ivy, who knew I always shopped at their boutique when I went to London to visit our mom.

“I have no idea what Myla is, darlin’, but they’re soon to be wrapped around my cock. If I can’t have you, I’m fucking the panties.”

With that, the big bastard hangs up. And I just know he did it with a smile on his face.

FearTheBeard: I suppose you think sending me this pic of you wearing the top half of your lingerie set and nothing else is some sort of payback. You’re right. My hand is tired, but your beloved Myla and I are well acquainted now.

CherryBomb: I don’t know if I should be disturbed or turned on. I’m going with a little of both.

FearTheBeard: No more pics, Cherry. I’m in enough danger of developing tendonitis of the elbow as it is.

CherryBomb: Remember RICE: rest, ice, compress, elevate.

FearTheBeard: You’re kind of evil, you know that?

CherryBomb: I am sweetness personified. And seems only fair that I get a sexy man pic in return.

FearTheBeard: Yeah, no.

CherryBomb: ETHAN!

CherryBomb: GIMME, GIMME, GIMME!

CherryBomb: A picture of you glaring is NOT what I had in mind.

FearTheBeard: Payback’s a bitch, sweetheart.

CherryBomb: I’ll keep that in mind as I go without underwear until I see you again.

FearTheBeard: Fuck.

Chapter Eighteen

Fiona

Returning to work sucks. The realization slaps me across the face hard enough to make me come to a halt. I actively hate walking into this office. I shouldn’t. It’s a beautiful space—a light and airy loft, all brilliant white. White to relax the eye and let us show sample colors in their purest state.

There’s an energy here, as if each person is so grateful to be part of this place that they exude anticipation. Every person but me, apparently. My steps shuffle with clear reluctance, a pit of ugly feeling lodged low in my belly.

No one seems particularly surprised to see me. I get a few sympathetic nods in my direction as I head to my desk.

“Brilliant,” I mutter under my breath. I can handle a lot, but being pitied burns me.

My desk sits in front of a massive Palladian window that starts at the floor and rises over ten feet above me. Outside, traffic is a flowing river, people darting to and fro. I want to be out there with them.

I’m just turning my computer on when Elena appears. Honestly, for someone who’s caused me so much grief, she ought to look the part. I don’t know, maybe have black-and-white hair and long, red nails or something. It would feel so much better if she was also in hot pursuit of a Dalmatian puppy coat.