KIRA
Rich lived on the top of one of the biggest hills in West Valley. The house had belonged to some famous musician or other a few years back. By Rich’s billionaire standards, it probably seemed modest. I guessed the garage held only four or six cars. It was probably five times the size of a normal house, but not so big you could definitely call it a mansion. But it took only one look to know it was bigger and more expensive than anything I’d be able to afford in my wildest dreams. It took only one look to know what kind of extreme wealth to expect on the inside.
I stepped out of my car and laughed softly at the thought. Rich and this house were similar in that way. What you saw was what you got. He looked like a guy who had been bringing the world to its knees for as long as he could remember. The kind of guy who could hardly contemplate the idea of failure because he was so accustomed to success. He looked like he had his life in perfect order. It was the kind of thing you’d see from a distance, maybe on TV or in a magazine, and you’d think there was no way—there was absolutely no way—anybody could actually be like that.
But I thought Rich might be exactly what he appeared. Or I had. His little scheme of forcing himself into my life wasn’t supposed to work. My plan was to harden my feelings against him and endure it. I wanted to prove I never needed his apology, and more importantly, I never needed him.
I still didn’t need him, of course, but I’d unfortunately glimpsed another side of Richard King. When Miranda and Iris had grilled me about my feelings for Rich, I’d felt like I was lying when I said I had no interest in him romantically. They’d made me promise to keep them completely up to date on everything he asked of me in his pseudoblackmail scheme. His latest request had brought me here. For reasons he chose to remain coy about, he supposedly couldn’t come to the high school to “learn to be a codirector” and needed me to make a house call.
It was my own fault. Instead of actually talking at the magic show about how he could help direct the school play, I’d spent the entire time buried in a haze of hormones and dreamy eyes. The real magic had been how easily Rich had put me under his spell—how he’d changed his tactics so smoothly that I hadn’t seen the next move coming. I’d been expecting a frontal assault, but he sneaked in through the back door and caught me off guard.
I grinned like a little kid at the thought. Apparently I lacked the maturity level to think of frontal assaults and back doors without getting perverted. Then again, I’d been having dark sexual thoughts far more often the last few days. I could play innocent and strong all I wanted, but my body knew exactly what it craved.
I knocked on the door and waited. It felt like my stomach was in my throat, but I did my best to calm my nerves. Even if my feelings were starting to get cloudy, it didn’t have to matter. I was a big girl, and all I had to do was resist him like I’d resisted so many gallons of ice cream over the years. After all, what mattered at the end of the day wasn’t if you wanted the ice cream; it was if you ate it. Right? Although I wasn’t sure the analogy was a great comfort, considering I didn’t count a few stolen spoonfuls at midnight as cheating when it came to ice cream.
When the door opened, I was surprised to see the ice queen herself. She stood proud and tall with a straight neck fit for a dancer and eyes that cut through me. She was beautiful in the most intimidating way, but I straightened my own back and tried to sound confident.
“I’m here to see Rich.”
She arched an eyebrow, which she somehow managed without even wrinkling her smooth forehead. “That’s a pity. I was hoping you’d come for me.”
My lips compressed into a worried little pouch. Had I imagined it, or did she enunciate that strangely, like she was talking about an entirely different kind of coming?
What was she playing at? Was this some sort of rich-person-power-struggle game? Do women who are interested in the same guy have some kind of flirt-off to decide who gets him?
“With some convincing, maybe I would,” I said. I swallowed hard, replayed what I’d just said, and made a mental note to strike that from my permanent memory banks if I ever had a chance.
She laughed. It was a tinkling, dignified sound. She put her long fingers on the small of my back and slid me into the house, letting the door close behind us. “Be careful with me,” she said. “I’ve got a reputation for being persuasive, and you’re tempting me to be very persuasive.”
I forced my eyes not to drop from hers when she turned to face me. We were in the foyer, but I was too tangled in the strange, confusing game she was playing to notice anything else. I still had no idea what was going on, but an instinctual part of me didn’t want to lose the game I may or may not have been playing, and I definitely didn’t want to seem poor and uncultured.
Maybe the smartest course of action was to remain silent and wait for Rich to hear the commotion. Although I could hardly call the sultry, smoky sound of Stella’s voice or my panicked breaths a commotion.
Stella tilted her chin down and took a step closer. She traced my jaw with her fingertip, considering me with those cold eyes. “Cocks are overrated. And men are dicks. All of them. Especially Rich.”
I nodded a little shakily. “People named Rich used to go by Dick, for short, after all.”
The corner of her mouth twitched up into a grin. “You’re saying Rich’s dick is short? I’d always wondered, to tell the truth. If you believe his twin brother, their dicks are the size of fallen trees.”
“Is a fallen tree any bigger than a standing tree?” I was desperate to change the subject. I was even starting to consider if I could outrun her, but her legs looked long, and I had a wild guess that whatever she did for exercise had her in better shape than my daily routine of not breaking two miles per hour except in the event of an absolute emergency, like getting to the microwave before the popcorn burned.
She laughed in that tinkling way again. “Well, not if it leaves behind a stump, I suppose.”
“There is that. Maybe Cade was actually saying their dicks were the size of the stump of a fallen tree, not the—”
“Talking about my dick again?” asked Rich. “And get your hands off her, Stella. She’s not for you.”
Stella took an unhurried step back and made a tsk sound. “I don’t think she’s for you either.”
“Kira is here to teach me to direct a play.” Rich made the declaration like he was choosing to take up some obscure, quirky hobby.
“Codirect,” I corrected. “And not by choice.”
“I may have coerced her into coming, yes. But you would coerce someone who was drowning to get out of the water, wouldn’t you?”
Stella tilted her head at him. “I can’t imagine what point you’re trying to make, but I can see you’re trying to make one.”
“That coercion isn’t always bad.”
“Except it usually is,” I said. “And in this case, it’s bad.”
“Details!” Rich said loudly. “Come on. We’ve got a lot to learn and not a lot of time to learn it. Stella, you stay away. I saw the way you were looking at Kira, and you can’t have her.”
“Since when do I listen to you?” Stella asked. She trailed after us as I followed Rich deeper into the house.
“Not often. Starting with when I’d asked you to stay at your own place tonight.”
Stella saw the look of utter confusion on my face and decided to take mercy. “Rich and I are pretending to be an item. It keeps our parents from meddling. I’m only interested in women. Especially ones who have a kind of sexy librarian thing going on.” She reached to touch my shirt, but Rich casually swatted her hand away.
“What the hell is with people calling me a librarian lately?”
“A sexy librarian,” Rich added, as if it mattered.
“Are librarians a fetish that nobody told me about?” I asked.
Stella planted her elbows on the kitchen island and leaned in toward me. “I could tell you about some of my fetishes, if—”
“Out,” Rich said. He jabbed his finger toward the other room. “You had your fun. Now go.”
Stella shrugged. “I was only teasing. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Kira. I forget how I must come across to people who don’t know me.”
“It’s okay, really.”
“Careful,” Rich said. “She’s like a chameleon. When one tactic doesn’t work, she’ll just try another. She wants to lull you into thinking she’s kind and sweet now.”
She stuck her tongue out at Rich, then winked at me. “He only thinks he understands me. Oh, and don’t eat anything he offers to cook for you. He’s a horrible cook.”
“Go,” Rich barked.
She rolled her eyes and finally left.
“What are you smiling about?” Rich asked.
I put my hand over my mouth, as if I didn’t quite believe him when he said I’d been smiling. Sure enough, I was. “Nothing.”
Rich gestured for me to take a seat at one of the barstools in his kitchen. He moved around the island toward the refrigerator and grabbed two frosty glasses. He disappeared under the counter for a few seconds, clinked some heavy bottles together, and then emerged with a blender and some liquor in his hands. The bastard made eye contact with me while he unbuttoned the cuffs of his sleeves and rolled them up his forearms.
He absolutely knew what he was doing. It was the male equivalent of whipping out a little cleavage, and his forearm cleavage was unfortunately superb. Trying to pull my eyes off his tanned, muscular arms was as futile as trying to open those impenetrable plastic clamshell packages with your bare hands.
“Thirsty?” he asked.
I ripped my eyes off his arms and felt the blood rush to my cheeks. “I was just noticing your scar,” I said. It was total bullshit, but he’d been enough of an ass to call me out on staring, so I didn’t feel bad for fibbing. I scanned my eyes after the fact and noticed he did actually have a scar on the back of his hand like a little white smudge.
He chuckled. “Cocktails,” he said. “I was asking if you were thirsty for cocktails.”
If it was possible, I blushed even harder. “I knew what you meant.” I definitely hadn’t known, and this was already shaping up to be a disaster of an evening.
“The scar is a pretty lame story, actually.”
“Richard King and lame in the same sentence? I’m intrigued.”
I watched him mix the drinks with mild fascination. I’d never been a drinker. When most people said that, they meant they’d had their fun in high school here and there and now they only occasionally had wine with the girls or a beer after dinner. When I said I’d never been a drinker, I meant I’d literally never been drunk. My experience with alcohol was a sip of beer when my family toured a brewery on vacation several years ago, a sip of wine at my cousin’s wedding, and that beer cheese dip you could get with pretzels sometimes.
My avoidance of alcohol had no moral explanation. It started out because I didn’t like the taste, and then I just never saw a reason to start drinking, especially when I had enough money trouble as it was.
And yet here I was, watching Rich mix up some kind of neon-blue drink with ice, lemons, and a few additions of other mysterious substances.
“Are you going to tell me about the scar?” I asked.
“Sorry, I just—” He grabbed a metal cup, flipped some of the drink into it, and shook it over his shoulder a few times. “I’ve never been a good multitasker. One-track mind kind of thing.” He sloshed a portion of the drink into each of the chilled glasses and pushed one toward me. “There. That’s a Rich King special. I call it a slutty grandma.”
I laughed. “I’m sorry. As tempting as that sounds, I’m not really a drinker.”
“What? Why not?”
“Hey, I was the one asking questions. You were supposed to tell me about your scar.” In the back of my mind, I knew I was screwing up. I’d come here with plans to be icy. Bone cold. The cold-eyed killer with a pair of rocks for ovaries. So far, I felt more like the melty-hearted teenager with a raging case of hormones and a brain that was being taken over by a vagina gone rogue. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea, and I didn’t want to give myself any more bad ideas about Rich. Iris and Miranda would disown me if I decided I wanted to give Rich a second chance. Hell, I’d disown me.
But I was being pulled along by a kind of gravity when I was with him. The right words stuck in my throat and the only ones that would come dug me deeper and deeper into trouble. The worst part was that I was starting to enjoy the kind of trouble Rich brought.
I felt alive.
I wasn’t just some small-town girl when Rich’s eyes were on me. I wasn’t the boring one of my group of friends in his eyes. I was something special. Something to be desired. Rich wanted me. Not just the idea of me. Not some version of me that might exist in the future or that existed in the past. He didn’t want to hang me like a trophy on his shelf or parade me around to further his career. He wanted me. Plain and simple. Every last word of that was true, and I knew it as clear as day when I saw the way he looked at me.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “Try a sip of my slutty grandma. Just give her a taste,” he added, and he was clearly having too much fun with the name he’d given his drink. “You do that, and I’ll tell you about my scar.”
“Fine. I’ll taste your slutty grandma,” I said with a little grin. I wondered if he knew how much I felt like I was betraying everyone and everything with that little grin and the note of playfulness in my voice. Probably. I thought Richard King was the kind of man to know exactly what he was doing at all times.
I sipped the drink and was surprised it didn’t have any of the off-putting alcohol taste that I expected. It was strong and fruity with a kind of kick in the aftertaste. “She’s not bad,” I admitted, even though I was more than tempted to take another sip. “Do I get to ask why you named a drink after your grandma?”
Rich choked out a surprised laugh. “Who says it’s not named after a fictional grandma?”
“Well, I met your parents briefly, and I’m pretty sure neither of them are carrying the slut gene. So for you and your brothers to turn into such womanizers, it had to come from somewhere. Your grandma, maybe?”
“Womanizer?” Rich filled his voice with feigned disbelief. “I can’t even manage to get a real smile out of the local sexy librarian. If I was a womanizer, somebody had better come take my card away and burn it.”
“You forgot the part where you nearly ruined said sexy librarian’s life and how she might have a good reason for holding back with you.”
He frowned. “Come on. That’s a little much, don’t you think? It was some exposé you were writing, and I spoiled it. It was absolutely an asshole move, but ruining your life?”
I fixed him with steady eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was the few sips of alcohol or the old, burning anger, but I didn’t want to hold it all in anymore.
The whole mess between the King brothers and my group of friends was like a brief, fiery car crash. Miranda had been in Nick’s friend zone for as long as any of us could remember, and Cade had been dating Iris for a few weeks. “You know I always had a huge crush on you back then,” I said.
“Bullshit.” Rich laughed. “You were the one girl in the school I knew I could never get. Just made me want you even more, though.”
I shook my head. “If you wanted me, you had a funny way of showing it.”
“You dated my brother. How was I supposed to interpret that?” Rich’s sudden shift in tone told me everything I’d always wondered. I’d stung him deeper than I realized when I dated Nick, and he still hadn’t forgotten.
“Maybe I just wanted you to notice me for once.”
Rich laughed softly. “Somehow, I’m guessing you came to regret wanting my attention.”
I sighed. No matter how I looked at it, agreeing to date Nick had been an immature and idiotic decision. I spent most of my high school career secretly swooning over Rich. I watched him work his way through the dating pool of eligible hot and popular girls week by week. I’d look at them holding hands or kissing in the hallways and feel an ugly jealousy swirling in my chest. Every touch and every kiss had felt like a personal attack.
“I still can’t believe he told you about my story. I never understood why he did that,” I said. In a lot of ways, I knew I should’ve felt angry with Nick for everything that happened. After all, if he hadn’t told Rich, I never would’ve lost my scholarship. Not for the first time, I wondered whether the real reason what happened had hurt so long hadn’t been the betrayal of trust, but who betrayed it.
I’d been writing an essay for a contest in the Washington Post. They were taking submissions, and the winner would win a free ride through college. Thanks to someone in their marketing department making a mistake, only our school and one other got any notification about the contest. In the end, about five kids entered. I knew my story could’ve won, but thanks to Rich, I never got to find out.
“He’s my brother,” Rich said. “It probably seemed like nothing to you, but being on the team was my life back then. That story might have been your ticket to a college scholarship, but it was probably going to be my ticket off the team and out of high school sports.”
For someone who had made such a big deal of apologizing to me, I hadn’t expected Rich to try to defend himself. Still, I’d never heard his side of the story. I’d only seen the hammer come down on myself and been left to assume about Rich’s motivations.
“Well,” I said. “If you weren’t doing anything wrong, why were you so scared about me writing an exposé?”
“Because I had no idea what was in it. Those were my coaches. My teammates. My friends. Nick just said you had some dirt on the athletic department, and it might mean heads were going to roll. So, yeah, I told Coach.”
“And your coach told the principal, and then I got threatened with expulsion if I didn’t promise to delete the article.”
Rich let out a long sigh through his nose. “Yeah. At the time, I just wanted you to hurt as bad as I did. It’s shitty. Admitting it is even shittier. But that’s what it was. When I found out you were with Nick—” He shook his head, and even seven years later, I could still see the ghost of those emotions flicker across his face. “I never even stopped to think how much it might fuck up for you. I just did it.” He grabbed one of the liquor bottles on the counter and took a long pull directly from the bottle.
I pressed my lips together in a sad smile. “Yeah, well, it all worked out in the end. Didn’t it? My dad was happy to pay for my classes. I guess it’s the politician in him, but he never passed up opportunities to collect favors. Everyone had to owe him something. I honestly think it meant more than money to him. In my case, I know it did. When I wanted to leave West Valley after school to chase a job in another school district, he didn’t let me forget that I still owed him too much to leave. Not money, of course, but I was his precious daughter. How would it look if I was so eager to leave behind my father, the mayor? What kind of family man can’t keep his only child at home?” I laughed suddenly. “Jesus. Listen to me. I sound so bitter. Besides, it’s not like you were the only bad guy here. I was the one who dated your brother to spite you.”
Rich’s forehead was scrunched together in concentration. His hand still gripped the bottle of liquor, but his knuckles were white, and I could see the tendons in his arm straining. “No.” His voice was quiet, reserved. He shook his head again. “I never imagined what I did would hurt you so badly, but I meant to hurt you. I can’t pretend I’m innocent, and I’m so fucking sorry for that. But sorry is just a word, and it’s not enough.”
He set the bottle down with a sudden, startling clank. He shook his arms around and rolled his head from side to side like a boxer about to step into the ring. “I think there’s only one way to solve this. I need you to punch me as hard as you can. Right in the face.”
I laughed. “What? No. I’m not going to punch you. Besides, it’s not like that would even make me feel better.”
“Punch me,” he said. He took another long pull from one of the bottles and then shook off the burn with a groan. “Come on. Do it.”
“You’re serious?”
“Punch me in the face, or I’m going to kick you out and never speak to you again. I won’t forgive you if you don’t do it.”
My eyebrows drew together. “Rich. Come on. This is ridiculous.”
He tapped his jaw. “Right here. Just do it.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“Then I’m done talking to you.”
I didn’t plan on actually doing it, but before I knew what was happening, my fist was balled up and flying toward his face. It felt like I watched everything happen in slow motion, from my fist arcing through the air to Rich’s widening, surprised eyes.
I connected with his eye, even though I’d been aiming for his jaw. He flinched back and then stared at me in openmouthed disbelief. “Are you crazy?” he asked.
“What?” I still had both my fists up like I was getting ready for nine rounds. I let them fall, feeling very, very silly. “You told me—”
“I was fucking with you. Jesus.” He laughed, then touched his eye and winced. “And who the hell punches somebody in the eye?”
“I was aiming for you there,” I said, putting my fingertips toward his jaw, but he flinched back and laughed again.
“Sorry,” he said. “I just get gun shy around people who punch me in the eye without warning.”
I crossed my arms and glared at him, but I couldn’t help smiling a little. “Really? You practically demanding that I punch you wasn’t warning enough?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d have the balls to do it.”
“Who says you need balls to do something brave?” I asked. “Why do testicles get so much credit? What does a shriveled-up, hairy bag have to do with conquering your fears? It’d make just about as much sense as saying, Damn, that took boobs.”
Rich thought about that. “First of all, my balls are not shriveled. And manscaping should be an important part of every guy’s routine. I’m not sure what kind of balls you’ve been playing with, but—”
“None,” I said quickly.
His eyebrow shot up. “So you’re either antiballs or a virgin? Is that what you’re telling me?”
I grabbed the drink and took another sip, but I couldn’t manage to peel my eyes from his. “I’m not telling you anything.”
“Fine. Keep your secrets. If I press you too hard for them, you’ll probably hit me again.”
“Stop.” I laughed. “I’m not violent. You’re the one who begged me to do it.”
He smiled. “If I knew begging was so effective with you, I would’ve tried it a long time ago.”
“Oh? And what would you have begged for?”
He leaned closer. “A few minutes ago, it would’ve been forgiveness. Now I don’t want your forgiveness. I don’t think I deserve it. I just want to make it up to you.”
I shook my head. “No. Look . . . what you did sucked. But honestly? I think I only agreed to date Nick out of some messed-up desire to get you back. I may not have realized it at the time, but I think that’s what it was.”
“Get me back? I hardly thought you noticed me.”
I laughed. “You’re serious? I was one step away from building a shrine to you in my closet. I hated that I was obsessed with you.”
“Damn. Some womanizer I am. I spent most of high school thinking you thought you were too good for me. When I heard you were dating Nick, I lost it. I felt like shit after I went to Coach, but it was all like a blur.”
I took another sip of the drink he’d made me. I noticed with a little shock of surprise that I was draining the last bit of liquid in the glass. When had I even taken the second sip, let alone the dozens that must’ve followed? “How do I know you’re not just pretending you had a crush on me back then? Maybe this is a ploy to get me to forgive you. I mean, seriously, you had the entire town in the palm of your hand. Why would I believe you so much as noticed me?”
“I can think of one way to convince you I’m not full of shit.”
“Oh? I’d love to see that.”
I realized he’d crossed to my side of the counter without my noticing. I also realized he was standing dangerously close. So close I could’ve counted each of his thick eyelashes. Close enough that I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. I breathed in, and his scent overwhelmed me. It didn’t smell like cologne or soap. It was his smell, and it was soft but absolutely intoxicating.
“Since we seem to have a hard time reading each other,” he said. Each word sent a puff of his hot breath against my lips. He was so close now. “I’m about to kiss you. I didn’t want any confusion this time. I’d also prefer if you didn’t punch me again. That really hurt.”
“And I’m about to let you,” I whispered.
There was a world outside this moment, but none of it felt like it mattered. There’d be consequences and drama and maybe even tears, but trying to think about that was like worrying about the price of gas when I was eighty. It was so impossibly distant and so impossibly irrelevant.
Rich was here. His lips were parted and soft and so, so inviting. What else mattered?
He kissed me, or I kissed him. I didn’t know who made the final plunge across those spare, electrified inches between our lips, and I didn’t care.
I could taste the citrusy aftertaste of the cocktail on his lips and on his tongue. I felt like I’d been on a deserted island for years and somebody had just handed me an ice cream cone—except I was making out with the ice cream cone and not eating it, but that wasn’t the point. The point was it had taken only one taste of him to know how starved I’d been for this moment. I was ready for the moment when his strong arms were going to pick me up and carry me off to a bedroom somewhere, but just as quickly as it began, it was over.
My lips were tingling all over, and my cheeks were red and alive from where his stubble had brushed against me.
He lifted me easily, and wrapping my legs around his waist felt frighteningly natural. I felt us teetering backward, but I couldn’t make myself care about where we were going or why. My brain was too wrapped up in his kisses and following the burning path of nerves that trailed everywhere he touched me.
My back bumped against a wall, and his hard body pressed harder into mine. My hips slid down until I could feel the bulge of his arousal against me. Fallen tree or standing tree, it was big. I didn’t need to investigate to know that.
Suddenly it all felt very, very real. I’d crossed over the line of getting caught up in the moment and then fallen headfirst down the hill of irreversible decisions. I was tumbling and tumbling deeper into him, and I couldn’t find the will to even try to stop. I wanted this. Consequences be damned, I wanted Rich.
His hand found the hem of my shirt and slid up my stomach to find my bra. He gripped me there as his hips started slowly rocking into me. There was a music in his movements, like we were tangled in some silent dance, but we both instinctively knew the beat.
He tore his mouth from mine and kissed his way down my neck as his touch became more hungry. His hand found its way inside my bra. I barely felt the way my bra was digging into my back as he forced his hand under and cupped me there. A switch in my brain had flipped where every sensation that came from Rich was good—better than good. It was ecstasy.
And then it was gone.
I realized I was standing on my own again, back against the wall. The pleasant pressure of his manhood throbbing against me was gone, and all that was left of his kisses was the pulsing tingle on my lips. Rich stood inches away from me, eyes down and jaw flexed.
“Wow,” I said.
“Sorry.” He was biting his lip, and he did it in the way only hot guys could. There was nothing vulnerable about the gesture. It was predatory and full of dirty promise. “As much as I’d love to take this further, you’re probably tipsy.”
He was offering me an out. I could see it in his face. He was absolutely ready to dive back in. He wanted to dive back in, but he also knew we’d both been swept up in a moment. I felt my respect for him swell. He was a good guy. Yet I knew convincing myself that Rich wasn’t the enemy was only part of the battle. One third of it, to be exact. Until Iris and Miranda believed it, letting this go on with Rich would be like dropping a nuclear warhead in the center of our friendship.
I closed my eyes and summoned up all the advice I’d ever been given about drugs, alcohol, and sex as a teenager. Just say no. Just say no. Knowing his touch was only one whispered word away was pure torture, but I grimaced and forced the right words out—the ones that wouldn’t destroy my friendship.
“You’re probably right,” I said. I was proud of myself for agreeing with him. My vagina had been driving my brain like it had both hands on the wheel—if vaginas had hands, at least. I’d been ready to let it drive the whole thing over a cliff and watch it all burn down if it meant I got to have one more minute of Rich’s hands on me, but distance was good. I was already seeing more clearly, and I knew it didn’t matter how much we’d misunderstood each other in the past. What mattered was my friends. Miranda and Iris would never forgive me, and coming clean about the kiss was going to be bad enough as it was. At least now I could say we’d stopped it before it got out of hand.
“Damn. I was hoping you’d try to convince me you were sober.” He was grinning, and his cheeks were flushed. I couldn’t help letting my eyes wander down to those lips and feel a sense of wonderment that they’d been on mine only seconds ago. It was amazing how a few minutes of conversation and maybe a few too many sips of alcohol could change things.
“No. You’re right. This isn’t a good idea.”
“So no codirector lessons for tonight, I take it?”
“Not until your slutty grandma is out of my system. No. Thank you for tonight, Rich.”
“Yeah. Anytime.”
I gave him one last lingering look before I grabbed my purse and headed for the door. I’d hardly known how I was going to survive Rich and his insistence on being involved in my life again before, but now I had absolutely no idea. This was hard enough when my feelings for him had been buried. Now that they were dug up and out in the open, it was going to be impossible, but I had to find a way.