Page 56 of His Good Girl

“And for today.”

His expression softened, and I almost wished it hadn’t. I was better equipped for the heat than the tenderness. Heat could be blamed on biology. Tenderness felt like something I did not know how to survive.

“You earned today,” he said.

I shook my head slightly. “You gave me a chance.”

“Yes. And you showed up for it.”

The words settled over me, warm and unbearable. I wanted, suddenly and fiercely, to be the person he seemed to think I could become.

“I’ll be there at nine,” I said.

“I know.”

“You sound very sure.”

“I am.”

“Benjamin will probably be disappointed.”

“Benjamin is nourished by disappointment. Don’t worry about him.”

I smiled, then looked toward my building. The lock still looked terrible. The hallway light flickered behind the glass. My apartment was upstairs, with its laundry chair and unpaid bills and the bed where I had thought about this man the night beforewith my hand between my thighs and shame burning under my skin.

The memory rose so abruptly that I stilled.

Callum noticed.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Avery.”

I looked back at him, and the car felt suddenly too small. There were so many things I could not say.

I was thinking about last night.

I was thinking about you.

I was thinking about your hand on my back and your mouth on my throat and all the ways I should not want you.

Instead, I said, “Tomorrow feels important.”

“It is.”

“I’m nervous.”

“I know.”

“Is that obvious?”

“To me, yes.”

That should have annoyed me. Instead, my core fluttered again, because apparently being known by him was quickly becoming indistinguishable from being touched.

He leaned slightly toward me, only enough to lower his voice. “Nerves are not the problem. Letting them make decisions for you is the problem.”