Page 42 of Bad Decisions

Will was gone when I walked back upstairs. Only Blake Carlson remained at that end of the bar. I was tempted to ask him about Will, but better sense prevailed, and instead I returned to my date, who was waiting patiently at our table.

Honestly, it was better that Will wasn’t there to witness me delivering the speech that I had always planned to make to Henry tonight. Henry was an absolute gentleman about the whole situation, leaving shortly afterward, and the reason that I’m now walking home alone, talking to Cara.

“How?” I tilt my head to the side. “Will made it pretty clear he doesn’t want anything to do with me.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “His goodbye sounded final.” Unshed tears turn my vision watery.

“Only because he thinks you’re dating someone else. Remember, it was only this afternoon that he told you he wants to be with you. That hasn’t changed. He just misunderstood the situation. Go see him.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” I suggest, and it’s only so I can imagine for one night that I might be able to fix this like Cara believes.

“Why not tonight?” It’s her total boss lady tone that she uses when a patient doesn’t want to do the exercises that will help them. And I finally understand why it works.

I stop in the middle of the sidewalk, turn, and look back the way I came. Will’s Airbnb is on the same block as the clinic, so not far.

“You’re right. I should do this tonight.” I’m already striding back toward Will, with Cara cheering me on through my earbuds. And it’s not long before I’m standing in front of Will’s building.

Shallow breaths and sweaty palms aren’t a good start. I smooth my hands down the sides of my dress, hoping to dry them. It doesn’t work. I wish I still had Cara and her encouraging words in my ear.

A man clears his throat behind me, and I nearly jump out of my skin.

“Can I help you, miss?” the elderly gent asks.

“Thank you, but I’m just here to visit … a friend.” I wave my hand at the board, then continue babbling, “Number twenty-three.”

The address and apartment number Will wrote on the clinic forms are embedded in my memory from that first day.

The gentleman steps past me to open the door, then stands back to let me through. “It’s the second floor to the right.”

“Umm, thank you,” I say before choosing to climb the stairs instead of waiting for the ancient lift he directs me to. I race up them, and by the time I reach the second level, I’m out of breath. The air wheezes in and out of my lungs in rapid gasps, echoing along the otherwise silent hallway. It’s all nerves, not from lack of fitness.

The door to number twenty-three looms in front of me, and my heart pumps harder. This is it. An unremarkable apartment door, but behind it is hopefully my future.

The fear of losing Will on one of his missions has been surpassed by the fear of never again feeling his arms pull me closer, his lips sealed to mine, or our bodies merging into one as he makes love to me. My life would be nothing without that.

With a deep breath in, my fingers curl into a fist.

Knock, knock, knock.

In the silent hallway, it echoes like a drum being banged, and when I hear movement on the other side, I steady my stance, feet hip-width apart.

The door opens, and a shirtless Will stands on the other side.

“Jewel?”

“Will!”

He props one thick, muscled arm against the frame, and I just about drool. If anything, his body is even more taut than I remember. His rectus abdominis and external obliques are textbook perfect.

“I see you haven’t given up your habit of staring at my muscles.” But tonight, there’s no humor in his tone, only storm clouds brewing in the depths of his gaze.

“Hazard of the profession,” I mutter, and I force my gaze up to meet his.

“What happened to your date?”

“He left when I explained that I didn’t think we had a romantic connection,” I admit, holding his gaze.

He stands unnaturally still, staring down at me, and I wish I knew what he’s thinking. He can read me like a textbook, but when Will’s shutters are down, he might as well be wearing dark reflective goggles for all the good it would do.

“Can I come in?” I ask, holding on to my confidence with a grip as tight as the one on my bag strap.