Page 42 of The One Timer

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered. Adorable all the time, really— No, I take that back. Normally, you’re flat-out sexy as hell.”

Her face flushes the exact same way I remember it doing that night. I try suppressing a groan, unsuccessfully.

She clears her throat. “We had a night to remember. I want to leave it at that. We agreed.”

“That agreement was struck before we spent the night, before we knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That we have the kind of combustible chemistry I’ve never experienced before.” I take a breath and go for it, my voice a whisper. “That I want to experience again.”

She flinches but meets my gaze as I stop at a light, my left foot depressing the clutch while my right foot automatically pumps the gas, revving the engine, though not as revved as I am.

“We can’t, Chase. And now that you know who I am, you know why.”

I frown more out of confusion than frustration. “I have no idea why, Em. We’ve already established that Gran would never fire you. She adores you. I don’t remember her ever inviting her personal assistant to a game or dinner⁠—”

“It’s not that she doesn’t like me; it’s that I’m so out of place. I don’t belong. I work for your gran; I’m not her friend. Hell, I’m not even her personal assistant, though she treats me that way. I’m her personal care assistant—and only because she doesn’t require much nursing. All I do is take her blood pressure and⁠—”

“Wait a second. Hold on. You’re a nurse?” The blood drains from my face at the possibility.

Because there’s nothing in the world I loathe and fear more than anything medical. That includes hospitals, ambulances, sirens, doctors, and most especially, nurses.

As we stare at each other, I try to keep the panic from rising and the memories from swamping me. But her face gets hazy, and I don’t see her anymore. I see the nurse from the hospital that night, and my blood freezes.

“Chase?” She touches my arm as I hold it stiffly on the steering wheel. A horn sounds from the car behind me, and I snap into the moment, realizing the light’s turned green.

Letting out the clutch, I slam on the gas pedal and move fast, like I need to escape. But I know better because it’s impossible to escape from what happened that night.

Chapter Fifteen

EMERY

Watching the blood drain from his face has me worried, and I look for a place to pull over, but he returns to himself.

“You’ll have to navigate for me,” he says. “I have no idea where you live.”

“Take the next right.” I direct him to my sad little neighborhood in a very much rundown section of Dorchester. I’m reconciled to the inevitability of him seeing where I come from. Maybe then, he’ll realize why a thing between us wouldn’t work.

He says nothing as he drives the purring Porsche.

I’m not the kind of girl he can be with, not for long anyway. And I’m also not the kind of girl who wants a fling that goes nowhere—despite what my bestie thinks. Despite what my hormones are telling me right now.

I have the kind of heart that’s far too breakable. When I care, I care all the way, down deep and thoroughly, and no amount of reason, agreement, or acknowledgment that it’s temporary will prevent me from caring the longer I’m involved.

And I know I could fall far too easily for a guy like Chase. He’s the exact Prince Charming made to order for this Cinderella story.

However, most of all, the reason we can’t be together is that I’m no Cinderella. I have an escape route from my Aunt already planned. No, that’s not fair. I’m not escaping from an evil stepmother or anything like that, but I am planning to move out and stand on my own two feet. As soon as I get my nursing degree, I’ll be an independent woman, on my own, and finally able to pay back my Aunt, to make her whole, and maybe even relieve some of her misery.

Keeping my face turned to the window, I can’t bear to see his face, his reaction to the trash-lined street, old cars, and chain-link fenced yards protecting houses with peeling paint, cracked and boarded windows, and dirt yards spotted with weeds.

“This is it.” I direct him to stop at a two-family house on the right with a porch light left on by my Aunt. Her tiny gesture of consideration makes me smile, and my chest tightens.

“I can’t invite you inside.” It’s hard enough letting him see my neighborhood. There’s no point in him seeing that I sleep on the living room couch and that all my belongings are confined to a single three-drawer chest and one-fourth of a closet.

He reaches over and touches my cheek, a whisper of his knuckles compelling me to turn and face him. “Hey, talk to me. I want to understand where you’re coming from because we had a connection that night, something special. Something that could be fun. Like maybe we ought to consider another night or two together.”

“You mean, have a fling?”