Chapter 24

Hayden

My nightat Victoria's house isn't what I expected, but it's exactly what I needed. After dinner, we watched a movie, then went to her bedroom. Towels and a shower afterward took care of any mess, and the sex was as relaxed and indulgent as the rest of the evening. I fell asleep with her spooning against me, my arms wrapped around her, and I swear I got the best sleep of my life.

Morning arrives far too early, my phone vibrating in its spot on the bedside table to wake me up. Blearily, I partially disentangle myself from Victoria—though we're not spooning anymore, she's snuggled into my chest instead—and pick up my phone to see why it won't stop vibrating.

It's Brady. Because of course it is.

I let it go to voicemail—don't want to send it there because then he'll know I'm choosing to ignore his call and not just missing it because I'm asleep—and see I have about fifteen texts from him as well. I scroll through them quickly. It's all a theme and variations on asking where I am.

One-handed, I type out a response letting him know I'm fine and will be back later today, but right now I don't want to move, don't want to disturb Victoria, don't want to acknowledge that all too soon I'll have to leave this little cocoon of rightness and go back to what passes for normal for me. I know Victoria will have to go pick up her kid at some point, and I'm in no rush to make that happen.

But when I wrap myself around her, she stirs, stretching and blinking awake, looking adorable and sleep rumpled. Unable to help myself, I kiss her forehead, her cheek, then her lips.

She makes a soft sound in her throat, adjusting her position so she can kiss me more easily.

This is heaven.

And then my phone starts ringing again, and I swear to god, I want to chuck that thing across the room for interrupting me. Because even though I'm happy to ignore it—it's Brady again for sure, my text only serving to alert him that I'm awake and near my phone—Victoria pulls away, props herself up on her elbow—which puts her tits delightfully close to my face—and glances at my incessantly buzzing phone.

"Shouldn't you get that?" she asks, her voice still husky with sleep.

In response, I wrap my tongue around one of her nipples, which makes her produce a gratifying moan of pleasure. Her nipples are so sensitive right now that I don't have to do much to get that response, and I make sure to keep the pressure light so it's not overwhelming for her.

"God, that feels good," she sighs, her fingers skating through my hair. But then my phone starts up again, and she says, "It sounds like someone really wants to get ahold of you."

Releasing her nipple, I flop onto my back with a groan. "It's Brady. He's been bugging me all morning, and from how persistent he is, you'd think someone's dying or the world's on fire, but he probably just wants to go over script revisions before tomorrow."

To my dismay, Victoria reaches for her own phone, her eyes going wide when she checks the time.

"You have to go, though." It's a statement, not a question. The look on her face tells me everything I need to know.

Her eyes are soft and regretful, and she nods. "Yeah. I told Jen I'd pick Erin up at nine thirty, and it's already after nine. I have to throw on some clothes and head over there."

"Which means I have to go too."

She nods.

Propping myself on one arm, I reach the other around her, kissing her soundly. She lets me, even though I know she has to go. But eventually she tenses up beneath me, and I place one more soft kiss on her lips. "I know," I whisper, kissing her again. "You have to go. And so do I. Brady'll be grateful, at least."

She kisses me again, and I love that she's feeling comfortable enough to initiate now. "I don't know when we'll be able to do this again." The statement is as regretful as the look she gave me after she saw the time.

"I know." One more kiss, and then I force myself to climb out of her bed. If I don't, I won't be able to stop kissing her. And I don't want to be responsible for her being late to pick up her kid.

After picking up my clothes, I glance at her and find her watching me get dressed, her eyes glued to my body.

I've had plenty of women look at me with lust on their faces over the years, but it's never felt as good as this. "If you keep looking at me like that, I can't be responsible for my actions," I tell her, the words a low, gravelly rumble in my chest.

Her eyes jump to mine, and she gives me a sly smile. "As much as I'd like to take you up on that, I don't think either of us have time."

My breath comes out on a sigh that's more frustrated than I intended.

"I'm sorry—" she starts, but I cut her off with a shake of my head and a slash of my hand through the air.

"No. No apologies. Don't be sorry about being a good mom. I just wish our schedules allowed for more freedom. If I knew I'd get to see you again tonight, I wouldn't have so much trouble leaving now."

Her smile is sad. "I know. I wish I could see you tonight too, but …" She lifts a hand, making a feeble gesture of helplessness.

I nod. "I know. I get it."

She climbs out of bed and heads to the bathroom. When she comes out, I'm fully dressed, though she's still only in the panties she slept in. I want nothing more than to peel them off her and have my way with her again. I think next time we manage to arrange a sleepover, I'm setting an alarm to be sure we have time for morning sex. In my fantasy, we'd have all morning for lazy morning sex, brunch, and lounging in the nude. Or at least seminude.

But I keep those thoughts to myself because I know they can't happen. That's not our arrangement, and I'm lucky to have gotten her for this long.

She crosses to her dresser and pulls out some clothes, making quick work of dressing, dragging her hair back into a ponytail, then turning to face me again. "Thank you for last night," she starts but doesn't finish because I've crossed the room and cut her off with a kiss.

I don't know why I don't want a thank you, but I don't. I don't want it to seem like I was doing her a favor when, in reality, it was the other way around. "No thanks necessary," I murmur against her lips, satisfaction filling me at the sound of her sigh.

"All the same," she murmurs as she pulls away, patting my chest before stepping back. "I enjoyed you being here." Her lips twist as she glances to the side like she's not sure she should say what's on her mind, but then she says, "I hope we can make it happen again."

"Me too." And I don't think I've ever uttered more heartfelt words in my life.

"Hayden," Brady says when I show up at the house, coming out to meet me and looking relieved. "Where have you been? I've been trying to get ahold of you all morning. What's going on?" He looks behind me as I climb out of my car, like someone's about to pop out of the bushes. Or, I suppose, the SUV.

"Don't worry about it," I tell him, hoping he'll take the hint and drop it.

Crossing his arms, he studies me, his eyes narrowed. "Where were you?" This time the question is more pointed—closer to an interrogation than the semiworried series of questions from a second ago.

"Out." I cross my arms too, mimicking his stance, feeling like a teenager who's been caught sneaking in. Except I'm actually older than Brady—only by six months, but he's definitely not any kind of father figure in my life—and I don't have to answer to him.

His eyes narrow more, and I'm not sure how he can see out of such tiny slits. I think it's supposed to be intimidating, but I've known Brady too long to be intimidated by him, and he's not exactly an intimidating guy anyway.

Sighing, I drop my arms. "What did you want, Brady?" I gesture at the house behind him. "The house is still standing. Was there a fire on set?"

He jerks his head back, his eyes returning to normal, his lips pursed in surprise. "What? No. Not that I know of. Wait. Why? What have you heard?"

This sigh is even more exasperated than the last. "Nothing. Dude. What is your problem?"

He throws his hands in the air. "What's my problem? What's your problem? I get back from filming and want to talk to you about the day and what's coming up next, and you're nowhere to be found. You're out all night. And now you won't even tell me—" His face completely changes, going from angry and frustrated one second to sly and knowing in the next. This ability of his to completely change his expression at the drop of a hat is part of why he's such a good actor. Most of his career has been rom-coms and lighter films, but I think he just got stuck there after doing so well as a teen actor. Or maybe he chose those roles on purpose because he enjoys them more than high drama, but he'd kill in one of those serious period pieces. Dude emotes like no other.

He snaps his fingers, distracting me from my thoughts. "I know what this is. You were with someone. Who is she? Where'd you go? And why all the secrecy?"

Shaking my head, I cross my arms again. "I just needed to get away, man. It's not a big deal." That line would've been more believable if I'd led with it. "I had my phone on Do Not Disturb. Because of the whole wanting to get away and be left alone thing."

His eyes narrow again like he's trying to suss out if I'm telling the truth. "Where were you then? Where'd you go to ‘get away.'" He makes dramatic air quotes with his fingers.

"I drove for a while until I found a hotel and decided to stop there for the night." I keep my voice and my gaze steady, ignoring the urge to look away, to broadcast any tells that I'm lying through my teeth.

One of his eyebrows arches high on his forehead. "What was it called?"

I shrug one shoulder. "Didn't really pay attention to that, man. I wasn't exactly planning on looking it up to leave a Yelp review or recommend it as accommodations for future projects."

He rolls his eyes at that. "Fine." He points at me, his eyes narrowing again. "I don't really believe you, for the record, but you're obviously not going to tell me the truth. The least you could do is come inside and talk to me about everything." He waves his hands dramatically to illustrate what he means by everything.

Rubbing a hand over my face, I sigh again, but this time it's more resigned than anything. "Can I at least take a shower first?"

That eyebrow climbs his forehead again. "What? You didn't take one at the roach motel you stayed in last night?"

I chuckle on an exhale, shaking my head. "It wasn't exactly planned, dude. I just drove until I felt like stopping. I didn't pack a bag or anything. Since I was coming back here, I figured I'd just shower when I got back."

"Fine," he huffs, stomping toward the house. "Take your shower. But if you disappear again …"

I hold up my hands in surrender. "I have no intention of disappearing today. I swear."

"Good. Meet me in my room as soon as you're done."

Shaking my head, I follow him inside, heading to my room to shower, grateful I have at least that much of a reprieve. I'm under no illusion that Brady won't continue poking at my story, trying to find out the truth.

And part of me wants to tell him. He's one of the few people that I've been able to confide in over the years. He wouldn't judge me. Well, not too harshly, anyway.

But I promised Victoria we wouldn't tell anyone.

What do we do when they figure it out anyway?