Page 40 of Cocky Tech God
“No. God, no,” she said quickly, and added, “I appreciate the champagne, Hansen. Really nice to see you, Ms. Everette. I hope we can get a moment to chat before this conference is over.”
“Sure. Schedule something with my assistant.”
“Thank you,” Lucia said, and before I could say another word, she left us.
“Poor thing.”
I sat down, straining for another glance of Lucia’s navy dress. But she was out of sight. I turned to Calista, “I know. I guess we did drink a bit much at dinner.”
Calista lifted her eyebrow. “Your next victim?”
Shit. Had I been careless? “No. Trust me, I’d be her next victim, not the other way around.”
“Ah, but you want to be, don’t you?”
I breathed in. “I’m not her type.”
“Oh, please.” She waved her hand. “You’re everyone’s type, Hansen. Even the ones who don’t want a one-night stand.”
I wanted to refute that, even though it was true.
“We’re colleagues who live in the same city and see each other in a professional environment regularly.” I took a sip.
Calista leaned on her elbow, the side of her face in her palm. “Why don’t you do relationships anymore, Hansen? I know you were once married.”
“I was married to the love of my life, and she left. So…I’m just focusing on me.”
“Meaning, better to keep that protective shell around you so you don’t get hurt.”
I clutched the champagne flute. “What are you, my therapist now?”
“No.” She looked away. I offended her.
“Look, if I wanted a relationship, I’d have to change my whole life. And I quite like my penthouse without pink ruffled pillows.”
Calista chuckled. “No, pink is not your color.”
What she didn’t know was I was in a relationship with Lucia. Even if only for the week. And my life had already felt like it had changed. How, I wasn’t sure.
And for better or worse, I most definitely wasn’t sure.
Lucia
The next morning, I was in the shower with a headache the size of Texas. Water poured over my face like tiny pellets on my screaming skull. As much as I wanted to repress the last leg of our night, I couldn’t stop replaying the conversation with Calista.
My hand ran down my stomach to my scar. And the words of my doctor three years ago came back to me. You can’t have children. Then the words of my then fiancé came right after. I’m sorry, I want to have children. My own children—not adopted. You can’t give that to me. So, I can’t make you my wife.
The click of the shower door made me jump, and then warm hands wrapping around me set all my female parts on fire again. I dodged the questions I knew Hansen had when I bolted from the night cap with Calista. I’d fallen asleep almost instantly, the room twirling me to dreamland.
“You’re up. I hope you are feeling better,” Hansen said.
Considering Hansen was a guy to leave while the sheets were still warm, he was being very sweet. Even when he didn’t have to be anything. Being sweet and thoughtful wasn’t in our contract for this fling.
He was wearing running shorts and a white t-shirt draped around his neck. He’d gone running on the beach again, apparently. I let him pull me into him and didn’t point out the obvious as I wanted to: his shorts and shirt were getting soaked under the shower.
“You feel good,” he purred in my ear, making all my nerve endings stand on end. Sensations flowed through me again, as they always did when he was close.
I warmed to him, my defenses falling. I didn’t know how or why it sounded like a good idea to just hold him in the shower all day.