He looks at his watch. “Come to think of it, I don’t have anything going on at the moment. Do you want to check them out now?”

My skin tingles. The birds sing. The sun kicks its heels in the sky.

But a voice reminds me—he’s a risk you can’t take.

I silence the voice. There’s nothing risky about doing this because nothing will happen with Flynn. Not now, and not in two weeks.

“I do want to.”

I’m not dating him, and we’re not together, nor can we be, so he can’t hurt me. He can’t stab me in the back with a rusty serrated knife and move halfway around the world, going radio silent.

Flynn is work, and we are professionals who like spending time together. There’s nothing more to it, and my heart is safely locked in the steel cage I built for it with the remains of my failed un-wedding.

That’s what I tell myself as we ride past the Worth Street stop and he points out the shuttered station’s name on the tiled columns, then the closed Eighteenth Street station that’s now merely a home for graffiti.

When we finish checking out the hidden treasures of the city’s transit system, I feel refreshed and vibrant, like I’ve gone on a great date.

In an alternate world, this date would lead to me taking him back to my tiny place, grabbing the collar of his shirt, and yanking him close. He’d push me against my kitchen counter, spread my legs, and fuck me. A spark tears through me like a fire lit and roaring as I imagine Flynn parting my thighs, tearing off my panties, and filling me.

So deep.

So good.

I could get lost in him. I could get lost in his kiss, his rough and tender touch. I could disappear into bliss, and let it consume my hurt. The pleasure would burn away any lingering ache from the past.

We could be Angel and Duke again for a night.

But us too. I want to know how it feels to be us and to be them.

I want that because this feels like the best date I’ve been on in ages.

That’s why when I’m home that night, I resist every urge to text him and tell him what fun I had. I abstain from sending him math jokes or grammar puns. That would be something I’d do post-date and this—this was work.

That echoes through my mind as we set a time for our next interview. Because that will only be work as well.

That way, he can’t become Ray.

He can’t leave me for no reason.

Because I won’t let him in.

But he texts me the next day. As the duke.

17

Flynn

Duke: What’s your favorite place?

Angel: Too many to name.

Duke: You made me pick.

Angel: Made you pick? Did I twist your arm?

Duke: Yes. My wrist still hurts from your sheer, brute strength.

Angel: I’m powerful.