“And whose fault is that?”

“Mine. Entirely mine,” I conceded.

What I didn’t tell her was I was going to rectify that oversight as quickly as I could.

Since the door had been opened and the damage done, I’d decided we were going to enjoy each other as much as we could. I was going to gorge on every inch of her until our time was up. And if I was lucky, when the time came, she wouldn’t want to leave. I wasn’t stupid enough to think sex alone would get her to stay. I was willing to do anything—I’d tie myself in knots until I convinced her to take a chance on me.

I was starting with orgasms but then I’d give her something she couldn’t get in California—a family. I wouldn’t have to do anything but introduce her to Brooklyn, Letty, and Sadie. From there they’d do the rest. Those women were pathologically friendly. They’d take one look at Sloane, listen to her story, and they’d pull her into the fold.

That was how I’d win her over.

That was how I’d get her to stay.

Because a life without Sloane wasn’t an option.

“Wow, you…um…live here?”

Sloane’s eyes went around the great room, taking in the sparsely furnished space. The sawhorses, the saws, nail gun, tarps, and paint cans.

I couldn’t help the burst of laughter. She looked positively scandalized at the state of my unfinished downstairs.

“Why are you laughing at me?” she huffed.

“Bet you wish you would’ve asked where you were staying before you agreed to come to Idaho with me,” I said, still chuckling.

“Take that back,” she snapped, and a hand went to her hip.

The truth was I wasn’t well-versed in all the ways a woman communicated her displeasure. However, some of the telltale signs were pretty obvious. The hand on the hip being a dead giveaway I’d pissed her off.

“Baby, I’m joking.”

“I’m not stuck up.”

“I know you’re not. I was joking.”

“So take it back.”

Obviously, I’d misjudged the hand on the hip.

She wasn’t pissed—she was pissed. As in flames were going to start shooting out of her eyeballs at any moment. Pissed in a way that meant I needed to sleep with one eye open if I didn’t want to be a ball short of a pair in the morning.

“Okay, I’ll take it back if you tell me what’s wrong.”

Her other hand came up and she raked her fingers through her hair.

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

Both hands fell to her sides, but I wasn’t dumb enough to think I was out of the woods. This seemed like one of those feminine ruses that lulled a man into a false sense of security, so I let my guard down.

But still, I asked, “Why are you sorry?”

“I’m tired and grouchy and I’ve had a shit day. I’m still freaked out about what I heard and Lorenzo setting up a meeting for you to buy a person. That’s insane. Totally crazy. Who sells a person? What kind of person buys a human? I miss Elise like crazy. I miss her so much I’ve convinced myself she’s coming home. I want to pick up the phone and call her. I want to text her and tell her about you. I want her to give me advice. I want to sit with her on our couch with a glass of wine and a bag of popcorn and tell her I finally had good sex. I want her to tell me I’m crazy for working at Club Joi and get mad at me for putting my life in danger. She’d be so pissed at me, she’d yell and cuss but then she’d forgive me because that’s what best friends do.”