“I love you, Lil. I’m really sorry. I just couldn’t deal with a fight tonight.”

“I know, just go. I’ll get over it.” I always did.

I hung up the phone, hating how she let Owen dictate her every move. We were living in 2020, for God’s sake, not the 1950s when women were expected to be mealymouthed possessions that kept the house spotless and didn’t bitch about being perennially barefoot and pregnant. Why she purposefully chose a life of servitude was a puzzle I’d never piece together. I would rather be forty, single, and childless than be prisoner to my spouse—and I was . . . single, childless, and loving it, that is.

Maybe loving it was a bit much. A slight exaggeration. The dating game was played out, and I’d grown bored with my empty evenings in my empty apartment with my empty love life. Yeah, I’d had my share of one-night stands. I’d done the walk of shame, tottering home and leaving my dignity behind. Can I help it if guys find me irresistible? And I admit, I was drawn to the bad boys, the swaggering hunks that knew how to find my G-spot, but weren’t good for anything else. Mostly bums looking for a sugar mamma that I ditched after I’d used them for what I wanted: a good screw. And, if I’m being honest with myself, to dull the pain of a life less-loved.

Did I want to find a wonderful man who would treat me right and give me the white-picket-fence life every woman—no matter how hardened—secretly wanted? Sure. But I had already done that and lost him. Maybe singlehood was my fate. Yep, that was me. A whiz with money, a loser with love.

Except for the one man I couldn’t have. The only man who made me laugh from my belly, who made my skin tingle when he brushed against it, who gave me hot dreams that I wanted to slip into forever. I couldn’t tell anyone about my feelings for him, though. He was my little secret, and I was his. Together we were a dangerous explosive.

It wasn’t as if we had done anything but flirt . . . so far. But we toyed with the idea of more. Foreplay at its finest. His fingertips grazing my neck. My lips brushing against his ear. His hands lightly exploring the curves of my ass. He wanted sex; I wanted a love story. I was tired of being the girl who didn’t get the guy. It always ended before it began, but my resolve was growing weary. Especially tonight. I needed an outlet—anything to distract me from thoughts of him.