“Great. If you know of options before the seventh, then call me. If not, you can just let me know the dates and times then,” Reagan said as she turned to collect her notes from the table.

Jill made a mental note to do that, but her thoughts drifted to the night at the bar. The softness and heat of Reagan’s lips and mouth. She wanted to feel them again. Over the past two weeks, Jill had found every excuse she could to text Reagan. Each time she’d started the conversation by asking inane questions about the party before segueing into whether Reagan would want to get together. Each time Jill had been met with refusal or silence.

Now that she had Reagan in front of her, she wanted an actual explanation. Jill took a couple slow, deep breaths, trying to calm an unusual amount of nerves. “Reagan?”

“Hmm,” she replied, her gaze focused on the papers in her hands.

“Are we ever going to have a real conversation about that night at the bar?”

Reagan sighed and turned toward Jill, lifting one leg to half-sit on the table. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Talking about it? Or what might happen once we do talk about it?”

“Both.”

“Care to explain your reasoning?” Jill asked as she stepped forward until only a foot of space separated them.

“It’s just not a good time right now, Jill.” Reagan ran her hand through her hair and looked away briefly. “Plus, if I was looking for something, it’d be something more than a hookup. And I don’t think that’s something you can give me.”

Jill stepped back, immediately feeling as if Reagan had poured a bucket of cold water on her head. She cleared her throat, trying to keep her features neutral and hold back any sign of disappointment. “And why would you say that?”

“Because when you only text late at night, that’s the conclusion I come to. I’m not a booty call.”

“Reagan, I wasn’t looking for one.” Jill took Reagan’s hand, gently brushing her thumb over her soft skin. “What if I said that I might be looking for something more than that? Something real.”

Reagan squeezed her hand and then let go. She grabbed her notes and held them against her chest as if they were a shield. “I’m not saying this to hurt you, but I don’t see you being interested in that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ve been unpleasant and rude more often than not. And I don’t know if that’s who you are or just how you choose to present yourself. But relationships need compassion and vulnerability and communication. I see it every day between my parents, and I want that too. Someday.”