When we reach the front of the line, Locke hands over a copy of The Feeling of Falling, along with what looks to be one of Orion’s older collections. Orion graciously signs them, then poses with us so the person behind us in line can snap a photo on Locke’s phone.
We stumble out onto the sidewalk well past two in the morning, and I’ve got that drunken, giddy feeling of staying up way past my bedtime having a moment with someone new. But the man next to me’s not new. He’s Locke and he’s been here all along, and my heart sings finally.
But then there’s a moment when we pause on the sidewalk and look at each other, and there’s a question in Locke’s eyes and the space between us holds so much promise that I have to bury my hands in my coat before I reach for him.
“Which way are you parked?” Locke asks.
“Just a little north of here. By the park.”
“I’m south. Let me walk you.”
“It’s okay. My car’s less just down the street.”
“Greer.” He gives me a look that leaves no room for argument, and his protective tone makes me swoon. “Lead the way.”
I listen, for once, and spin on my heel toward the corner of Tenth and Pine. As we walk, a street musician on the corner croons a song to the late-night crowd, and we arrive at my car all too quickly.
I clutch my signed book to my chest and look up at Locke. Even with my four-inch heels, he’s so much taller than me. But he looks down at me so our eyes are locked, and a smile dances on his lips.
I think of Thanksgiving and his hand on my knee.
I think of every smile he’s lobbed my way in the year I’ve known him.
I think of how very much I’d like him to kiss me.
And then Locke leans forward and I hold my breath and my heart pops like fireworks. His lips brush my cheek and linger on my skin, and the smell of him does something stupid to me—my nipples tightening under my sweater, a damp ache between my legs.
“Thank you for coming,” he whispers, his mouth so close to my ear that the hair near my face blows gently.
God, doesn’t he know what he’s doing to me? It’s too much because it’s not nearly enough. Not when I want so much more.
I back away and mutter something silly like, See you tomorrow, which makes us both laugh because it’s already tomorrow. We’ve spent a night together listening to words about love, staying up to greet the morning with bleary eyes and full hearts.
Don’t Greer. Don’t fall.
I climb into my car and start the engine, and when I pull away, Locke's standing on the sidewalk with one hand raised, watching me make my way safely down the street. As he fades in my rearview mirror, I realize how wrong I was to come to this event. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I liked it so much that my heart can’t handle it.
I’ve been half in lust with Lachlan Mills for as long as I can remember. Tonight might have pushed me over the edge into full-blown, unrequited love.
12
Locke
Greer slumps into the chair across from me the day after the book release, her forehead creased and her pretty lips pouted in a frown. “Is it permanent?” she groans.
She drops her forehead onto the edge of her desk in a manner much too similar to the way she did on the first day with Damien, and my senses scream into high alert.
“What are you talking about?” I ask warily, my shoulders tense. Did he do something to her?
“You get to a certain age, you start to think every ailment’s permanent.”
My relief is palpable, five pounds lifted off my chest in an instant. “You’re not injured, Greer,” I say with a smile. “You’re tired.”
“Bushed.” She gives me a faint grin. “Don’t you wish people used that word more? It just sounds so…old school but saucy.”
I lower my voice, not wanting to draw too much attention to our situation. “How much sleep did you manage last night?”
“Three hours?” she guesses. “I’ve gotta tell you, Locke, I’m usually a solid seven-to-eight-hour sleeper. You have me at a disadvantage.”
“Which is why I brought you coffee. Not the crap from the vending machines, either.” I gesture at the carrying tray of Starbucks drinks, the signature red holiday cups bearing our names, side by side. Locke, misspelled—Lock—next to Greer, in black, cursive Sharpie. “It might be a little cold, but—”
“No, it’s perfect. I love you.” Her eyes go wide, and she snaps her mouth shut. “I mean, shit. Thank you. I mean thanks. I love it.”
Her pink cheeks betray her embarrassment, but I can’t not revel in the feeling for a minute.
I love you.
What would it be like to have her say those words for real?
I hand over Greer’s cup, and she takes a long, gorgeous swallow, letting out a moan so sensual my dick perks up.
“Morning!” Eden’s singsong voice ruins the moment, and I wrench my gaze away from Greer’s mouth.
“Morning,” I toss back.
Eden brushes a hand over the length of her hair, patting it in place. “We still on for our peer editing review meeting at ten?”
I summon my computer’s calendar and check the details. “Yep.”
“Good.” Eden pauses as if noticing Greer’s face for the first time, then offers her a sympathetic frown. “You are looking…less than lively.”
“Ha ha,” Greer says dryly. “I see what you did there.”
“What happened?” Eden drops her hands to her hips like a mama bear.
Greer points an accusatory finger in my direction. “Locke kept me up past my bedtime.”
Eden’s eyebrows lift, but she’s smart enough not to say anything about it here. Still, that conversation from a year ago flashes back
