But not yet. So I say, “Some other time.”

I turn to walk away, and he calls me back, “Gina?”

He fishes in his pocket for money, then shoots me a look. “I don’t have much cash. For when he…drops me off at my place.”

I stare, then hear myself admit, “I’m not sure that I…have enough…”

I pull out money. Wads of bills, pennies, quarters, and he helps me count. “I think…yeah, I think I’ll need the nickels too. Thanks.”

“Okay,” I say, then I start walking to the entrance to my building. “You know what?” I turn and look at him. “Yeah. Come in for coffee or something.”

“Wow, thanks!” he says, jogging up to me.

The ride up to my floor is uneventful. I’m silent, wondering if I know what the hell I’m doing, and Trent is…well, he’s fishing in his pockets as if he doesn’t remember whether he has a condom or not. “I need to take this slow,” I say.

“How slow?” He pulls out a crinkled condom packet and exhales in excitement.

“I haven’t had the best time on the dating ride.”

“Yeah,” he scratches his chin, “I understand.”

“So let’s just try this and see how it goes.”

* * *

It doesn’t go well.

SOS!

Why is it that when something goes wrong, the differences we’d been having with others become trivial to the point of completely vanishing?

All I know right now is that, whatever my issues with Tahoe are, he’s been the only thing on my mind for the past hour, the only thing helping me keep my sanity together.

I’m at the hospital. I’ve already been discharged, but I remain sitting alone on a bench outside. I’m torn between calling him or simply calling a cab. I decide not to call his cell phone, and I tell myself I’ll simply call him at his place. If he’s there, well…

Gathering what’s left of my courage after the ordeal I just went through, I absently watch a man get wheeled into the emergency room and I dial his home number.

A female voice answers on the third ring, laughing as she picks up.

“Umm. Is Tahoe available?” Nervously, I change my cell phone from one ear to the other.

“He’s busy, tying someone to his bed. Who’s calling?”

Giggles, and a husky male laugh in the background. My stomach roils.

“No one important.”

I hang up and exhale.

My phone rings less than five seconds later. I see Tahoe Roth flash on the screen and freeze.

One ring, two rings, three, and I still can’t make up my mind whether to answer or let him go to voicemail.

Do I answer or not? Do I freaking answer or not? Do I want him to know or do I want the Earth to swallow me whole?

I decide to answer as naturally as possible. “I dialed by mistake, no need to call back.”

There are giggles in the background and the sound of a closing door. “What’s up, Regina?” He sounds amused.

“I just had sex with Trent and the condom broke.”

Silence.

“It broke and I couldn’t find it,” I blurt out, my voice breaking unexpectedly. I scowl and stare into the glass doors of the hospital, my stupid voice still wavering. “I just had the most humiliating moment of my life at the hospital while some guy…” I shudder. “Anyway, the condom broke and I’m on my way to get a morning-after pill—I just don’t want to go back in there and ask for one.” I sigh. “What about you, you seem very busy. I don’t think the tied woman will appreciate staying tied while you hear about my evening.”

I hear a muffled, “Untie her and show yourselves to the door,” and then his voice sounds close to the speaker. “I’ll be right over.”

“What? No!”

He hangs up.

I text him.

I’m not even home!

Where are you?

I hesitate, then give him the name of the hospital.

I’m pacing as I wait. The tires of his car screech soon afterward on the hospital driveway, and he swings open the passenger door from the inside.

And he’s so good-looking—he looks especially perfect tonight—I purse my lips, humiliated all over again, and at the same time, relieved.

I don’t know why I called him out of all the people in my contacts list. I don’t know why I bolted so fast out of my apartment, refusing to even look at Trent or ask him to come with me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, as I was going through the uncomfortable and humiliating moment of spreading my legs open so a gloved hand could retrieve the condom, I found comfort in the thought of Tahoe. I used him to distract myself, to keep from feeling dirty and alone. And now here I am, standing in the hospital driveway while he leans across the passenger seat and waits for me to move.

“Get in,” he says, all lowered brows, his eyes glimmering with protectiveness and concern.

I do, shutting the door to find myself enclosed in the confined space of his white Ghost.

The scent of leather and pine trees hits me, a scent I associate strongly with him.

There’s a silence as I sit in the passenger seat, and he sits there, his hands gripping the wheel, his jaw set as he inhales. And I realize I must smell awful, like a hospital, like antiseptic and maybe even sex. He turns around as if to say something.

“Don’t give me shit,” I warn angrily.

He scowls. “I’m not.”

I scoff.

He shifts gears and pulls into traffic and laughs darkly.

He’s pissed off as he drives, I can tell.