The Last Guy

“Morning, Killer,” I mumble as I stretch out in my king-sized bed. She purrs and pushes her head against my hand. I pet her while she curls up next to my bicep, her paws tap dancing on my muscles.

“If only all bedmates were as easy as you,” I say.

Stone is on my mind . . . the hot sex we’d had . . . and the way she’d shoved me out her door the next morning.

Flashes of the night come at me, and I scrub my face.

What the hell had I done?

You boned Stone, asshole.

YOU BONED STONE. Three times to be exact.

I heave out a sigh. What must she be thinking?

She regrets it. Wasn’t it obvious?

Fuck.

Scooting Killer carefully out of the way, I jump out of bed and crank up some Stevie Ray Vaughn on my speakers. I push all thoughts of Stone out of my head as I get in the shower.

It’s nine by the time I’m dressed in a slick Tom Ford suit. I pull out a green tie, thinking the color reminds me of Stone’s sultry gaze. But I stop. Nope. Not going there. I whip it off and go with the sapphire blue—which matches my eyes.

After making sure Killer has her mouse toys and her food dish filled, I give her a final pet, exit the penthouse, and take the elevator door to the lobby.

The door swooshes open and I step off—right smack into Maggie Grace.

She takes a step back and I reach a hand out to steady her, easing her to the side to let the other passengers get off.

“Cade! Oh good. I was trying to get up to the penthouse, but apparently you have to have a key for that. Your doorman tried to call you but you didn’t pick up.”

Thank God.

“I’m starting to think you’re stalking me,” I say in a curt tone. I want to go off on her. I want to tell her to get the fuck out of my face and maybe check into getting some new meds, but I don’t. She’s a female, and my mom raised me to treat ladies with a gentle hand, so I grind my teeth together instead.

She straightens her shoulders. “Actually, after seeing you the other night, it got me to thinking—”

“What?”

“It’s been forever since I saw your mom, not since her breast cancer, and you may not know this, but my sister was recently diagnosed, and part of me just needs someone to talk to. My sister . . . they caught hers late . . .” she pauses and her forehead puckers with a line of worry.

I exhale and my anger deflates. Her attire is softer today, a yellow sundress, and her hair is down and curling around her shoulders.

“I’m sorry about your sister.”

My mom had been diagnosed a year ago and had just finished her chemo and radiation treatment. She’s clear for the moment, but I know the emotion Maggie Grace and her family must be going through.

She nods as she watches the people come and go in my building. “I don’t have her new address or cell since she moved—so I thought I’d pop by and ask you. She was always so easy to talk to. Do you think she’d mind if I came by and brought her some flowers for her garden? I know how much she loves to mess with plants.” She exhales. “Honest to God, Cade, this isn’t about you. I just want to get in touch with your mom.”

My gut says no, but I see the uncertainty that flits across her features. She grimaces. “My sister . . . she may not make it. I’m scared.”

I sigh, knowing that feeling all too well.

I tell her my mom’s address and cell while she types it into her phone. We walk out of One Park Place to a sunny day. We say our goodbyes, and I turn to head to the coffee shop before getting my car.

“Wait,” she calls.

I pivot and pop an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

She walks toward me and before I can stop her, she grabs my jaw and stares into my eyes. “You’re the best damn thing I ever had, Cade. I wish I could go back and redo what happened between us.” Then she plants her red lips against mine, her tongue begging entry to my mouth.

I freeze. My ex is making out with me, and I let her.

Maybe I kiss her back—like out of some kind of caveman Neanderthal instinct—but I don’t mean to.

After a few seconds, I push her off me, glowering at her.

She stares into my eyes a bit sadly, smiles, then turns and walks away.

God. Women are fucking crazy.

My scowl grows when I catch sight of Stone ensconced in a mob of dogs just a few yards away.

What the hell is she doing here?

But before I can say anything, she turns and sprints in the other direction.

After stopping off for coffee and a bagel, I arrive at work and immerse myself in preparing for the six and ten sports reports. With the weekend coming up, we’re working on football game times and who the big rivalries will be.

It’s after lunch by the time we’re done, and I head to the conference room for our daily editorial meeting.

I slide in and like a magnet my eyes are drawn to Stone. She’s been avoiding me all morning. She must have gotten here late judging by the half-eaten bran muffin next to her notebook full of doodles. Her hair’s up in a messy bun, and she’s thumping her pen on the table and swinging her heeled foot back and forth rapidly.

Someone is antsy.

I grin in her direction and when our eyes meet, I get hot. My lids go low, remembering her pussy clenching around my cock, and she seems to see the place my thoughts have gone because she blushes. A few seconds later, she shakes herself, her gaze turning chilly. She turns her back to chat with the two weeknight anchors, Matt and Lorie.

My lips tighten as I swoop past three empty seats to take the one next to her. There’s no way I can let this . . . this thing between Stone and me go—not with this much chemistry between us.

Plus, even though I’d been trashed, I recall every single mind blowing orgasm she had. She wants me.

Feeling confident, I ease down into my seat, straightening the crease in my slacks as I do so.

She’s glaring at me when our eyes meet again. I lean into her space and take a whiff of coconut. “Morning, Stone. Didn’t know you liked to run. We should go together sometime.” It’s a statement, not a question. I smirk and reach over to grab one of the powdered donut holes in the middle of the table and pop it in my mouth. I chew for a few minutes, eyeing her carefully. I’d give up all the donut holes in the world to know what she’s thinking.

“Don’t hold your breath.” Her face is blank and cold. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was chatting with Matt here before you interrupted.”

And then she turns back to talk to Matt.

Fine. She’s still upset about the hook up. Or it’s because she saw Maggie Grace locking lips with me. Hell, it’s probably both.

I want to explain the situation with Maggie Grace, but Marv and Vicky arrive together and shut the door. They read off the headlines for the day and the on-air reporters perk up. We go through the various options, and the anchors, myself, Marv, and Vicky pick and choose what will make the six and ten show.

I tune them out, distracted by Stone’s body heat. I feel ramped up. I need to get her alone. Maybe the bathroom again—

I come back when I hear my name.

“. . . . of course, he won’t be the one to say it, but Cade’s volunteer work in the inner city schools would be a great feature story. He coaches and you should hear him talk about those kids,” Lorie says, shooting me a big grin.

She’s one of the sweetest people in nightly news. Her husband is a big Falcons fan, and I had been to their house for a couple of dinner parties.