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“Don’t have to what?”
    “Be all cool and in control.”
    “How did you know?” Did I have “uptight control freak” broadcasting from my pores?
    He shrugged as he pulled me closer. “Just a hunch. Listen, Jayla—I’m single, disease free, relatively sane. I’m enjoying you. I won’t hurt you. I won’t judge you. If you want me to walk away from here tonight and never see you again, I’ll accept that.”
    “But?” I bit my lip nervously.
    “But . . . I’d rather come inside with you tonight. Or have you come home with me. I’d like to spend the night buried inside you, seeing how many times you can scream out my name.”
    My eyes widened as I took in what he was saying. He clearly had no problem asking for what he wanted. This beautiful man wanted me. He was, in fact, my every fantasy. Something about him made me want to cede control, live in the moment—two things I rarely, if ever, did. But he seemed way too good to be true.
    He shifted closer. “You’re thinking.”
    “I’m overthinking. That’s what I do.” It was something I alternately loved and hated about myself. Everything was a Rubik’s cube to me, a puzzle to be turned this way and that until it made sense.
    He slid one arm around my back, leaned down, and placed a kiss to the side of my cheek. “Find me when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting.”
    I wondered if he really would be. Men like that, in my experience, did not sit home alone waiting for neurotic, wishy-washy chicks to look them up. As I watched him walk away, I wondered for the second time in two weeks if I was being really smart or really stupid.

3
    Special
    “You are so distracted right now. And you say it’s all because of some girl who tried to jump you in the coffee shop? Then she changed her mind and left. Fast-forward to you seeing her again in the park, where you take her home but she shuts you down again? I’m afraid I don’t understand the issue or the fascination. What was so special about her that we can’t just call this a walkaway and be done with it?” Jason’s business partner, Rick, was giving him a baffled “please help me understand” look. They were sitting in a skybox at Soldier Field watching a Chicago Bears preseason game. The game was going great; this conversation wasn’t.
    Jason and Rick had known each other since meeting on the baseball diamond in the tenth grade at Fenwick High School, a private school in the Oak Park area of Chicago. Though the school had some diversity representation, they had still bonded first as minorities at the exclusive school. They were both half Spanish (Jason had a Spanish father and Rick had a Spanish mother) and half African American, so they had that commonality of culture and background. They were both strikingly handsome men with easy smiles, charming personalities, competitive natures, and brains to match.
    Whereas Jason was tall, green eyed, and quick to laugh, Rick was a few inches shorter, blue eyed, and quick to tell a joke. Rick was the big-picture person, Jason was the details guy. They both came from families of privilege. Jason’s father was a dentist, Rick’s father was a county judge. Rick was a Casanova racking up conquests, Jason was more of a Romeo interested in long-time monogamy. They had been fast friends for years. Rick was the one person Jason could count on to be absolutely straight with him about absolutely everything.
    After prep school, Jason had gone to Columbia University, including a semester abroad in Spain, while Rick had attended Emory University in Atlanta. They reunited for graduate school at Northwestern, both earning MBAs. After graduation, they both launched small businesses. Jason’s coffee shop and Rick’s martini bar. They merged their interests into one large corporation. The number of businesses had grown from there. As part of an annual review of businesses, they took turns working in the businesses. This is how Jason came to be cleaning up coffee mugs when