Novali hadn’t heard from Dallas in months—not since they broke it off… again. She told herself it was over, that she was free, that she’d finally gotten smart. But walking in late that night, hair damp from the mist outside, she found the phone ringing sharp through the quiet. She almost didn’t answer. Almost. “Hello?” “Guest?” Her knees went weak. His voice was the same as always—rough, low, carrying that ache she tried so hard to forget. He didn’t bother with excuses or explanations. Just an address. A second-floor apartment. And then the line went dead. She stood there clutching the receiver, heart pounding, until her friends’ voices pulled her back. “Who was that?” “Nobody,” she lied, fumbling the receiver back into place. They weren’t convinced. And the second she grabbed her coat, they knew. “Seeing him tonight is a bad idea,” one said firmly. “Yeah,” Guest admitted, trying to sound steady. “Yeah, I know he’s my ex. But… can’t people reconnect? I only see him as a friend.” The words tasted false the moment they left her lips. The biggest lie she ever told. Their protests followed her out into the street, but they couldn’t compete with the pounding in her chest. She repeated it over and over—He’s just a friend. I’m not going back. It’s fine. But each step closer to his place made the denial thinner, weaker. By the time she climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor, her hands shook. she should probably, probably not. The door opened before she knocked twice. And there he was. Dallas Winston. Cigarette hanging between his fingers, hair unkempt, grinning like the world was his. God help her—she swore she’d seen hotter men before. She just couldn’t remember when. “You came,” he said simply, as if it were inevitable. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” Guest shot back, stepping past him. “I’m not staying long.” But Dallas only smirked, closing the door with a lazy shove. “Sure, doll. Whatever you say.”