“Sorry.” I rearrange my features into a pleased expression, though my face feels like wax. “Just the concussion probably.”

“I know.” She takes my hand and scoots a little closer on the hospital bed. “I saw.”

“I didn’t realize you were here in San Diego.” I want to pull my hand back, but I’ll give her a few minutes. We are friends.

“I was meeting with the team at Elevation.” She smiles brightly. “I’m signing.”

“That’s awesome.” I squeeze her hand. “Jared and company will take care of you.”

“And what about you?” Her voice drops, taking on a husky tone. “Will you take care of me, too?”

“Uh . . .” Is there a diplomatic way to say hell no?

“I’m here for the rest of the week. Maybe we can get together before I leave.”

“Uh . . .” I must have a concussion because I haven’t said more than “uh’ in the last two minutes. “Sure. Why not?” In my head, I hear Jared pimping me out at least for drinks until we have her signature on the dotted line.

She leans closer so her blouse droops, and I see the curve of her breasts. Don’t get me wrong—Pippa’s got a great body. She’s one of the top tennis players in the world. And the sex was good, but her light floral scent is all wrong. Her hair is jet black, missing the burnished streaks. Her lips are thin, not full and pouty and pink. She’s beautiful and just right for someone, but she’s not Iris. So she’s not right for me.

The door opens again, and another dark head peers around the corner. This is the one I was hoping for.

“Iris.” Everything brightens—the room, my voice, my smile, and I feel Pippa’s regard sharpen on my face. “Come on in.”

“Oh, I . . .” She flicks a glance between Pippa and me, darting down to our clasped hands on the hospital bed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

I snatch my hand from Pippa, and she looks at me, wearing hurt on her face. I haven’t given Pippa any reason to think we’ll be anything again. I need to be kind, but clear that we are not happening.

“You’re not interrupting.” I gesture to the other side of the bed. “Come on and sit down.”

She walks over to the bed with dragging steps, glancing at Pippa’s expensive clothes and the shiny diamond studs in her ears. Pippa is gorgeous. Of Asian descent, her dark hair falls straight to frame the high slant of her cheekbones. She’s beautiful, but she’s not my Iris.

Yes, I think of her as mine. I will have no trouble telling her so once we get past “slow.” Hell, I’m hers, too, whenever she wants to claim me. Over the last few weeks, though we haven’t even kissed, we’ve been building something.

I guess? I think? I hope?

“Sorry. Blame my rudeness on the concussion.” I gesture to the curious girl beside me. “Pippa Kim, this is Iris DuPree. Pippa’s signing with Elevation, and Iris works with our team.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Ms. Kim,” Iris says, her enthusiasm genuine. She really does love her job. “If you two were discussing—”

“Nope,” I cut in because if I know Iris, and I’m glad to say that I do now, she’s about to leave. And I can’t let that happen. “We were done, right, Pip?”

Displeasure passes over her face like a cloud, quickly hidden. “I guess we are,” she mutters, rising and grabbing her purse. “I’ll still be in town this week. I’ll call you about getting together.”

You just had to say that, huh?

“Sure.” My smile is stiff and my voice curt. “See you later.”

As soon as the door swings closed behind Pippa, I reach for Iris.

“Hey, you.” I bring the back of her hand to my lips. “How’s tricks?”

She studies me for long seconds, her inspection thorough. “Forget tricks,” she says, her voice subdued. “How are you?”

“Were you worried about me?” I tease, rubbing my nose over the palm of her hand and smiling when she shivers.

“Of, course I was worr . . .” She heaves a deep breath and blows it out, running her free hand through the wild hair that’s erupted into waves and curls. “God, August.”

A tear slides over her cheek, and I feel like a royal asshole. My head may hurt, but I can still lift someone as small as Iris, so I do, dragging her to sit up against the pillows in the bed beside me. I tuck her under my arm and lower my forehead to hers. We’ve covered a lot of ground since she moved here a month ago. She said slow, and I added consistent. The Louisiana irises every morning. Daily text messages. Lunch together whenever my schedule allows. We’ve been seeing how we fit into each other’s lives. After years of seeing each other so sporadically, it’s good to set a normal pattern.

If I ever wondered if I was simply infatuated with the idea of Iris and the reality wouldn’t live up to my expectations, I know now she doesn’t just match to my fantasies. She’s so much better. As hard as it’s been, I haven’t tried to kiss her. Don’t want to rush her. I’ve honored her request for slow, and now when I see how she watches me, I believe it’s paying off.

“Hey, I’m okay.” I work my fingers into the thick hair spilling around her neck.

“You’re sure?” Her breath is cool and minty, but my lips burn. “I saw you fall and . . . I’m just glad you’re okay.” Another tear streaks down her cheek. I brush it away with my knuckle and push the tangle of hair from her face.

“I’m glad you’re here.” I leave a few kisses along her hairline. “Thanks for coming.”

“I had to.” She watches me from beneath lowered lashes for a few seconds before clearing her throat. “It was nice of Pippa to come by, too.”

“It really was,” I agree.

“She’s even prettier in real life.”

“She really is.”

“And so talented.” She pushes a skein of hair behind her shoulder. “I guess you guys have a lot in common.”

I’m struck by the irony of Iris being jealous of Pippa when Pippa stormed out moments ago, clearly aware Iris is the one I want.

“Iris.” I lift her chin until she meets my eyes. “Is there something you want to ask me about Pippa?”

“No, I . . . no, I—”

“Do you wanna know if I fucked her? Because I did, but that was a long time ago.”

Her eyes widen and then drop to her fingers twisting in her lap.

“I was with a lot of people then,” I confess. “Because I was trying my damnedest to forget you were with him.”

Her head snaps up, and we look at each other.

“You can ask me whatever you want, Iris, about anyone.” I run my nose along her cheek, listening for the hitch of her breath at the charged contact of my skin on hers.

She turns her head, and a centimeter, not even a fully drawn breath, separates our mouths. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and reaches up to touch my face, her fingertips wandering over my cheeks and painting a stripe down my nose. Her thumbnail outlines my lips, and I crave her touch on me everywhere. I lean into her, brushing our noses together once, twice, again.

“What are you doing?” she asks with a breathy laugh.

“Eskimo kisses,” I whisper, spreading my fingers to span her waist. “I’m scared to do the real thing. To kiss you.”

She rubs my nose back, her eyes never leaving mine, her lips just shy of a kiss.

“Why are you scared to kiss me?” she asks.

“Because the last time I kissed you,” I say, biting my lip, wanting to bite hers, “you disappeared.”

She leans back a little, but I don’t let it last. I bring her back into my side until our thighs press together and the curve of her breast tortures me.

“Please don’t pull away from me.” I trace one dark eyebrow, studying the striking framework of her face. “Where’d you go, Iris?”

Her lips part, then slam shut, then part again before she finally speaks. “Louisiana.” She closes her eyes. “I went to my great-grandmother’s, but I didn’t want anyone to know.”

Why the secrecy? Was she in some kind of trouble? “Tell me what happened. What’s going on? Did Caleb—”

“I can’t talk to you about him,” she interrupts abruptly, opening her eyes to hold mine. “Don’t ask me about my life with him, August.”

“Nothing?” I press my back into the pillow to get a clearer look at her. “But I need to know if—”

“I signed an NDA.” A hard swallow flexes her slim throat. “Okay? So when I say I can’t talk about things with him, I mean I can’t. Breaking that jeopardizes sole custody of Sarai. Please don’t ask me.”

Can I move forward without understanding what happened in the past?

I have a million questions about her and Caleb, but I doubt her answers would actually satisfy me. I want to know if she ever loved him. I want to know if he was really her first, her only lover. The thought of her giving him that honor when he’s such an asshole scratches the inside of my brain.

“If you can’t,” she says after a few moments of silence, “then I understand.” She searches my face, her eyes anxious, and clutches her T-shirt in her fist.

“I used to think of you with him,” I admit. My laugh is bitter between us. “Of you . . .”

Fucking him.

Even now, the thought of him inside of her, of him getting her pregnant, watching her grow with Sarai, staking that claim on her that I can’t ever erase or usurp—it’s an asylum in my mind. My thoughts go crazy, and I draw a deep breath to stem the insanity.

“I can’t change the past, August.” Slowly, one finger at a time, she unclenches the shirt fisted at her waist and reaches for my hand. “But we can talk about the future, if you want.”