The Rising Falls Building is sleek and modern. It looks like a polished black sheet of glass all the way up with a thick steel frame outlining everything in matte black, separating the panels. It’s tall and dominating, dwarfing the small buildings across from it.

It’s everything Mason is. The clicking stops when I drop the pen.

With both hands wrapped around the mug, I pick up my coffee and take a sip. It’s not hot anymore, but it’s not room temperature either. The smooth ceramic feels just right in my hand as I take in a deep breath.

I keep telling myself I shouldn’t be with him; I don’t do casual and never have, but this doesn’t feel casual. It’s been days of seeing him and I’m already catching feelings. Feelings I’m certain are one sided.

Maybe I’m reading into things too much. It’s only been a week and a half. It’s just sex … or so I keep telling myself. Maybe I should add that to the list of lies in my notepad. I huff at the snide thought.

Luckily, not many people have seemed to notice, other than Kat checking up on me and gently prodding. That’s not atypical for her.

We aren’t seeing each other in public, mostly. Not for events anyway.

There are whispers that I’m dating, but nothing that seems malicious or judgmental. Which is better than I’d hoped.

My heart pounds painfully in my chest at the thought and the small air of confidence leaves me. I would care if they said I was a bitch for moving on too soon. Or that I’m no longer the good girl they thought I was. That Jace’s death was in some ways my death too. They wouldn’t be wrong about that last one.

Most importantly though, I don’t want Jace’s father seeing that I’ve moved on. Or my mother. I close my eyes and try to rid myself of the image of her reading about me in the paper as she sips her morning tea. Drunk at a bar with a known player holding me. Yeah, I don’t need my mother seeing that.

The bells above the front door jingle and my eyes instinctively open at the sound.

There he is, Mason, taking the breath in my lungs as he strides toward me. I’m stuck as I sit there, pinned to my seat and captivated by the air of confidence he gives off. His steel gray eyes look darker than ever as he grabs the back of the chair across from me and pulls it out. The legs scrape on the floor, announcing to the world that he’s going to sit with me. He claims his seat and fixes those eyes on me.

“Jules,” he says, my name falling from his gorgeous lips in a rough baritone and I finally breathe.

“Mason.” I say then smile, although I don’t know why. I simply can’t help it. He makes me feel like a little girl caught in a fantasy. It’s the way he wears his suits, the way he walks into buildings, the way he looks at me. As if he owns them all.

A small smile plays on his lips as well. I did that. I made him smile. These feelings, this bubbly laugh that erupts from my lips as I take a sip of my coffee … this is where the real problem hides.

He gestures to my cup and asks, “Should I get one as well?”

I sit up straighter and look over my shoulder again at the counter with the one lonely register and stacks and stacks of mugs behind it. It’s late but this coffee shop never closes, because this city never sleeps.

“If you’d like to.” I don’t expect him to reach across the table and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes and hands linger on the exposed part of my neck. The tips of his fingers trail down my skin slowly, with purpose. I feel the heat race through me, the desire creeping slowly down my chest and lower … and lower. He confuses me when I’m near him. I can’t think of anything but what I want him to do to me and that’s a dangerous thing.

I’m mesmerized by the way he looks at me. The steel gray seems softer, the harsh lines of his jaw less intimidating, more vulnerable. Maybe my poetic mind is getting the best of me.

“I think if I do,” he finally answers, leaning back in the chair he’s claimed as a throne, “I’d like to get it to go.”

Nodding vigorously, I make it obvious that I agree and then feel foolish as he lets out a rough laugh. The bells jingle again in the doorway just as he leans across the table for a kiss.

Anxiety shoots through me, and I pull back just as his scorching hot lips touch mine. My back hits the hard plastic of the chair and my eyes whip over to an old man in a tweed suit. His white hair looks ruffled from the wind, but he doesn’t seem to care. His light blue eyes gaze through horn-rimmed glasses and up at the menu behind me.

I’m slightly relieved that it wasn’t anyone who would recognize us, but that doesn’t last long. My heart drops when I see the expression on his face.

It’s more than disappointment; this is something else.

“I don’t know ...” I say but trail off, clearing my throat. I’m still trying to catch my breath and explain when Mason speaks before I can continue.

“If you’re with me,” he says and the tone Mason gives me is authoritative as his eyes pierce me, pinning me to my seat and stealing my excuses from the tip of my tongue, “then you’re with me.” He finishes his thought and I can’t look away, I can’t shake off this guilt.

“You know I prefer discretion,” I say and the excuse leaves me in a single breath.

He rises from his seat and buttons his suit jacket. The hold he has on me is finally broken although he doesn’t look at me as he walks past me and up to the counter. I stare at the door, wondering if I should just leave. My body feels hot and I don’t think I can do this. I still don’t even know what this is.

It’s definitely not “just sex.” Going out on dates and coffee meetups aren’t in the fuck buddy handbook. Not according to Sue, anyway.

My body stands on its own. Although my legs feel wobbly, my body weak and my head clouded with frustration and confusion, something inside me pushes me forward. It’s only four steps, four strides toward him, all the while my heart beats faster.

“I don’t know what this is.” My voice comes out strong, clear and full of a confidence I don’t possess.

A shaky breath comes and goes as he faces me, his shoulders squared, to give me his full attention. I try to come up with the right words. “I don’t know what I want.” The words are so true. “I am not with anyone. I’m alone and that’s—” I stop midsentence.

I almost say that’s how I want it. I almost lie to both him and myself.

From the corner of my eye, I notice the barista who looks away casually as if she wasn’t listening. My cheeks flame with embarrassment.

“If you want me to leave you alone, it’s done.” His statement lacks both conviction and emotion.

“I want you,” I whisper, my eyes pleading with his. “I just don’t,” I say then swallow and force my eyes to meet his. “I don’t want people to know.”

I feel like an asshole. “I’m not ashamed of you … I’m ashamed of me …” Oh God, even I cringe at my words. It’s the truth, but it’s so shitty of me. I swallow thickly, searching Mason’s face for something. For understanding or anger. For something, anything. Instead there’s a coldness that greets me and it hurts. “I don’t mean it to come out in a way that is offensive. I’ve just been thinking a lot about it since the other night and I don’t want my family to find out.” My voice breaks at the last statement and that’s when the barista decides to set down Mason’s coffee.