Maya’s pov

“It is eleven and every slide is finished and every number checks out,” I say, my voice quieter than I mean it to be.

The whiskey glass sits empty on the table and the leather couch feels smaller than it did an hour ago.

Rhett’s hand is still resting on my knee, thumb moving in slow strokes that make it hard to think straight.

My skirt has ridden higher and the heat of his palm soaks straight into my skin.

He should tell me to go home. Instead he looks at me like he has already decided I am not leaving yet.

“Stay a little longer,” he says....