It Had to Be You Georgia Clark (bookstand for reading txt) 📖

a fix for a PR problem. She’d assumed people like Clay existed in a world of excess and gratification. She’d never really thought about a balance: that for every benefit received, something was expected in return.

“Say something.” Clay sounded nervous. “You think I’m a jerk?”

“Of course I don’t think you’re a jerk. I’m just taking it all in. It makes me feel… sad. I feel for you.” She peeled the edge of her beer bottle label, thinking. “What do you have that’s just yours?”

“Tonight. I bailed on a dinner, said I was sick. No one knows I’m up here with you. So maybe… you.” His gold eyes drilled into her. “You’re just for me.”

Zia shivered with something darker. She had to look away, at the distant city skyline.

“What? Did I say something wrong?”

“I know you’re saying that to be romantic. And it is. But if we’re being honest…”

“Please.”

“I have mixed feelings about being someone’s everything.”

Clay tilted his head. Open to whatever she was going to say next.

Zia had never told the story to someone she’d only just met. And she wasn’t about to lay it on Clay now. But interestingly, she felt that if she did, he would listen. “I have family commitments. Expectations of my time, my focus. So I can relate to feeling bad about freedom.” She could tell Clay knew it wasn’t the full story. But the serious stuff was making her feel closed and she wanted to feel open. She finished her beer and held it up. “Another? I’m still so thirsty.”

“Hey, what a coincidence. Me too.”

They found some plastic folding chairs and spent another two hours on the roof, talking, joking, flirting. Clay was different from what she’d imagined, in some ways more confident, in some ways less. Sensitive and a little shy, but also funny, also charming. He was a person, not a billboard. “You’re easy to talk to,” she said, after they’d finished their third beer.

“You too,” he said, nudging her foot with his.

She held his gaze, letting the moment fill with something more loaded than friendly banter.

He gazed back, drinking her in. He was attracted to her. The reality of this ran its fingers all over her entire body, heating her skin.

Zia put down her beer. “Look, I should tell you: I’m leaving New York soon. For a job in Mozambique.”

“Africa? For how long?”

“It’s a six-month position.”

She watched the way it landed, invoking surprise, disappointment, and finally, a question.

Now what?

She got to her feet, tugging him up. Suddenly, they were standing only inches apart.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello,” he said.

Zia stuck her hands in her back pockets. His remained hooked in his jeans. An adult game of chicken: Who’d break first? She could see each little hair shading his jaw. Smell the musky mix of clean and dirty: soap and dance-floor sweat. The air between them thickened. “I think,” she said, “I have a crush on you.”

“Oh, I definitely have a crush on you.”

She laughed. Edged closer. His breath ghosted over her lips. “You’re kinda cute,” she said.

A smile flitted across his face. His eyes were on her mouth. “Zia,” he said, “you’re insanely hot.”

Zia grabbed the front of Clay’s T-shirt, and then his mouth was on hers and they were kissing. His stubble was rough against her skin, his mouth hot and eager. She let out a moan, her desire overwhelming her. Clay pulled her closer, one hand in her hair, the other sliding down her back. Time, space, place, who he was, who she was, it all disappeared. It was just them, and this kiss, this glorious, intense, insanely hot kiss.

After ten minutes or ten years, he pulled back to gaze at her, twisting his fingers into a stray tendril. “I have a crazy idea.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, relishing the chance to touch him. “I like crazy ideas.”

“Come to Tokyo with me next week.”

“Sure,” she joked. “That sounds fun.”

“No, I’m serious. Come to Tokyo. I have to go for this energy drink thing. It’s only four nights, and if you hate it, I’ll fly you home.” He squeezed her hands, saying something about a private jet, five-star hotel, sightseeing in his downtime. Spending time with his best friend and manager, Dave, the guy whose wedding they met at. “It’ll be so much better if you’re there. Please?”

“Clay!” She laughed, amazed he actually seemed serious. “I can’t go with you to Tokyo. I don’t even know you.”

“It’s a fourteen-hour flight. Plenty of time to get to know each other.” Clay took her hands, his voice becoming soft. “We don’t have to rush anything, I promise. Separate beds, all that. I just… really like you, Zia. I want to see where this could go.”

She’d never been to Japan. She’d always wanted to go. Clay seemed trustworthy. If he wasn’t, she could handle herself. It wouldn’t eat into her savings too much, and she could trade out the freelance shifts she had lined up. One more for the memoir, right?

“Okay.” She shrugged. “But only if you take me out for sushi.”

“Really?” He cupped her face. “You’re amazing.” He kissed her. “Thank you.” He kissed her again, deeper. “One favor: I just need for you not to put any of it on Instagram or anything.”

Zia knew he didn’t just mean the trip. The need for discretion made sense, but the rule unsettled her. Her ex-boyfriend had a lot of rules, too. But Clay’s not Logan, Zia reminded herself. And she’d promised herself not to let her past—a past that unfolded over seven years ago—dictate her future. “I’m not even on social.”

“Perfect. That’s just… perfect.” He kissed her a third time, and she giggled, giddy with the thrill of a new adventure. And a new man.

Clay rubbed his thumbs gently over her cheekbones. “Where did you come from, Zia Ruiz?”

“Special delivery,” she replied. “From your dry cleaner.”

Their joke from the wedding. Clay only paused for a second before tipping his head back and starting to laugh.

Zia ignored a wiggle of fear in her stomach