Bachelor Swap Lacey Black (books that read to you .txt) 📖

the line, she was burned badly. Now, she doesn’t even try to find someone to spend the rest of her life with. She just finds someone to help warm her bed every now and again, or help scratch an itch, as she puts it so elegantly.

“Really? Tell me more,” I encourage, giving her my full attention.

Amalee raises her shoulders indifferently and reaches for her margarita, which is empty. “He’s an ADA for the city,” she says, averting her eyes. “I’ve heard of him before, but never met him in a courtroom, since I don’t do criminal law. Well, he came in to deliver something to the office next to mine and we shared an elevator.”

I’m already smiling. “An elevator ride is like ten seconds, Am.”

Now it’s her turn to grin. “I know. He invited me to grab a cup of coffee right then and there, so we went back down to the lobby and ordered Starbucks. We haven’t been able to meet up again, but…we text. A lot.”

Reaching over, I squeeze her hand. “I’m happy for you.”

She gives me a casual shoulder lift, but I can see the excitement in her eyes. “Thanks. It’s way too early to get too enthusiastic though.”

“Maybe, maybe not. You should invite him to the gala on Saturday.”

She snorts. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet. Maybe dinner first, then we could tackle a big public charity event.”

“Well, I know someone who can get you a last-minute extra ticket,” I reply, finishing off my drink.

The check arrives, but I’m not quick enough to get it this time. Amalee slides her credit card inside the black folder. Once the waiter returns, she signs her name on the slip of paper and walks with me out of our favorite Mexican restaurant.

“So, give me a call if you need anything before the gala. I’m not working Saturday and could help with anything that doesn’t involve creativity.”

I giggle at my friend. She’s always been one who needs step-by-step directions. If you tell her to take a stack of flowers and form an arrangement, she breaks out into hives. “Not working?” I ask, shocked.

Amalee rolls her eyes. “Well, let me clarify. I’m not working at the office but have a few things to do in my home office. I’d make myself available to you, if you needed something.”

“Thank you,” I say, standing on the sidewalk.

“It’s still early, you know.”

I glance at my watch and notice it’s just after eight.

“You could slip over to that fancy apartment complex Matthew lives in and enjoy a night cap, if you know what I mean,” she states, elbowing me in the ribs.

I glance around, noticing the man standing beside me is grinning. “Am, everyone knows what you mean,” I reply, diverting my eyes as the blush creeps up my neck.

“I think I’m going home to text Callum. Maybe he’s into sexting.”

The guy beside me laughs but tries to cover it with a cough. I grab my friend’s hand and drag her toward the parking lot where our vehicles are before she can say anything else to embarrass me.

“Thanks for dinner,” I tell my best friend, pulling her into a hug.

“You’re welcome. See you Saturday,” she says, throwing me a wave over her shoulder and slipping into her BMW.

When I’m inside my own car, I pull out my cell phone and plug it into the charger. It has plenty of battery left, but it’s a habit I’m in, ensuring I always have plenty of juice in case of an emergency. I glance at the screen, a sadness slipping in when I don’t see a text from Matthew. He knew I was having dinner with Amalee tonight, but I had kind of hoped he’d invite me over afterward. Or at least text to see how my night was going.

Deciding to take the bull by the horns, I fire off a quick message.

Me: Just finished up dinner with Amalee.

When my text goes unanswered, I return my phone to my cup holder and pull out of the lot. I almost turn to head toward Matthew’s place, but decide against it. If he hasn’t replied, it means he’s probably busy. I know he has a big day coming up, with his business deal looming, and could be working.

I will admit, for a man who was very passionately devoted to that particular deal a handful of weeks ago, he’s been very lax in the last few. Maybe that’s because he has everything where he wants it, which would be good news. I’ve seen how absorbed my dad would get when he was working to secure a deal, and how consuming work can be the closer it gets to signing. I just hope everything is still on track come Saturday, and no issues arise. The last thing I’d want to see is him too busy to attend the gala.

By the time I reach my building and park, my text message still goes unanswered, so I slip my purse over my shoulder, wave a quick greeting to the evening shift manning the front door, and head upstairs to the penthouse.

Deciding to get comfortable, I change my clothes into a cozy nightshirt and wash the makeup off my face. With my hair pulled up in a ponytail, I move to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine and flip on the whole-house stereo system. Ed Sheeran fills the rooms with his soft crooning, and I’m instantly put in a better mood.

The wine helps.

I try not to glance at my phone, but it’s fruitless. I must check my device two dozen times over the next thirty minutes, but no response appears. In fact, I go in and make sure I actually sent my original message. When I see it was sent and shows as delivered, I set my phone down on the counter, fill my wine glass with more liquid love, and head for the balcony.

Sipping sweet wine, I watch the traffic below, the cars moving at a steady pace to