Find Me in Manhattan (Finding #3) by Shealy James Page B

think about was what he’d look like without his t-shirt or pants for that matter.
    “Come on. You’re coming with me tonight.” He didn’t give me a choice when he plopped the helmet on my head and climbed on his bike. With his hand held out to me, I had no option but to take it and climb onto the seat behind him.
    The ride was quicker without the afternoon traffic. Riding in the open air was still exhilarating even though it was a bit cold despite my jacket and my own personal heater in the form of a sexy soldier. Shortly after, we arrived at his building in the Lower East Side.
    He pulled his bike into the garage and quickly climbed off.
    After Michael had helped me with the helmet on my head, he took my hand and led me to the elevator. His apartment was like something you’d see in Atlanta, dark wood floors and an upgraded kitchen. The difference? He could have ten of these apartments in the South for what he was probably paying. Real estate in New York wasn’t cheap.
    “This is nice,” I told him as I checked everything out.
    “Thanks. Amy, Phil, and I bought it when Phil and I came home. It’s close to the VA, and he was going in all the time. Amy couldn’t handle it all by herself. Once he was settled, they moved to their house and left me with the apartment.”
    “They gave it to you?”
    “Nah. They own half but consider it an investment. All real estate in New York is a good investment.”
    “I’m sure.”
    “Guest room is that way if you’re tired.” He nodded toward a small hallway with his head.
    I wasn’t ready to go to sleep. I was still on a bit of an adrenaline rush from the night and the ride on the motorcycle, not to mention the proximity of the muscular man on whom I was developing quite a crush. Let’s be honest. Who in their right mind would turn down couch time with Sergeant Michael Pearson? No straight woman in the world.
    “I could watch a little television if you don’t mind. I won’t be falling asleep anytime soon.”
    “Yeah, me neither. How about a movie then?”
    “Sounds great.”
    He handed me a bottle of water as we settled on his plush black leather sofa. He turned on a movie, but we didn’t watch it. We spent the entire time talking about the similarities of our friends.
    Then I asked the mother of inappropriate questions. “Is this how you land your ladies? You invite them over for a movie?”
    Thankfully, he didn’t seem offended by my prying. “No. Not at all. I don’t invite them over for one thing. Some of them would never leave.”
    “And you don’t exactly date them either, do you?”
    He examined my face for a moment probably deciding how much to tell me. Then he shrugged. “Sometimes we hang out, but usually we take care of each other and go about our business.”
    “How very honest and discreet of you. ‘Take care of each other.’ Is that how you describe it to the guys?”
    “No, but you aren’t one of the guys.”
    “Ha. Not usually.”
    The conversation became a “get to know Sarah” session. He asked me question after question, like it was my turn to be interviewed. How long I had been in New York? What did I plan to do with my degree? What was my research about? Why did I pick this field? The more I talked, the more he asked. I had a hard time refraining from saying “highly dissatisfied,” or “moderately satisfied,” when he asked me opinion questions, while waiting the entire time for him to dig into the whole Jameson fiasco. When he finally did, it was simple. “So, you and that guy are over, right? You’re not going back to him are you?”
    “Definitely not. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, and I’m a moron. I don’t know what comes with fool me three times, and unfortunately, I’m already the moron.” I hated admitting that aloud, but I needed to say it. The first step in closure is acceptance, right? I was accepting the fact that my prince charming might actually be the devil reincarnated.
    We were silent for