“Honey, these aren’t heels, they’re Louboutins,” she corrected. Honestly. Men.

Once they’d settled into the town car’s soft leather seat, she asked, “Have you been to Pair before?”

He set a hand on her bare leg, his thumb stroking the inside of her knee.

“I haven’t, no,” he said, eyes locked on the spot where his palm had found her thigh. “You?”

“Sure, a bunch of times. I actually know one of the bouncers pretty well. That should get us to the front of the line.”

Mitchell stared at her. “There’ll be a line? This late?”

Julie had to laugh. “Are you kidding? There’ll be a line because we’re this late.”

He looked vaguely disoriented. “But there have to be about a million other places to grab a drink in the city where one wouldn’t have to wait.”

“I’m sure there are, but that’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?”

Julie shrugged, annoyed at the question. “I don’t know. It’s about the scene, I guess.” He grunted, and Julie very slowly turned to face him, realization dawning.

“Mitchell . . . you have been to a club before, right? At least once?”

“Sure.”

He was lying. She was sure of it. Her spine stiffened. “Mitchell, why did you suggest this tonight?”

“I thought you’d enjoy it—isn’t this your thing?”

Julie tried not to be insulted.

Just a few weeks ago it wouldn’t have bothered her to have a “thing.” It wouldn’t have even bothered her that people perceived her “thing” to be partying with a different guy every week. But no matter what she did, she couldn’t quite get this guy to think she was relationship-worthy.

“If it were my thing, would I have suggested movie night?” she heard herself asking in a small voice.

He finally turned to look at her. “I thought you were only suggesting that because it’s what I would want to do.”

She met his eyes. “Is that why you said no?” Or am I not movie-night material?

He sucked in the insides of his cheeks briefly as though debating his best option: a careful lie or a painful truth.

“Honestly? Movie night seemed a little . . . intimate,” he conceded finally.

Ouch.

She almost wished he’d gone with the careful lie. But on the plus side, it was a great development for her story.

Rule one in taking things to the next level: Do not rush movie night, no matter how dull and predictable the man may seem. The rejection will sting.

“It’s no biggie,” she said, forcing a bright tone. “Oh, great, we’re here.”

Julie clawed at the door handle before Mitchell or the driver could open it for her, maneuvering onto the uneven cobblestoned street easily in her high heels.

“Julie, wait,” Mitchell said as he hurried to catch up to her.

“Come on!” she said. “Brent’s working tonight—he’ll get us in!” Immediately the intoxicated, glittery people in line began booing as she moved toward the entrance.

“Hey, wait in line, lady!”

Julie ignored them. Amateurs.

Mitchell grabbed her arm and pulled her around to face him before she could get to Brent. “Would you hold on just a second?” he asked, sounding exasperated.

“What’s up?” she asked in a hyper voice, blinking rapidly to prevent tears from falling.

Crying in front of a nightclub because a man hadn’t wanted to watch a movie with her would be a first. And if she had any say in the matter, it’d be a last.

“What’s going on?” he asked, looking completely puzzled. “If you didn’t want to come tonight, you should have just said so.”

“No, it’ll be great,” she said, giving a brittle laugh. “You’ll love it.”

“Julie.”

“Mitchell.”

“Talk to me, please. You’re acting weird.”

She glanced down at the tips of her patent leather pumps, trying to rack her brain for what a girlfriend would say. What would Grace do?

Tell him the truth. No relationship can move forward on half-truths.

Unless of course the entire “relationship” was a half-truth. Still, it was time to take a chance. No journalist got a good story without taking a few risks.

She just wished this particular risk wasn’t so . . . personal.

“I’m tired of being the short-term kind of girl,” she heard herself say.

No! No, no, no! That hadn’t been what she’d meant to say.

She’d only meant to say that she’d gotten her feelings a little hurt. Instead she was spilling her guts while half the Jersey shore heckled her from the other side of the velvet rope.

Mitchell’s head snapped back slightly. It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. And judging from the unhappy crease between his brows, it wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear.

Well, too freaking bad, Mr. Forbes. It was out there now, so he’d have to deal with it. They both would. She lifted her chin and waited for his response.

“I assumed that whatever was going on between us was just a fling,” he said finally. “That we were just having fun. I never meant for you to get the wrong idea.”

Julie almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the moment. Here was a short-term kind of girl begging for a long-term relationship from a long-term kind of guy who wanted a fling.

It was movie-worthy.

It was laughable.

It was . . . incredibly painful.

“Then a fling is what we’ll have,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Julie.”

She ignored him, grabbing his hand and yanking him toward the entrance. Julie went through the motions of flirting with the bouncer. She felt Mitchell’s eyes on her face, but she refused to meet his eyes.

Brent waved them in with his usual grumpy scowl, and Julie pulled Mitchell into the club, where the familiar throbbing darkness washed over her. For a second she faltered. In a space that was so densely packed with people, how was it that she could feel so utterly alone?

* * *

Mitchell might be a nightclub novice, but he’d apparently done his research.

Within seconds of entering the lair, he’d secured them a corner table and bottle service. The price was astronomical, but the alternative was fighting through a crowd six people deep just to get to the bar for a watered-down vodka and soda.

After their drinks had been poured, Julie kept her eyes fixed on the spot just to the right of his eyes, hoping he wouldn’t notice that she wouldn’t make eye contact. Couldn’t make eye contact. “To flings.” She raised her glass and waited expectantly for him to return the toast.

“To us,” he said instead.

She drained her drink in three swallows. There was no us.

“Whoa, slow down,” he murmured.

But Julie didn’t want nice Mitchell. Didn’t want gentlemanly Mitchell. She had only a limited amount of time left with this complicated man, and she was going to enjoy it.

“Another,” she said.

“Julie—”

She silenced him with a kiss that was hot and a little rough. Her teeth scraped at his bottom lip, wanting to hurt him. He set his glass aside and slid an arm around her back as the other tangled in her hair. Mitchell angled his head and deepened the kiss. His tongue parried with hers, his teeth doing some biting of their own. Julie relished the taste of anger on his mouth.

The kiss wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t kind. It certainly wasn’t loving.

“Jules?”

She groaned.

“Jules!”

It took her several minutes for the voice to permeate the sexual fog. Someone was calling her name. Not Mitchell.

She pulled back from Mitchell’s kiss, breathing hard. She put a hand to her lips, knowing they were swollen and wet.

“Hey, I thought it was you.”

She glanced up and saw a handsome, familiar face. “Cam!”

The newcomer gave a wide smile and sat down uninvited. Julie peeked at Mitchell, who looked somewhere between annoyed and aroused.

Good.

“Cam, this is Mitchell Forbes. He’s um . . . we were . . .”