Hayden shrugged. “Felicity moved to New York for a guy who barely spoke to her during high school.”

“Oh my God. Loved that show.”

“Me, too,” she sighed. “It all went downhill when she got that ill-fated haircut.”

Story held up a hand. “But seriously, late-nineties television dramas aside, I can’t take a chance like that. Not right now. Besides, it’s possible he’s just having a crisis of conscience because he slept with the boss’s daughter.”

“Wow. Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

Eyebrows raised, she pointed a finger at Hayden. “Whoa. What was that tone?”

Hayden snapped her teeth at Story’s finger. “That was my wise, earth-mother tone. You like?”

“No. I don’t like. Knock it off.”

“Okay, I’m only going to say one more thing and then I’ll send the earth mother back to her hippie cave.” She made a broad gesture. “I have this huge place all to myself. There’s an extra bedroom with your name on it. We were all kinds of awesome as roommates before and we could be again. If you decide to extend your stay in New York, it’s all yours.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate the offer.” Story wandered across the closet, mostly to hide the sheen of tears in her eyes, and pulled a red halter dress off a rack. “I…miss him, Hay.”

“I know,” Hayden responded quietly, not even having to question her about which man she was referring to. She so obviously missed Daniel.

She held the red dress against her body for Hayden to comment, hoping she would allow the subject to drop. If they discussed it any further, she would start crying and be forced to admit just how deep her feelings actually ran for Daniel. Every day that passed without hearing from him only served to deepen them, not alleviate the void his absence created.

Her friend didn’t disappoint. “Nah. A blonde wearing red attracts the wrong attention. I have something perfect right here.” She unzipped a garment bag and pulled out an electric-blue sheath dress. “It’s loose and unrevealing on top so you’ll be comfortable. But it’s short to make up for it. You’re going to be all legs tonight.”

Story didn’t bother pretending she hadn’t fallen in love with the dress on the spot. She went toward Hayden with the intention of trying it on when something hanging on a rack caught her attention. “Is that a Mets jersey?”

Hayden glanced over. “Oh yeah, I got that at an auction. It’s too small, but the money went to charity, so…” She frowned when Story quickly began stripping off her clothes. “What’s happening here?”

Briefly, Story filled Hayden in on the wager she’d made with Daniel at the baseball game and watched the same idea register on her friend’s face. “I need you to take a picture of me with the jersey on. Use my phone.”

“I just want to say for the record that I am totally against this. You should call him and have a meaningful adult conversation to resolve your issues,” Hayden deadpanned, excitement shining behind her eyes. “That being said, you’re going to need some high heels and sexed-up hair.”

“Ooh. Sexed-up hair. Good idea,” Story enthused, stepping into a pair of black pumps. Then she flipped her hair over her head and tousled it with her fingers. Finished with her preparations, she stared across the closet at her friend. “What am I missing?”

Hayden rolled her eyes. “The fucking jersey, femme fatale.”

“Oh, right!” She grabbed the jersey off the rack, surprised at how small it looked and checked the tag. “Dude, this is a youth small.”

“Even better,” Hayden responded, raising Story’s phone to eye level.

Story pulled the jersey over her head, which barely fit through the hole, then shimmied until she’d gotten the garment all the way on. It barely reached her navel. She frowned at Hayden, who simply gave her a thumbs-up. What was she thinking? Was she really about to send Daniel a picture of her in underwear and a child’s shirt? Maybe this is a bad idea…

Hayden snapped her fingers. “Hey, don’t even think about losing your nerve. This is too good. Do we need tequila? I have a bottle stashed somewhere.”

“No, no. I’m fine,” Story said unconvincingly. “Just don’t send the picture until I approve it. Deal?”

“Deal.” Hayden reached over and pressed a button on the wall. Out of nowhere, music pumped through hidden speakers into the closet. “Now move your ass. Show me what you got.” Story smiled sweetly and waved at the camera phone, making Hayden grimace. “This isn’t a yearbook photo. You’re going to have to do way better than that.”

Attempting to focus, Story thought about Daniel and the way he made her feel when they were together. Free. Unrestrained. Honest.

Once more, she ruffled her hair with her fingers, then stared right into the camera, picturing Daniel’s brown eyes glazed with lust. Vaguely, she heard the click of the camera.

“Let me see.”

Hayden looked at her sheepishly. “Oops, already sent it.”

…

Daniel stood behind the lectern trying not to glance down at his watch. The room full of uniforms in front of him blurred into a sea of navy blue.

Since Jack remained in the hospital, Daniel had been tapped to give the weekly lecture at his hostage negotiation class. Almost immediately, he’d grown sick of hearing his own voice, simply wanting to get the hell out of there.

And where’ll you go, jackass? Home to your depressingly empty apartment. Where you’ll sit and hope she calls like the previous five nights?

Every time he’d been tempted to pick up the phone to call her over the last five days, he’d climbed onto his treadmill instead, eventually losing count of how many miles he’d sprinted. Desire for her assailed him constantly, often in the most inconvenient places. Like now, in front of thirty uniformed officers. Every time Brent or Matt brought up the Mets’ historic comeback over the Padres, it made him wish he could go back to that night and fall asleep with her in his arms. Kiss her into wakefulness the next morning. Or two days later in the park, when she’d all but begged him to take her home. What had he been thinking? Walking away and leaving her there. Needing him.

Fuck it. As soon as he got out of this four-walled prison, he was going to get her. This ridiculous stalemate, one he’d initiated, had gone on way too long. He missed her like crazy and it only got worse with each passing day. Going to bed each night knowing she was only a five-minute walk from his a

partment had been sheer torture and he couldn’t face another night of it.

He’d foolishly thought denying them what they wanted would make her see him in a nonsexual light. Help her realize there was more to them than just unbelievable chemistry. He should have seen all along that sex with Story wasn’t him giving in to a weakness. The way it had always been his weakness before he met her. Their connection went beyond that. And he’d wasted five days realizing it.

Giving her an ultimatum had been a mistake. He’d panicked at the thought of her leaving New York and acted without thinking. Story just got out of a long-term relationship. He’d be lucky if she was ready to move on a year from now. Of course she wouldn’t be prepared to take a risk so soon, especially on someone like him. Someone who didn’t even know what a healthy, stable relationship looked like because he’d never encountered one.

She wanted a purely physical relationship with him? She could have it. He’d take whatever she offered him and be glad for it. But he couldn’t stay away from her any more. Every minute that passed made him more anxious to see her.

The class finally finished reading the assigned passage he’d distributed, forcing him out of his internal chaos. One by one, they refocused on Daniel at the front of the room. Doing his best to push thoughts of Story aside, he continued his lecture.

“We’ve spoken about the first two phases of a hostage negotiation tonight. The initial phase, usually ending in the hostage-taker’s demands. The negotiation phase, commonly referred to as the standoff phase, wherein we do our best do develop a relationship with the hostage-taker. Now, we’ll move on to the termination phase, where one of three outcomes is possible—”

His phone buzzed on the lectern with an incoming text message. From Story. His heart leaped in his chest. No way could he wait another hour to see what she had to say. Subtly, without pausing in his speech, he punched the view message option with his thumb.

The words died on his lips.

Story in tiny white panties and high heels, wearing a skin-tight Mets jersey short enough to reveal her taut, sun-kissed stomach. Blond hair in a tangled cloud around her face, her expression very clearly saying, “Come and get me, big boy.”