Never Choose Flight (A Fighter Romance Novel) by Danielle Forte Page A

need some time,” he said. “I need to think it over. I can’t agree to anything yet. I need to sleep on it.”
    “Sure,” I said. “That’s no problem.”
    He sat back down on the couch. “So what do you want to do?”
    I threw one leg onto the other side of him and pressed my lips against his. His lips engulfed mine erotically for a moment, but then he pulled me away.
    “I can’t,” he said. “Not yet. I need some space to think.”
    He looked me in the eyes, and I knew what he meant. I got off of him and walked to the door.
    “I’ll have my answer in a day or two,” he said.
    “Okay,” I replied, and then I was out the door.
    * * *
     

 
    The air was cold as I got into my car and started on the drive home. I felt good. Not quite as good as I’d hoped, but still pretty good.
    But then I realized something, and it felt like suddenly there was a boulder in the pit of my stomach.
    He didn’t have my phone number anymore. He didn’t know where I lived. He wasn’t going to call with an answer in a day or two. He just said all that stuff as a way to get rid of me. And it had worked.

Chapter 6
    When my alarm went off the next morning, I wished I was dead. Before falling asleep I managed to basically convince myself that there was no chance I’d ever hear from Malcolm again. I’d been had. He wanted a one night stand, I’d agreed, and everything after that was just his way of getting rid of me.
    In the shower I tried to convince myself that it was for the best. Maybe all those things he’d said had been true. Maybe if we went out I really would be kidnapped or something. And he might actually become a worse fighter if we started dating.
    But none of those thoughts made me feel any better. They just swirled around in my head, like the coffee I stirred, and kept my mind squarely focussed on the man who I needed to forget. Malcolm.
    Of course, when you actively try to forget about someone, you always end up thinking about them nonstop. On my drive to work, I convinced myself that I was not allowed to look up anything related to Malcolm or to fighting at work that day. I needed to get my sales up anyway, or risk getting a talk from my manager.
    I walked into the building, on time, and saw a smile on Samantha’s face. Her eyes were smiling as much as her mouth. But I guess my face gave away how my night had been, and her smile melted away into concern.
    “What happened?” she said, more of a statement than a question.
    “We’re not dating.”
    “Did you get laid?” she asked, more quietly.
    “No,” I said.
    “Shit,” she said. Then she paused for a minute. “Was the fight good?”
    “The fight was fucking awesome,” I said. And then I walked away, plopped myself down at my desk, and started looking through my emails.
    “So,” said Derek, “How are you today Jessica?”
    “Terrible,” I said, not thinking. An answer like that went directly against my strategy with Derek. I never wanted him to think that I had anything interesting to say.
    “Oh no,” he said, feining concern. “What happened?”
    I looked over at him. “I don’t really want to talk about it.”
    “Okay,” he said. “But you should know that any time, any time, that you want to talk, I am there for you, okay? I won’t judge you for anything. I don’t need to give advice if you don’t want it. But I am a fantastic listener.”
    As much as it pains me to say it, I almost took him up on the offer. Talking to someone about all this stuff sounded kind of like a good idea. Just explaining everything. Getting an outsider’s perspective. Maybe I was just acting irrationally. Maybe someone Malcolm would find a way to contact me even without my phone number.
    I brooded at my desk all morning, procrastinating making phone calls, when I heard a voice that was becoming familiar.
    “Does someone named Jessica work here?”
    My head spun around to look at reception, where the voice had come from. I didn’t recognize the person