My Loyalty Won Him a Porsche

Three years into dating Preston Whitaker, his best friend slid into my messages.

Want to do something a little dangerous? One night. Just you and me.

I didn't answer. I blocked the number, and that night I handed my phone to Preston so he could read it himself.

He barely glanced at the screen before he tossed the phone back onto the couch. "Babe, relax. Ryder could have literally any girl he wants. Why would he go after you? He was probably wasted and hit the wrong name."

I told myself that was all it was, a drunk text sent to the wrong person.

Except after that, Ryder Knox was everywhere. He was at the coffee place by my office on Monday morning. He showed up to Preston's dinners and sat across from me, watching. Once he was leaning against his car outside my gym when I came out, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Then I came home a day early from a work trip.

I'd spent ten straight days bouncing between client sites in three cities, and all I wanted was my own bed. I was standing outside Preston's condo with my suitcase, key already in the lock, when I heard Ryder's voice on the other side of the door.

"Okay, okay. I lost."

He sounded annoyed, but there was a laugh in it too. "Sloane's the real deal. I threw everything I had at her, and she wouldn't even look at me."

Then came Preston, smug as hell. "What did I tell you? She's wife material. Raised right. And she's crazy about me. There's no way she'd ever cheat. A bet's a bet, Ry. Bring that Porsche your dad just bought you over here tomorrow."

I stood in the hallway with one hand still on my suitcase handle and breathed in and out three times.

Then I took out my phone, unblocked Ryder, and typed.

What you said before. I'm in. Tonight, 11. The Ashford, room 1417.

A second later, something crashed inside the condo.

"Holy shit!"

It was Ryder, followed by a coughing fit so bad it sounded like he was dying.

"Ry? Dude, did you choke on your drink?"

Chairs scraped. Everyone crowded around him at once, and someone said they should call 911. Through the door I heard Kenzie Talbot, the one girl in their group, the childhood friend they'd all grown up with. "I'm calling. I'm calling right now—"

"Don't," Ryder said between coughs. "I'm fine. I'm done drinking. You guys keep going."

Preston clicked his tongue, like the fun was officially over. "Yeah, I'm done too. Let's clean up. Sloane's back tomorrow. If she walks in and finds you guys here and the place trashed, I'll never hear the end of it."

"Oh my God, Pres," Kenzie whined. "We can't even have a few drinks at your place? She has you on such a short leash. I've been saying it forever, she's not a keeper. She's bossy, she's married to her job, and she's got zero girlfriend energy. Where's the part where she actually takes care of you?"

I could practically hear Preston throw an arm around Ryder's shoulders.

"So she's a boss babe. Who cares? She loves me. That's what counts. Remember the time I faked being blackout drunk so Ry had to drive me home? I passed out in the bedroom and left the two of them alone in the living room. She didn't even look up from her laptop."

"Girls have been throwing themselves at Ryder since middle school. Look at that face. He's been working on her for months, and she won't give him the time of day. A girl who only has eyes for me? Where am I supposed to find another one of those?"

The whole room cracked up. Then they started trading stories about every move Ryder had tried on me, one after another, like it was the best show they'd ever watched.

Only Ryder didn't say anything.

A minute later, my phone buzzed.

You serious?

I blinked hard. My eyes were stinging. I typed back.

Bring condoms.

Then I turned around and walked away from the door. I took an Uber to the hotel I'd booked on the way from the airport. My phone kept buzzing in my bag the whole ride, and I didn't look at it once.

When I got to my room, I ran a bath and sat in it until the ache in my shoulders finally let go. Only then did I pick up my phone.

Pres said you get back tomorrow. So why are you in Chicago tonight? You lied to him?

Wait. Have you been seeing some guy behind his back this whole time?

Let me guess. You booked that room for someone else, he flaked, and now I'm the backup?

Is Pres not enough for you? You need to try out other guys too?

Why aren't you answering? Guilty conscience?

Sloane. You have three minutes to text me back, or I'm telling Pres.

I frowned. Under the texts was a long list of call attempts, and when I switched screens, there were a dozen missed calls too.

I sat there for a while and thought it through. By the time I started typing, I had a new plan.

Don't bother. I already found someone else.

We just finished. I'm going to sleep now.

I hit send, powered off my phone, and lay down.

Ten days of nonstop travel had wrung me out completely. I didn't have room in my head for anybody else tonight. I wanted to put all of it down, the anger, the hurt, every last bit of it, and just sleep.

I had no idea how long I'd been out when someone started pounding on the door.