Sleep-ins that I’d gotten to take advantage of the last few weekends. But I couldn’t possibly go up again this weekend; there was no reason to. I had what I needed to get started on the Bailey Falls campaign, and my mother would put out an APB for me if I ditched brunch again. Still, when he started telling me all about the Halloween harvest festival that was going on that weekend . . .

“I can’t, I just can’t! I’ve spent the last few weekends up there as it is, my city needs me! I can’t disappear again,” I teased, lying on my bed with my feet propped up on the headboard Thursday night, listening as Oscar made a case for why it was imperative that I get my great comma big ass back up there this weekend.

“I’ve even got people covering my stall at the farmers’ market this weekend. That’s how big this festival is,” he replied, his voice extra low and sexy tonight. Maybe it was just that it’d been four days since I’d had a hit of Oscar, and my body was literally craving it.

“You’re not going to be in the city Saturday?” I asked, disappointed. I’d planned on stopping by, going through our normal “Brie” conversation, pretending I didn’t know him at all but just still had a crush, but making sure to wear something extremely low-cut to torture him with.

“Nope, I’ll be at Maxwell Farms Friday night helping them get set up, and will probably spend all Saturday there. Leo’s setting up a corn maze.”

There was a new club opening in Gramercy that I’d been invited to, two dinners with friends I hadn’t seen for a few weeks, and a fund-raiser for a friend of my mother’s on a yacht on the Hudson. All places at which I’d planned on making an appearance.

But nowhere on my island was there a corn maze.

As I turned onto Forty-eighth Street I saw a subway poster advertising Grand Central as the weekend getaway hub.

No, universe! No, no, no! No weekend getaways. No taking the train. No going back to Bailey Falls for the weekend just for a corn maze.

But it wouldn’t be just for the corn maze . . . there’d be dick involved.

I packed an overnight bag that evening, and this time instead of asking Roxie to pick me up at the Poughkeepsie station, I asked Oscar. He agreed instantly, and then spent ten minutes describing exactly what he planned to do to me in his truck on our way into town. To be fair, some of them couldn’t realistically be done while driving, but it didn’t really matter . . .

Friday evening, I walked off the train platform and headed for the parking lot, knowing Oscar would be waiting there for me. But instead, he surprised me by actually sitting inside the station, in the beautiful old lobby. For a second, I had an overwhelming urge to drop my bag and go running across the lobby, throwing myself into his arms, and letting him spin me silly while laying a big wet kiss on me. I walked quickly toward him, fighting the urge.

He met me halfway, walking rather quickly himself, and did indeed spin me around while giving me the biggest kiss of my life. The only deviation from the Disney version in my head was that one of his hands was splayed across my ass.

“Wow,” was all I could manage when he finally set me down.

“Was that too much?” he asked, the grin on his face unstoppable.

“Hell, I’m too much,” I replied, my grin matching his. “That was just right.”

He scooped up my bag and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, guiding me out to the parking lot.

“So, I’ve been thinking about all those things you wanted to do to me on the way home, and I think I figured out a way you can do them and not get arrested—or both of us splattered across the road.”

“Natalie, listen, I—”

“There’s that old turnoff, right by the old state highway? Roxie said it used to be one of the roads up to Bryant Mountain House, but it isn’t used anymore. So I was thinking we should go use it.”

“We can definitely do that, but not—”

I hurried toward his truck, eager for the weekend to start. “Come on, let’s go. If I sit next to you, I can slip my hand inside your jeans and lean down to— What the hell?”

Missy was sitting inside Oscar’s truck.

“Hi, Natalie.” She waved. I waved back, looking at Oscar with questions all over my face.

“Her car broke down,” he said as he stowed my bag in the back of the truck. Opening the passenger door for me, he had the decency to blush slightly. Considering what I’d been saying as we walked up, and knowing full well she must have heard my indecent proposal, a slight blush shouldn’t be enough. And did he look amused?

“My car broke down,” Missy echoed like a parrot. She patted the seat next to her. She’d slid into the middle seat, positioning herself between Oscar and me.

That would make road head a bit harder . . .

I grabbed hold of the door and stepped up gingerly. I was wearing new four-inch Bionda Castana fringed leopard booties, and while walking a mile over cobblestones wouldn’t give me pause, climbing in and out of trucks wasn’t what the designer had in mind. A large, steady hand landed on my behind, supporting me—and also engaging in a little grab-ass where prying Girl Scout eyes couldn’t see.

Whatever.

“Hello, Missy,” I chirped. I settled myself in the passenger side, feeling enormous next to the tiny ex-wife who was riding next to my guy.

Was he my guy? The proposed road head said yes. Maybe?

Oscar climbed in at that moment, and the two of us positively dwarfed Missy.

“So, are we giving you a lift somewhere?” I asked her.