Page 12 of Pining for Pierce
“Oh.” He nods his head. “What about after work? We could go for a drink together, if you like?”
There’s nothing wrong with the guy, and although I’ve never really gone for men with blond hair, he’s very easy on the eye, with an athletic physique, shown off to perfection in a well fitting suit. For a moment, I’m tempted to accept, but then I remember Pierce. I think about his dark, brooding eyes, and how they sparked to life when we laughed and joked together, and my head seems to shake of its own accord.
“Thanks,” I say. “But I’m not available.”
“Maybe another time,” he replies, and I give him a smile, unwilling to admit that my lack of availability isn’t limited to tonight. It’s a permanent thing as far as I’m concerned, even if it isn’t very realistic. I mean… just because I long to spend every spare moment of the day – and night – with Pierce doesn’t mean it’ll ever happen. And yet, it doesn’t feel right to accept an invitation from another man, knowing my head, my heart, and every other part of me will always belong to someone else.
I turn away, heading back down Main Street, and while I know I made the right choice, I can’t help wondering how many more guys I’m gonna turn down. Let’s face it, there have been a few…
More than a few, actually.
I’m just strolling past the ice cream parlor when my phone beeps and I pull it from my purse, flipping it over, surprised to see I’ve got a message from Pierce. It’s unusual for him to contact me during the working day, and I stop walking and open it up, smiling to myself when I read…
— Hi. Sorry to bother you. Just wondered if you feel like having a drink with me tonight? We could meet at Dawson’s after work, if you’re free? P
I smile to myself, relieved I didn’t accept that guy’s offer now, as I type out my reply.
— I’d love to… although it’s called MD’s now. I can be there sometime between six and six-thirty. H x
I always add kisses to my messages… not that Pierce ever notices, and he replies almost immediately.
— I can’t get used to the name change. See you there. Have a good afternoon.
— You too. x
I’m floating on air as I wander back to the office. I don’t remember the last time I saw Pierce on a Friday night. We usually limit our meetings to Sundays, although when Ben was last here, I think we might have gone out together on the Friday evening, not long after he arrived… maybe.
Pierce didn’t mention a reason for wanting to meet up, though, so can it be he just wants to see me? Can it be I’m finally making my way out of the friend zone?
I walk into MD’s, relieved to find Pierce is already here, sitting in a booth by himself, with a glass of red wine in front of him. He looks up, tipping his dark head as he smiles and gives me a wave while I make my way over.
“What can I get you to drink?” he asks, getting to his feet, as I do my best not to make it too obvious that I can’t take my eyes off of him. He looks just as good as always, in a gray t-shirt, and stonewashed jeans, and I focus in on his perfect face for a second, wondering what it would feel like to caress his stubbled jaw.
“I’ve gotta drive home, so I guess it had better be a diet Coke.”
He nods, and makes his way over to the bar, while I remove my jacket and put it on the seat, settling into the booth and awaiting his return. He doesn’t take long, putting my drink in front of me and resuming his seat opposite, his smile making my insides melt, as usual, although it soon fades and I wonder if he invited me because he’s having problems… maybe with his father.
Before I can ask, he sits back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest, which makes his muscles bulge, his tattoos being shown off to their best effect, although I try hard not to stare as he sucks in a breath and says, “I’ve met someone,” crushing all my hopes and dreams with those three simple words.
I pick up my drink, taking a sip, and playing for time, before I say, “Oh?” because I can’t think what else to say. Ideally, I’d like to ask why he keeps doing this to me… why he keeps telling me about his latest conquests, when he must surely realize I don’t want to know.
How would he know that, though? The guy isn’t psychic, and you’ve never mentioned a word about how you feel.
It’s unreasonable to expect him to understand… even if I wish he would.
He nods his head, leaning forward again, so he can lower his voice and murmur, “I think she might be the one, Harley.”
That’s the last thing I wanted to hear.
“Really?” I say, surprised by how quiet my voice is.
“Yeah.”
“When did you meet her?” I ask, feeling intrigued. After all, he only had dinner with Kendra, or Keira, or whatever her name was, on Saturday evening, and he spent most of Sunday with me. He’s been working all week, so when would he have found time to meet ‘the one’?
“Earlier today,” he says, surprising me.
“Today? But you were working today.”
