“Anya.” I hear his voice. I look up from my screen to find him approaching me. He jogs toward me and I can’t help but sweep my gaze over his body.
“I am sorry for keeping you so long,” he says as he eyes me. “You were going to leave,” he observes, his voice laced with relief.
I fidget with the phone in my hand. “I thought you forgot,” I whisper as I inhale his scent. His hair is wet, probably from the shower he must have taken.
His eyes darken at my words, a sly smile playing on his lips. He moves closer until our bodies are barely a few inches apart. I feel that now familiar tug in my heart whenever he gets this close to me.
“Forget you?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I could never forget you, even if I tried. And I don’t want to try,” he whispers. His fingers reach out, gently prying the phone from my grasp and putting it in his pocket. My eyes widen. He smiles softly as he looks down at me. “I am sorry, though, to keep you waiting,” he says.
“What do you mean by that?” I whisper.
He stares at me for a moment, “It’s impossible to forget you because…” I hold my breath. “...only you can drop murderous comments in the middle of conversations with ease.” He laughs.
I blink at him. “You’re impossible.” I huff.
“Let’s have dinner,” he suggests, carefully taking a step away, and I miss the warmth radiating from his body.
“No, there’s no need for that,” I mutter quickly.
“Shh.” He keeps a finger on my lips. The contact sends a shiver down my spine. I gaze up at him, his eyes intense and focused on me, his presence both overwhelming and comforting at the same time.
“I just won a game, Anya, please.”
“I am not that hungry,” I reply, and my stomach growls as if on cue. I mentally curse my body. Why the hell can’t it support me for once? What I don’t understand is that a few minutes ago, I wanted to see him. But now that he is in front of me, I am trying to get away.
“See? Your stomach agrees with me at least.” He smirks. I want to punch it off his face, but he looks too handsome, unfortunately.
“You’re not getting out of this one, Firecracker,” he adds when I do not reply. “Your stomach is on my side.”
“Fine, whatever,” I grumble. He chuckles.
“Let’s go,” he says, gesturing toward the car. He opens the passenger door for me. I get in, thanking him as I do. He gets into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. As he pulls out of the parking lot, we fall into a comfortable silence. I glance at him occasionally, not liking this quietness.
“You played well today, captain,” I whisper. He looks at me briefly.
“Thank you.” He smiles. “So, you enjoyed the match?” he asks, his voice hopeful.
I nod. “Initially, I thought you’d lose and blame me.”I laugh quietly. “I am superstitious that way. I thought I had jinxed you or something.” I chuckle. When he doesn’t reply, I peep at him.
“I guess you’re my good luck charm then,” he murmurs, smiling and looking at the road.
My heart skips a beat at his words. I don’t understand how easily he says such things. I feel my cheeks heat up. I look away, diverting my attention toward the skyline visible from the bridge.
We pull into a parking lot. My eyes scrutinize the small yet cozy-looking diner. It has an old-fashioned charm. The neon sign above the door readsRosie’sand its light glows softly, giving the place a warm and inviting feeling. I feel a little relaxed and kind of impressed that he brought me to a small diner instead of a big restaurant.
I get out of the car. The cold air nips at my cheeks, making me grateful for the warmth of the diner’s interior. Daniel holds the door open for me with a theatrical bow. “After you, milady.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile that creeps onto my face. As we step inside, the smell of sizzling burgers and strawberries fills the air, and I can’t help but feel a little giddy.
“This place is cute,” I whisper as we settle into our booth. Daniel grins at me from across the table, seeming to be quite pleased with himself.
“I am glad you approve.” He winks.Oh my god. I am breathless.
He waves at the waitress. I catch a glimpse of the easy confidence he carries with him, whether he’s on the court or just enjoying a meal. I like how he is so relaxed with me, but I guess he is that way with all his friends, so nothing special.
“I will take the usual,” he says. The waitress smiles, and her eyes linger on his biceps more than I like, but I get it. I would be ogling him too if I were in herplace.
“What would you recommend?” I ask him.
