15
Five days of clients with crumbling marriages. A week of flowers and texts telling me I’m beautiful. And here I am going on date numbertwo.
Dot’s 80s music blares louder than usual. I watch my Converse as I make my way down the stairwell, wondering if the cute, sleeveless shirt and jeans I’m wearing make me underdressed. Elijah refused to tell me where he was taking me for dinner. Dress casual, he said, but the thing is, I’m not exactly sure what casual is to a freaking multi-billionaire.
When I reach the door, I push onto my toes to peek through the tiny, diamond shaped window. Elijah’s propped against the wrought iron fence. The sleeves of the black Henley he’s wearing are snuggly rolled up, displaying his tattoos. There’s not a hint of businessman tonight. Without the suit, he looks like a guy you’d willingly let break your heart, just for a chance to have his.Don’t even think shit like that, Charlie. Justdon’t.
Taking a breath, I step into the muggy evening heat. Elijah’s staring at the building with a perplexed look on his face. My guess is he sees Dot on herelliptical.
When I close the door behind me, his gaze shifts to me. A slow, pleased smile reaches his eyes. “You lookamazing.”
“Thanks.” I act nonchalant, like I just threw on these skinny jeans and tank and I’m aware that I look terrific. Truth is, I tried on fifteen different outfits before finally settling on one. “So, where are we going fordinner?”
“I’m still not telling you.” He takes my hand and threads his fingers throughmine.
It’s the small touches like this that throw me off. Having sex with someone is basic human instinct. It doesn’thaveto mean anything. Holding someone’s hand andnothaving sex is something…very different. It’s casuallyintimate.
“No driver tonight?” Iask.
“No, I wanted to enjoy the walk withyou.”
Yeah. Swoon. Fine.A lady struggling to control a pack of dogs staggers past when we turn the corner. I try to ignore how natural my hand feels in his as we stroll along. “So, Mexican? Indian?Thai?”
He chuckles. “You can’t stand not knowing, canyou?”
“No.”
“That’s a shame. The element of surprise isfun.”
“Maybe for some people, but it causes mestress.”
He slows his stride. “Surprise causes youstress?”
I nod, smiling up at him when we round another corner, this time dodging a group of teenagers. “Look, I’ve told you I’m awkward. Steph tried to warn you aswell.”
“You’re not awkward; you’requirky.”
“There’s adifference?”
“Yes. Quirky, in your case, isendearing.”
“Endearing?” I dip my chin. “Jesus, how old are you? That sounds like something my ninety-year-old grandfather would havesaid.”
“Twenty-nine.”
Twenty-nine!The toe of my Converse catches on the sidewalk, and I stumble astep.
He side eyes me. “Ever sograceful.”
I jerk my chin behind me. “That crack was elevated by about aninch.”
“Um-hmm. Twenty-nine isn’t too young for you, isit?”
“Oh, what? No.” I wave a hand dismissively through the air. “No, not at all for acasual…”
He squeezes my hand, mixing every signal like a traffic jam. “Tryst.”
“Not the word I was looking for, but sure. We’ll go with that.” I glance at him, thinking that when I was sixteen, he was nine. I could have babysat him.Okay. Enough of that train of thought.I clear my throat. “You’ve accomplished a lot to be twenty-nine.”
