Huxley snorts. “Don’t insult me.”
I look at him from across my small office and grin. “Thank you, that’s really sweet of you — I was starving.”
He shrugs and looks down as if uncomfortable with receiving gratitude for any of his positive actions.
We fall into comfortable silence for a few minutes as we eat until Huxley speaks again. “So when can I see you next?”
The way he smirks and watches me from under his eyelashes with those deep green eyes tells me his question is loaded with shameless intentions.
A small thrill zips through my body, and I grin, poking at my Pad Thai distractedly.
“How about tomorrow night?” he presses.
I’m about to enthusiastically agree until I realize my dreaded influencer party is tomorrow, the day before Valentine’s Day.
I drop my shoulders along with my smile. “Ugh, I can’t. I have this stupid fucking event I need to go to for work and —” I stop in my tracks and lift an eyebrow as my grin returns. This time, far more conspiratorial. “You could always come with me.”
Huxley sits up a little straighter, brows lifting in surprise.
“As your … date?”
“Yeah, silly, as my date, what else?” I say, trying to sound as natural as possible while swallowing around a large lump in my throat.
Huxley’s eye turns suspicious. “Whatkindof event?”
“Just this influencer thing. We can leave early, I just need to make an appearance.”
Huxley quirks a smile. “Why? ‘Cause you’re so famous?”
“As a matter of fact, I am,” I say, pretending to be insulted, my grin widening the more I speak.
He coughs a laugh, but I can tell he’s trying to conceal his nervousness.
Suddenly feeling insecure, I quickly add, “No pressure, obviously, we can always do something today instead. I just figured, why not? No biggie.”
Jeez, way to act casual, Connie.
“I can’t today.” He pauses as if considering what to add next. “I have therapy after work, then my woodworking class with Whit at seven.” He studies me for a second. “You actually want me to come with you?”
“Yeah,” I say expectantly.
Huxley’s smirk turns slightly mocking. “In public. Where people will see us together.”
I laugh dryly. “God,” I say with an amused smirk, poking at the noodles just for something to do. “You’re making me sound like a total jerk.”
Huxley smiles into his Pad Thai. “If the shoe fits,” he mumbles before taking a bite.
“Little shit!” I say, pretending to be gravely insulted while Huxley falls into a fit of laughter. “Do you want to come with me or not?”
His gaze lifts to meet mine. “I do.” His tone is a lot more serious than his earlier teasing, and my stomach flips with excited nerves. “But I don’t think I have anything appropriate to wear.”
I scoff, dismissing his worries. “It’s an influencer party, you’ll fit right in with your blue hair and prison tattoos.”
I cringe immediately.
Why did I have to say it like that? Huxley doesn’t seem insulted, but I still feel the need to appease him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound so rude. I just meant, like, influencers would pay a lot of money to have your look.”
