“I’ll wait for table nine, thanks,” I grit.
Following my gaze, the woman grins. “Nice choice, but that’s not how this works. Table six or you can leave.”
I grunt and slip her a bill. “Bring me a whiskey when I get to table nine.”
13
Rose
I’ve only gone speed-dating once in New York. Not in hopes of meeting someone special, but for moral support for a college girlfriend of mine. It sounded like fun, and it was. But only when you go with a friend and exchange notes—over lots of drinks.
Willow thinks this is my way of getting the attention I’m not getting from Wilder. But she’s wrong.
I do have Wilder’s attention. Just not in the way I want.
Tonight is more about having a good time. I don’t plan on calling any of them afterwards. Not for a good time and certainly not for forever.
As much fun as it sounded to hang out with Wes and Silas and his teammates tonight, I wanted to be on my own. I really don’t want to be talking to a bunch of hockey players—or any guys for that matter—with my brother across the table watching me.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
I certainly don’t tell myself that I wanted to go out alone tonight—inhopesof getting caught.
But I’m on date number twelve and .?.?. I don’t think he’s coming.
I’ve been sitting with Rob or Bob or Andrew for a solid two minutes now. He’s been staring at my cleavage since he sat down. Only making eye contact for a few seconds at a time.
I’m not a fan of this one. At least the others made me laugh. Sort of.
Like Todd, the poet, who attempted to come up with a unique poem on the fly that starts with “Roses are red.”
Even Gary, who proudly bragged about winning a hot dog eating contest last fall, was funny and sweet. Not in a romantic sense, though.
I fight back a yawn, listening to Bob and mentally counting how many more before I’ve gone through all sixteen dates.
A towering frame approaches my table. “Clock’s up—move along.”
My stomach squeezes as I look up.Wilder.
Confused, my current date glances between us. “Uh .?.?. I don’t think—”
“I said beat it.” Wilder’s voice is low but sharp. He doesn’t look at me—and something tells me he’ssavingit for when we’re alone.
My heart flips with mischievous excitement. Still, I feel some sort of obligation to defend this poor man. I’m about to when I catch date number twelve glance back at an unpaired table six. He smirks as he stands. “Have a nice night, you two.”
Wilder’s lips are pressed in a thin line as he fills the seat. His jaw is tight. But his eyes, when they finally meet mine, aren’t equally angry. They’re not tender either, just .?.?. amused? Challenging?
“Wilder,” I say with a steady breath.
“Yes, I’m Wilder, and you are?”
“Surprised.”
He leans in and his face is even more gorgeous in the candlelight. “Oh, I was too, but enough about me. How do youplan on getting home tonight?”
I cross my arms. “In my cart.”
He shakes his head. “I just had it towed. Stolen property.”
