“I might have gotten carried away with the spreadsheet functions.”
“You made subcategories for ‘movies that will make her laugh’ and ‘movies to watch when the treatment’s hitting hard.’”
I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “Categorisation is how I survive life. Some people go to therapy. I create subcategories.”
He dropped his arms and closed the distance between us in two strides, stopping just shy of touching me. “You made my mum smile on her worst day.” The way his voice softened made my heart trip over itself.
“It’s just a spreadsheet. Anyone would have done the same.”
“It’s not just anything.” His voice was gravel. “And you’re not just anyone.” He paused, his eyes searching mine. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t a demand. It was something in between that made it hard for me to think in complete sentences.
“Like a date?” The words tumbled out before my brain could catch them.
“Yeah, darlin’. Like a date.” His expression shifted into heat and mischief. “Unless you’d rather keep pretending you only come to your balcony to check the weather.”
I made an undignified sound that might have been a laugh if it wasn’t half squeak. “You noticed that?”
“I notice everything about you.” He leaned closer, bringing that spicy masculine scent of his with him, dropping my IQ another fifteen points. “Including how your hair gets messier the more you swear at your laptop on the balcony.”
“That’s Johnson’s fault,” I blurted, unable to stop myself from oversharing. “A guy I work with. His patches make me want to tear my hair out. He’s the reason I threaten my laptop like it’s a person.”
I snapped my mouth shut, willing it to stay shut while Savage’s lips lifted with amusement.
“My offer to handle the laptop still stands.” We both knew that “the laptop” was code for “him.” And if my ovaries had any sense of dignity, they’d be ashamed of how much that threat of violence turned me on. “Say the word and I’ll have a chat with it.”
“Pretty sure threatening my co-workers violates first date protocol.”
“So that’s a yes?” His smile turned wicked. “To the date, not the threats.”
“Yes, to the date.” I managed to sound almost normal despite the fact it felt like he’d somehow moved even closer to me in the last five seconds. “No comment on the threats.”
Still with the wicked smile, he said, “I also notice the T-shirts you wear. What’s tonight’s about?”
I glanced down to see which shirt I was wearing and my cheeks heated instantly as I read the slogan: “Fatal Error: Wrong Hole.”
Oh. My. God.
Of all the shirts I owned. Of all the nights to wear it.
“I—uh—it’s not what it sounds like,” I blurted, words tripping over each other. “It’s a joke. My brother bought it for me after I kept sinking the wrong balls in the wrong holes. On the pool table. Not in life. Definitely not in life.”
Savage’s grin spread even more, amusement flickering in his eyes as he took me in. “Sounds like your brother’s got a sense of humour.”
“More like a lifetime mission to make sure I never live anything down. He especially likes to remind me of how badly I play pool.”
He let out a low chuckle. Then, his eyes dropped to my lips, and I thought he might have been thinking about kissing me. But his phone buzzed, and the moment was lost.
His entire body tensed as he checked the message. “I have to handle something.”
“Now?”
“Yeah.” He looked torn. “Tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. Wear something you can ride in.”
I nodded and then turned to leave, only managing about three steps before he stopped me.
“And darlin’?”
