Wait. Did he say “I know the color of the only pair of underwear I’m interested in” as he was looking at me?
Is he flirting with me? Maybe if I hadn’t had six shots of Baileys I’d be a better judge of that.
He quickly checks his phone and tucks it into the inside pocket of his suit and then buttons his jacket. That’s hot too.
Maybe it’s just the suit that makes everything in its sphere seem hot.
Or maybe it’s just him.
“There will be a car outside ready to take you home when you’re done. It’ll be paid for. Have a good night.” He takes one last sip of his tea cup and drops a neat stack of £50 notes onto the table.
“Wait. Where are you going, Kingsley the Monosyllabic? Are you giving up on our undies game?”
“It’s almost three thirty a.m. I have a big meeting in a few hours for which I have to prepare. And”—he leans in to me, only about an inch but it feels like he’s right there against my face, and whispers—“I already know what color that guy’s underwear is. Army green,” he says with wink.
“How do you know?”
He pulls back, and it’s hard to not stumble into the empty space left between us. I can’t help it. He smells deliriously delicious, like sweet oak and kisses in the rain.
“It’s a secret,” he replies. “Don’t forget your pastry. It was… interesting to meet you, Luna the Chatty.”
With that, he turns and walks toward the exit.
I take a quick sip of the water to wash down the last of the sandwich, which has dried up in my mouth, and I jump down from the booth and chase him out the door.
“Wait! How do you know what color that guy’s underwear is? I don’t believe you!”
He keeps walking, not even turning back to look at me.
I follow, although my short legs take double the amount of steps to keep up with him.
“Shit!” I stop, realizing I forgot my dessert on the bench. “Can you just wait for me to go grab my… brownie?”
He stops five steps ahead and spins back to me. “Not a brownie.”
“Hmm. An eclair?”
“Guess again.” He tilts his chin toward the diner’s entrance, and I turn to see the server from before running out with my packaged dessert.
I take it from her with both hands, practically yelling, “You are an angel sent from the highest tier of heaven.”
She waves my thanks away, but her eyes never stir from Kingsley’s face. “Good night, sir.”
“Good night, Patricia” he says warmly. “Get home safe later.”
She nods, blushing, and scurries back to the restaurant. Apparently, he just has that effect on everyone.
“You were just going to leave?” I demand once we’re alone again, throwing my hands into the air.
“I did leave.”
“But we weren’t done.”
“I was.”
“You were just going to let me win? You were just going to leave without asking any more questions? That doesn’t seem like someone who’s used to winning a breath-holding contest.”
He slides his hands into his pockets and takes the five long steps until he’s towering over me. He’s so much taller than me that his chin is almost flush against his chest as he bends his head so that he can look at me.
