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“What are you doing?”
I hesitate before answering. There’s no fear in her voice, just curiosity. Interesting.
“I told you, I’m ordering us dinner.”
The look she gives me is comical. Her mouth opens and closes a few times before anything comes out.
“You want to have dinner with me? Why?”
And because I may be stupid, but I’m not an idiot, I lie. “Because I’m hungry. Why else do people eat dinner?”
Ten
Frankie
Julian’s words stop me in my tracks. I was about to slip behind the screen where I could remove the “happy birthday” pin Lauren had forced on me when she brought me a life-saving double-shot mocha this afternoon. I’d been hiding it under my coat, praying he didn’t see it, not that it mattered in the end.
“Dinner?” Fuck, how much more idiotic can I sound? I’ve asked him the same question three times in a row.
I slip behind the screen, but not before I catch the expression of disbelief on his face.
Cheeks on fire, I dump my coat on the floor, not caring that it’s still damp.
“What are you in the mood for? Italian? Chinese? Burgers?” Julian calls out, his masculine voice foreign in my apartment. Well, except for my fake masculine voice, but that doesn’t count. “If you could have anything you wanted for dinner, what would it be?”
My fingers fumble with the stupid pin, too shaky to slip the end free from the loop keeping it secured. Why is he insisting on staying? I mean, yeah, it was insanely hot the way he stepped between me and Derek. And when he had me caged between his arms against the side of his truck, I thought I was going to melt into a pile of goo. Any woman with blood in her veins would have.
Just thinking about it again, my vision goes hazy and my fingers slip, the sharp end of the needle jabbing into my finger. “Ow! Shit!” Irritated, I rip the shirt off and throw it on my bed, sucking my finger as I reach to pull my favorite hoodie off the top of the laundry piled in the tiny gap between my bed and the wall.
“What—?”
I whirl, hoodie clutched to my chest, finger still clamped between my lips. Julian’s eyes are fixed on my face, concern etched on his. Heat gathers at the back of my neck as his eyes roam over me, taking in the situation. “I stabbed my finger.” Holding out the offending digit, warmth climbs over my cheeks as embarrassment catches up to me.
I’m mesmerized by his eyebrow that quirks at my words. Slowly, Julian’s stance shifts from tense and alert to something new. Something in his gaze changes, and instead of feeling like a child caught steps from running into the street, suddenly I’m not sure who’s caught who.
Like a panther, he steps toward me, silent and smooth, but I’m not afraid. My heart beats a steady thump, thump, my finger still in the air between us, unwavering. The same feeling of absolute certainty that hit me at the movie theater when I pushed him away from Derek fills me, leaving no room for fear or anxiety. He’s going to touch me. And I want him to.
Without a word, he takes hold of my finger and presses a soft kiss to the pad. “Better?”
I nod, but he doesn’t let go. I don’t know how long we stand there—Julian’s hand wrapped around mine, our gazes locked on each other. My breath is steady and deep, his chest rising and falling in time with mine. No voice in my head tells me to run, to pull away. Everything in me is calm and in control—as if my body knows that Julian is safe. Peace, the kind I’ve only ever felt with my family, steals over me, releasing the tension that’s so much a part of me I don’t notice it until the rare moments it leaves. My arm drops, the hoodie clutched to my chest slipping down with the motion, breaking the spell.
Julian releases me and spins away. “Shit, Frankie. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“It’s okay. It’s fine.”
He’s gone before I can finish pulling my head through the hoodie. I dash after him, pulling my arms through the sleeves as I emerge from behind the screen. “Julian, it’s okay. Really.”
His hand is on the door, and suddenly I don’t want him to leave. I didn’t understand why he’d want to stay, but I don’t want him to go. “Don’t…”
He stops, looks back over his massive shoulder. “I should go.”
“I thought you wanted to have dinner?” I clutch at the ends of the sleeves flopping past my hands, twisting and pulling at them, before shoving them together inside the front pocket and rocking back on my heels.
His hand on the doorknob relaxes but doesn’t let go. “I thought you didn’t want me to make a fuss for your birthday?”
“I didn’t. I don’t. It’s not my birthday yet. I just…” I swallow and force myself to start over. “Stay. Please. Not for my birthday or anything, but just because we’re, uh, friends.”
“Friends, huh?” He grins at that and steps away from the door. “Well, since this is just a friendly dinner, how about we order Chinese and watch a movie?” He looks around my place. “Hmm, I have a better idea. Let’s pick up Chinese and go back to my place to watch the movie.”
