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He only knows my name because I was here days before the wedding with Declan and Holden. We toasted to Declan’s future with cheap scotch and a round of darts.
“Firsts,” Carrie answers for me.
“Firsts?” he questions her as he fills her flute. “As in your first date?”
“Something like that,” I step in, waiting for him to fill mine.
“Cheers to you both,” he says as he places the bottle between us. “I hope it works out just the way you want it to.”
Once he’s on his way back to his post behind the bar, my glass is in the air. “To firsts.”
“To firsts,” Carrie chimes in, her hand shaking slightly as she clinks her glass against mine. “May I always remember it.”
I swallow the bubbly liquid in one gulp before I crack a smile. “You’ll always remember it, Carrie. That I can guarantee.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Carrie
“No, please.” I look up and into Rook’s eyes. “I completely understand.”
Frustration tugs at the almost smile on his lips. “Thank you. I want to pick this back up soon.”
I glance down the sidewalk at the rush of people approaching us. I shouldn’t be surprised that so many New Yorkers and tourists are out and about. It’s mid-afternoon on a Saturday.
“We will pick it back up.” I step to the side, motioning for him to do the same. “We need to talk about the rules.”
As he follows my lead to clear the path for the oncoming pedestrian traffic, he takes an extra two steps so he’s closer to me than he was before.
We’re right outside the bar where we just agreed to have sex before we each downed a glass of champagne.
When someone called about Rook’s daughter, he took the call and then told me he had to go.
He picked up the champagne and plopped the bottle on the table where the three women were still sitting. They thanked him profusely before he paid their tab and ours.
“Thank you again for the flowers and the drink,” I say, knowing he needs to take off.
“You’re welcome.” He pushes both hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “For the record, I didn’t bring you those roses because Posey has taken over the guestroom.”
Surprised by that, I chuckle. “You did.”
“No, I didn’t.” He leans closer to me. “I brought them to make you smile.”
Swoon.
It takes all my strength not to fall into his arms and beg for a kiss.
“I want your phone number,” he says. “I need it.”
I want to ask which it is. Does he want it, or does he feel a desperate need to have it?
I scold myself silently. He wants my phone number, and that’s all that matters, so I motion for him to grab his phone from his back pocket.
He does just that and keys the digits I call out into his contact list.
I glance past him as he takes an extra second to type something else into his phone.
Mine chimes, so I tug it out of the small leather bag that is always over my shoulder when I’m out and about.
