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“When, not if, we got out again?” She questioned with a raised brow. “You’re rather sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“I like to think of myself more as persistent. I may be just a simple messenger, but that doesn’t mean that I let something stand in my way when I know what I want.”The afternoon flew by, and I hated that I had to end things, but my four o’clock appointment had flown in from London last night. I couldn’t very well abandon him as I had done with my entire afternoon of responsibilities. Not to mention that my secretary had been blowing up my phone with a string of urgent messages for more than an hour.
I reluctantly pedaled Bianca back to her apartment. Being a woman of her word, she didn’t provide one ounce of assistance in toting her ass halfway up town. Even though I was in tip-top shape, I was sweating and winded by the time we made it to her apartment.
I wiped my brow with my sweatshirt after parking the bike. “You really didn’t lend a hand at all on that ride.”
She smiled. “Nope. A bet’s a bet, and you lost.”
I was starting to think what I’d lost was my goddamn mind. “When can I see you again?”
“Are you going to pick me up on your bicycle?”
“Does that matter?”
“No. I just wanted to know what I should wear.”
“Wear something sexy.” I took a step closer into her personal space, testing the waters. She didn’t back up.
“Where would we go?”
“Wherever you want.” I’d been dying to touch her all day, but mauling her in the park or stopping in traffic to take her mouth wasn’t exactly the vibe the afternoon was giving off. But now that we were standing in front of her building and it was just the two of us, I was done resisting. Her hair was windblown from the ride, so I reached out to smooth it down and let my palm linger on her jaw so my thumb could stroke her cheek. “Name it. I’m game for anything.”
“How about Ethiopian food?”
“Done.” I leaned in closer. “Anything else you want?”
Her eyes drop to my lips.
Right answer.
Just as I was about to bring my mouth down to finally meet hers, something caught her attention behind me. I turned and watched an elderly woman attempting to get out from the cab.
“That’s Mrs. Axinger,” Bianca said. “She lives across the hall from me.”
I wanted to ignore the woman getting out of the car and go back to what I was about to do, but I couldn’t. She looked like she might fall, and the damn cabbie wasn’t about to help. I groaned, but headed to help the woman. Bianca followed right behind me.
“Hi, Mrs. A. This is my friend, Jay.”
I took the woman’s arm and helped her out of the cab and up the tall curb. Once she was steady, I lifted her grocery bag from the seat and carried it behind her and Bianca as they walked to the door.
“Bianca, dear, do you think you can give me a hand getting a box from the top of my closet? I’m afraid to climb up on a chair, and I want to ship some pictures to my son out in California.”
“Sure, of course. I told you to knock anytime you need anything. I’ll help you put these groceries away and get whatever you need down.”
After I opened the door and we were all standing in the lobby, Bianca gave me an apologetic look. “Call me?” she asked.
Begrudgingly, I dug my phone out of my pocket and handed her my cell so she could put in her number. When she was done, we swapped the phone for the small bag of groceries I was still carrying.
I couldn’t very well suck her face while Mrs. A. was watching, so when the elevator door opened, I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “It was very nice meeting you, Bianca. I’ll call you.”
“I look forward to it.”
I waited until the elevator doors closed before heading back to my bike. As I walked, I looked down at the phone number she’d typed in. She had also left me a message.Bianca: Whittle me something small and you’ll get that kiss you were screwed out of next time.Great. Just fucking great. After I rode my bicycle back to my multi-million-dollar company, I was going to have to learn how to whittle.I settled into bed that night in a particularly good mood thinking about Jay. But my mood was sullied when I scrolled through my email and found one from the man who’d blown me off—Mister Moneybags.Dear Ms. George,
Please accept my apologies for cancelling our meeting on such short notice. I’m afraid it was a personal emergency that couldn’t be helped.
Best,
Dexter TruittReally? “Best?” He wasn’t even going to propose a rain check? Did he have any clue how much his “emergency” set me back? I had a deadline, and the magazine was currently without its feature story. While it surprised me that someone like him even bothered to offer an apology, this was not okay. I decided to write back.
