Josh balls up his napkin and drops it onto the table next to what’s left of his cheesecake.
Would it be weird if I asked the server to box it up so that I can have the rest at lunch tomorrow?
He flips open the black checkbook, drops in a few bills, and stands from his chair.
Guess that’s a no on the doggie bags.
No worries. I fold up what’s left of my apple pie inside my napkin and stuff it into my purse like my grandma used to do. I always thought it was strange and embarrassing, but she was on to something.
I sling my purse over my shoulder and as we make our way out of the restaurant, I check my email. There aren’t any, but my reminder to pay rent this week flashes on the screen.
So much for enjoying the rest of the night.
Josh steps closer, his musky cologne drifting over me. “Everything okay?”
I stuff my phone back into my purse. Outta sight, outta mind and all that jazz. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ve just gotta pay rent before the weekend.” We’ve received multiple letters saying payment must be received by the first.
The hostess holds open the door for us, and we step out into the chilly evening air. Josh hands the valet our ticket with a smile.
With my apartment’s heating jacked, the thought of going back makes me want to scream. Even with the window open, it’s going to be hot as hell. I’ve asked the twins five times to have someone come up and fix it, but like the mold problem, they haven’t done a damn thing.
Josh lives right around the corner, at one of the high-rise apartments on the city’s west side. If I lived there, I could walk to workandswing by my favorite coffee shop on the way. Sharing rent would mean I might even have the extra cash to buy a muffin for Meg every now and then instead of relying on her generosity all the time.
“Maybe we should just move in together,” I say, half-teasing, half-hopeful.
His shower has not one, but two shower heads and there isn’t a speck of mold in sight.
The arm draped around me goes stiff. From the horror on his face, you’d swear I suggested we go out and slaughter a bunch of puppies. “It was a joke,” I quickly add. “We’ve only known each other for a couple months.” Wouldn’t want to look like a crazy person. You know, the kind that hangs out with a guy for a few days and then moves hundreds of miles to be with him.
Josh’s arm falls to his side, and he takes a step back. “You know I care about you, Loren, but I’m not ready for that level of commitment. We said no pressure, remember?”
“Yeah, no. I know. Neither am I. Like I said, it was a joke.”
There’s no humor in his answering laugh, which is just freaking great. I don’t want him to leave tomorrow and have this conversation haunting us all weekend. We need damage control. Stat. “I’m really happy in my own place. Honestly. I’ve got great neighbors, and the commute isn’t bad at all.” Plus, I get to listen to audiobooks on my drive to and from work. What’s not to love about that?
Josh’s white Range Rover comes into view at the top of the hill, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy frowning at me. “I thought you didn’t really know your neighbors.”
“Only in passing.”
The tiny white lie feels slimy on my tongue. I don’treallyknow Elliott, but I have shared a beer with him and made him crab cakes. Elliott and Josh don’t know each other, so I can’t imagine how Josh would learn the truth.
Still, I would hate for him to find out somehow and think I was hiding it from him on purpose. Because I’m not.
Yeah, Elliott is hot, but he’snotmy type. Plus, he hasn’t hit on me once, so I’m pretty sure I’m not his type either.
Regardless, better to clear things up, just in case. “I mean, the guy next door and I have talked a bit. I gave him one of my crab cakes once and he gave me a beer.”
I can’t believe Elliott thinks I’m lying about cooking them. He’s going to eat his hat when he realizes I am a master in the kitchen.
Josh’s eyes darken. “When was this?”
“I don’t know. Before Christmas.”
The valet pulls the car up to the curb. The teen hops out, and Josh rips the keys from his hand, stalking around the front without giving the poor kid a tip.
My face burns as I scrounge around in my purse for something to give the guy, but unless he wants a sticky quarter, a used tube of Chapstick, or what remains of my pie, I’ve got nothing.
With my head bowed, I slink into the car.
