I mean it, Caleb.
I know you do. What time are you done?
Her reply came fast.
Sex.
My brain stalled out on that word even as my phone buzzed again.
OMG! SIX. Pick me up at SIX. Stupid autocorrect.
I bit down on my lip to keep from laughing out loud.
“What are you grinning at?” Chantel smirked, her eyes still glued to her book.
“Nothing.” My smile grew wider. “Just making plans with Zadie.”
“Good.” She turned a page. “Go have fun with her in person. And don’t bring her back until tomorrow morning if you can help it.”
Fuck, my cousin really was bossy.
But right now, I didn’t mind one bit. I had two hours to shower, change, and figure out where to take a woman who insisted this wasn’t a date to a dinner that was one hundred percent a date.
Two hours. I’d been patient for weeks. I could handle two more hours.
After that, all bets were off.
Chapter Fifteen
Caleb
I was seventeen minutes early.
The Summit was quieter than I expected. A few hotel guests nursed cocktails at corner tables, soft music piped through the speakers, and the amber glow of the bar lighting softened the edges of everything.
Zane was behind the counter, towel over his shoulder, wearing his usual smile.
He spotted me before I’d taken two steps inside and raised an eyebrow. “You here for a drink or a woman?”
“Can’t it be both?”
He laughed and slid a glass of water across the bar without being asked. “She’s closing out her last table. Should be done in fifteen.”
I settled at the far end of the bar where I had a clear line of sight to the floor. And there she was.
Zadie moved between tables with a tray balanced on her palm, her hair pulled back in a low bun that exposed the curve of her neck. She was wearing the standard Summit uniform—black pants, fitted black top—and it shouldn’t have done what it was doing to me. But the way the fabric followed the line of her waist to the swell of her hips had my grip tightening around the water glass.
She hadn’t seen me yet. I watched her lean down to hear something a customer said, her laugh cutting through the ambient noise, her hand touching the back of a chair for balance. She was effortless and warm. Every person she served leaned in a little closer, smiled a little wider, like she was giving them something extra without even trying.
Then she straightened, turned toward the bar, and found me.
Her stride faltered, but she recovered fast, tucking her tray under her arm, and walking toward me with an expression that was trying very hard to be casual. “You’re early.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Her mouth fell open. “That’s not how friends greet each other.”
“Sorry. You’re fucking stunning.”
