“…Thanks?” I manage.
He grins a grin that somehow contains both arroganceandinsecurity.
“So, uh, I’m starving. Hope you don’t mind—I already ordered myself an appetizer on the app. Figured you’d be late.” He shrugs, like this is reasonable. “Traffic, you know?”
I blink.
Okay.
This is going to be…something.
Because even though I’m on a date with him? My mind is on someone else completely.
Chapter Six
COLT
My apartment is dim except for the soft flicker of Thursday Night Football on the TV.
I’m not watching it.
The sound’s on low, just background noise to make the place feel less empty.
Diesel—my cat—is sprawled across my chest like a 12-pound weighted blanket with whiskers.
He purrs, loudly. Clearly oblivious to the fact that my brain is trying to replay every second of Vestry Bar like it’s game film.
Elena.
Her dress.
Her scent on my coat.
Her asking about my dreams. God, no one’s asked me that in years.
The way she looked at me when I said I wanted to coach. Like I wasn’t totally insane for having dreams.
Of course there was the part where she divulged some very personal fantasies that I had to fight like hell not to picture so I wouldn’t get embarrassingly turned on in the bar.
And then Mark showing up and having to cut short the convo about what she likes.
In bed.
Hands? Oh, I have hands.
I sigh and rub Diesel’s back. “She’s got a date, buddy. And I’m too young for someone like her. Don’t look at me like that.”
Diesel blinks, judgmental.
I stare at the ceiling.
I’m twenty-seven.
She’s thirty-nine.
She’s successful, and put together.
She’s smart, and funny as hell.
