Unless…
Before I finish that thought, she asks, “Why are you here?”
“I missed you,” I admit. Her eyes soften, but before she gets all weepy on me, I plow forward. “Are you good with meeting Ford and Tatum for dinner tonight?”
Her brows shoot up. “I’m shocked you want to do that considering what happened the last time we shared a meal with them.”
“I told Ford we were in if he booked a private table,” I say.
“Just tell me what you need me to do.”
I blow out a breath. “I just need you to be you. And to tell me what’s got you all twisted up.”
Her eyes dart away from mine. “It’s nothing. I need to take a shower before dinner. Do you want to hang out here?”
“Would you like an audience?”
She chuckles. “No.”
Now Iknowsomething is wrong. I think this is the first time she’s issued a rejection—even to an offer I said in jest.
She heads to the shower, and I take a seat on the small couch in her room. I turn the television on and catch some highlights from around the league—something I’ve tuned out since I’ve been here. But we’re already at the middle of the month, which means we’re halfway through our time together.
It also means I’m nearly halfway through my suspension. That should make me feel happy, but the sadness of the previous thought pulls down over me instead.
Millie emerges in a summery dress with flowers all over it.
I rise to a stand. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
I want to ask again what that manager said to her, but I leave it be. If she wants to talk, she’ll talk.
We walk over to the main tower. The weather this evening is perfect. Low eighties, lower humidity than we’ve been having. We hold hands as we stroll lazily toward dinner, and for as much as showing off in front of my brother started as a pretense with Millie stepping in to protect me, it doesn’t feel like a pretense anymore. Instead, it feels like things have shifted for us.
We approach the hostess stand and are taken back to a table in a private room. Ford and Tatum are already there, and their heads are bent close together as they whisper to each other. They pull apart when we walk into the room, and Tatum is flushed.
I know that look.
He just said something sexual to her, and she’s blushing because of it.
Well, good for them, I guess.
Our lead waiter introduces himself and the two who will be helping him, and we place our drink orders.
Margaritas for the ladies, a beer for Ford, and a double whiskey for me. Hopefully they’ll come quick since it’ll help dull the nerves I have about this dinner. Why did I think this was a good idea?
We’re all perusing the menu when Millie starts with the small talk. “So you’re heading home tomorrow?”
“Mm-hm,” Tatum murmurs. “I’m not ready to leave this place yet, but we’ve both got to get back to work.”
“Bummer. Stay longer and work here like Archer’s been doing with his foundation,” she suggests.
“Are you working on the one Mom left?” Ford asks.
I nod. “Have you done anything with yours?”
Ford shakes his head. “Not yet. Tatum’s been hounding me to get moving so she can plan some epic event, but I’m not sure what I want to do with it. What route did you take?”
