Page 135 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

47

RHETT

The next evening, I stood outside Clem’s apartment building, my hands shoved deep in my coat pockets. I had debated on what to do for our first official date most of last night. Now, I was suffering from honest-to-God nerves. When was the last time I had felt this way about a date? Hell, when was the last time I called anything a date?

Never, if I was being honest with myself.

I rang the bell and waited. Clem opened the door and I forgot how to breathe for a solid ten seconds. She wore a cream-colored sweater that made her skin glow, dark jeans that hugged her in all the right places, and knee-high boots that somehow made her legs look endless. She’d put on just enough makeup to make her eyes pop.

“Hi,” she said.

There was something almost shy in her smile that made my chest tight. I was glad she was feeling the same nerves.

“Hi, yourself.” I cleared my throat. “You look… damn, Clem. You look incredible.”

A blush crept up her cheeks. “Thank you. You said casual. I was all prepared to wear a dress and heels.”

“Next time,” I said.

I had spent an embarrassing amount of time picking out what to wear, finally settling on dark jeans, boots, and a navy sweater under my wool coat. Nothing too fancy. I wanted us to be able to relax tonight. Just us. No pretenses. Lord knew we didn’t need the nice dinner. I wasn’t interested in another chef trying to impress us.

“Ready for our first official date?” I asked, offering her my arm.

She slipped her hand through the crook of my elbow. I felt that same electric current I’d been feeling every time she touched me lately. “I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

The limo ride to Rockefeller Center was filled with comfortable conversation, but I could feel the anticipation thrumming between us. This felt different. We weren’t touching each other beyond holding hands. It felt like an actual date.

“Ice skating?” Clem asked, her eyes lighting up as she took in the towering Christmas tree and the skaters gliding around the ice. “This is so wonderfully cliché.”

I laughed, some of the nervous tension leaving my shoulders. “Hey, if you’re going to do a first date in New York during the holidays, you might as well embrace the tourist trap aspect of it all.”

“I love it,” she said, squeezing my arm. “It’s perfect.”

“Do you know how to skate?” I asked.

She grimaced. “Welllll…”

I laughed.

“Do you?” she asked.

“You know those little walker things?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s how I stay upright.”

We both burst into laughter.

Twenty minutes later, I was beginning to seriously question my choice of venue. I was absolute shit on ice skates.

“Easy there, Bambi,” Clem called out as I windmilled my arms, trying desperately to maintain my balance.

Before I fell, I clung to the side of the rink. “This seemed like a much better idea in theory,” I muttered, my legs doing things that legs weren’t supposed to do. How the hell were people making this look so effortless?

“Do you want me to get you a walker?” Clem teased.

I frowned at her. “I thought you couldn’t skate.”