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She smiles up at me. “Why is that?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about what happens after our third date.”
She blushes a few shades of pink to red, and I find it so damn adorable. “And here I thought you weren’t like other guys.”
“Oh, I’m still that guy, but not in the bedroom.”
“How soon can we plan the next two dates?” She attempts to hold back her laughter and fails. “This conversation is turning me on.”
Me, too.
Dipping my head down, I push her hair away from her face, taking her ear in my mouth to suck on it. My breath dots her skin with tiny bumps that I feel against my lips as I kiss my way to her neck. “We can start right now if you want.”
“You’re a bad boy, Dimples.” She sucks in a deep breath and lets it out. “But people are starting to look at us.
Peeling myself away from her, I stare into her eyes. “I just wanted to prove a point, and you said you were turned on. I thought I’d give you something to reflect on before you go back to work.”
“Trust me, I will not forget this date.”
I stand up and help Regan to her feet, planting a soft kiss on her lips that only lasts for a few seconds.
“I have to get back to the office.” I give her hand a squeeze. “But we are finishing what we started this week.”
“Good,” she says with a smile. “I will hold you to it.”
Chapter 8
Regan
Men are idiots. Even the good guys like Jamie have moments where you stop to wonder if you’re missing something. Like the correct time for our breakfast date. Or the address of the restaurant. Well, if you can even call this place a restaurant. I’m not a picky eater, never have been. Jamie has this thing for hole-in-the-wall places with amazing food. So far, I’ve only shared one meal with him. Two if I count stealing nachos from him the night we met.
Standing out front of the diner-like restaurant, I tap my foot impatiently on the sidewalk. Ten minutes ago, I thought I would be late for our date. Turns out being late when it comes to Jamie means you’re either on time or early.
Exhaust fumes from the cars waiting at the red light billow around me, causing me to choke. The driver of an old Chevy revs the engine, as he stares across the passenger seat to size up the car next to him. What is it with the guys in Philly? They act as if they have something to prove and nothing to gain. Until I met Jamie, I had given up on the prospect of finding a man in this city.
They’re either professional athletes, which is a non-starter for me, or a meathead—like the guys at the stoplight. But Jamie is nothing like either of those types. He’s just sporty enough that he speaks my lingo, though I bet I could beat him in a game of one-on-one. While I’m good at sports, he smoked my ass in video games.
There’s something different about men like Jamie. When he cocks his head to the side in thought, something intelligent always follows, where with some of the guys I have dated, that same gesture would follow a question such as whether we should order our pizza with pepperoni or sausage.
Jamie is my first deep thinker, which is sad the more I think about it. Really sad. I’m giving him a break on all the missed phone calls, late responses to text messages, and for bailing on the Flyers playoffs home game—because he’s not like the other guys. He wouldn’t cancel on me without cause. Or would he? I don’t know Jamie well enough to understand why he’s twenty minutes late without as much as a text or email.
Lately, his messages are shorter, more along the lines of something has come up, or can we move our date to another day? We were supposed to meet this week to watch the Flyers game. Coach and Rico were there, cheering on our boys with me. They won at home, a huge victory for the team and the city. And Jamie missed it, all because he had to work.
If anyone understands being overworked and having zero time for a social life, it’s me. I am the Queen of Distractions, always finding new projects to dive into so I can avoid having a real life. But that’s mostly because I have no life. Work takes precedence. At least that was the case before Jamie had waltzed into my life and made me feel something. For once. For him.
Now, I’m standing around on a busy street corner, like an asshole, being stood up by an even bigger asshole.
Sucking in a deep breath, I close my eyes and open them as I let it out, hoping Jamie will be here by the time that happens. Unfortunately, that shit only happens in the movies. Because when I look around me, I see nothing more than the typical morning rush of cars and people, passing by in a frenzy.
With the Wells Fargo Center only a few minutes away, I finally call it quits and hail a cab. I open the door with an exaggerated sigh, taking one last peek before I slide into the car and shut the door behind me. After I give the driver the details, he hits the gas pedal so hard my back hits the vinyl seat with a thud. Talk about adding insult to injury.
As if I wasn’t already down about Jamie standing me up, I can ice down my back along with my wounded ego, before I make my rounds to all the executives offices. Right as we reach the gate at Broad Street, my cell phone dings with a message.
Jamie: I’m stuck in a meeting. I will make it up to you. I promise. Please don’t hate me.
Taking a few seconds to think about my response, I bite down on my bottom lip and stare at my phone. If I didn’t like Jamie as much as I do, we would be having a much different discussion. No one stands me up. Not even hot nerds that do crazy things between my legs. Just thinking about Jamie and his kisses makes me wet in anticipation.
Me: Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Meet me for lunch.
