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“Really,” I confirm. “Other than sharing a pastrami on rye with Mac a few weeks ago, this dinner is the only time I’ve been out in months, which I’m aware is ridiculously pitiful.”
It does sound pitiful, the more I think about it. But Tiffany doesn’t tease me or make fun. Instead, she bows her head solemnly. “I’m honored.”
I chuckle, sure that she must be joking. “I should be the one thanking you. You’re a much better storyteller than Mac. Most of his stories end like an episode of Law & Order. Besides, I’m sure you have better options than some boring old man to have dinner with.”
“I don’t think you’re boring. Or old . . .” she says seriously, and her eyes meet mine. I blink, stupefied by what looks like genuine interest in her eyes. I mean, it’s been a while since someone has flirted with me, but I truly think that’s what she’s doing. Her head is tilted slightly, her lips parted, her eyes locked on mine, and she’s leaning forward, cutting the distance between us.
But . . . how? Why? Tiffany is young, vivacious, and gorgeous.
Me? I’m no ugly duckling, but I check my balls each morning for lumps and have an annual colonoscopy. Not exactly the sex god most young woman want.
But the way she’s looking at me, I think about my balls for all sorts of different reasons. Mostly about draining them as I come inside her, filling her with such a huge load that it spills out, leaking over the pretty pussy I got the tiniest look at yesterday before I politely slammed my eyes shut.
Fuck, Daniel. Quit being a dirty, old, lecherous man.
I clear my throat after a minute, praying silently that she didn’t read my mind. The last thing I need is this beautiful woman to take pity on me because I started looking at her with my dick and not my brain. She’s my daughter’s best friend, and we’re having a nice dinner. I don’t want to ruin that.
“Well, thank you for saying that. I probably needed to clear my head on that deal. The numbers were running in circles in front of my eyes.” I’m backpedaling into safer territory, boring and dry and most of all, appropriate.
Tiffany smiles, shaking her head. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Besides, at least you work on Saturday night. My big plan was ordering in and watching a documentary about Bob Ross. I know, you’re impressed.”
“Happy little trees,” I singsong unexpectedly, and Tiffany laughs at my awful impersonation. “I do remember that . . . and regretfully, at one point, I spent a whole day wondering if I could have an awesome white dude ’fro like that.”
“Did you?” Tiffany looks amazed, her hand reaching out to lightly touch my hair, brushing over it. It’s casual but feels intimate.
I grin. “I said I thought about it, not that I tried it. No, I’ve had a few bad hairstyles over the years, including one trip to a Bon Jovi concert long ago that . . . let’s just say I made sure to hunt down all copies of the pictures from that concert and burn them. But never did I pull off a Bob Ross.”
“We totally have to get you a wig so you can try it,” she says.
My heart rate quickens at the idea of seeing her again. Not for a date, I remind myself, but for a friendly dinner. It sounds like she could use one as much as me.
We finish up our burgers, and I walk Tiffany to her car, running my hand over the fender affectionately when we get closer. “I’m glad Elle gave you this,” I tell her. “She always scared the crap out of me when she drove it, but it would have hurt if it had been sold off to some random schmuck.”
“It does feel like she’s here when I’m driving it,” Tiffany says, giving me a look when I open her door for her. “Why, thank you, sir.”
My hand falters at the polite endearment, wishing it were something darker, and I drop it to my side, unsure. She’s biting her lip in a way that has me wanting to lean in to steal a taste of those soft-looking lips . . . but that’s too much. That’d be a date, and I can’t. This isn’t a date.
“Be safe,” I tell her, sending ice water through my own veins with the words. I’m trying to sound fatherly again, but there’s a small piece of me that hates that label.
I had fun tonight for the first time in a long time, and for a man like me, that’s a rarity I appreciate. Time with someone who’s not trying to get something from me, not after a loan or a deal, but rather is simply having a meal with me because of me, not what my title is at Fox Industries.
