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“Marisa’s number,” she said.
I was taken aback. I met her dark brown eyes, and a wave of excitement washed over me.
“I really urge you to give her a call. And ask her out.” Catherine’s eyes shimmered, her smile gleamed, both with giddiness. “I don’t mean to pry or push you, Tyler. I just figured . . . You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”
I folded the paper back together. “No.”
“Good. I mean, not that it’s good.” She was faltering over her words. “I just mean, she’s single. You’re single.”
“Mm-hm,” I mumbled.
“I think you’d be great together.” Her words came out on one hurried breath. Her eyes were wide with curiosity. “So, if you’re interested, call her.”
“Okay.” I couldn’t come up with anything more intelligent to say.
“Okay, you’ll give her a call?”
Marisa’s eyes, her mouth, her tight little body . . . everything about her sprang to mind. In very vivid detail.
I slapped the paper against my palm. “Yeah, sure.” I aimed for dignified and indifferent. I couldn’t let Catherine in on how excited or relieved I was about this. I couldn’t take the chance that she’d leak my real reaction to Jackson—unintentionally or otherwise.
If he, Mark, Liam, Quinn, or Ben—any of the guys in my close circuit—caught wind of me being thrilled about getting Marisa’s number, I’d never live it down. They weren’t assholes. We were all SEALs. And the thing about us is we got off on dishing shit out, goading one another, and busting each other’s balls. It was our way of having fun, making things a little lighter in the world of danger and disaster that we dealt with. If this little tidbit about my emotions came to light, if this information got into the wrong hands, my balls would be worse off than Mark’s if Charlie really did squeeze them in that vice of hers.
