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“Yes, do you have a problem with that?”
“Um, no, I guess not, but I think by the end of week one, you’ll be ready to throw in the towel.”
I put my hand on her lower back and escorted her to the elevator. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
“I was serious about the fact that you don’t need to take me home.”
“Ember, let me ask you a question. Is there a reason you don’t want me to know where you live?”
Her eyes slammed to the side to avoid mine, and I got my answer without her saying a word. “Ember, I don’t care where you live. You could live in a flea bag motel for all I care. This,” I pointed between the two of us, “has nothing to do with economic status. This has to do with you being treated as a lady, as you should be, and me getting the opportunity to treat you like one.”
“Okay,” she relented and leaned back against the stainless-steel wall.
“Besides, I already know where you live.” I glanced her way and her eyes snapped to mine.
“What?”
“The last time I saw you at Shot Therapy, you walked out with that guy, and I saw you two staggering down the street. Both of you looked a little too drunk, and I was concerned you wouldn’t make it home safely. I followed you to make sure you did.”
Her cheeks were red, and she turned away and hung her head. I tilted her chin back up with my knuckle, “I already told you I don’t care where you live.”
“Fine.”
Ember was quiet on the ride to her apartment, and when we arrived, I asked the driver to wait a second. I stepped out onto the sidewalk behind her and took her hands in mine. I felt her fingers shaking, and I squeezed them.
“I look forward to getting to know you, Ember.”
She laughed nervously, “Or you might seriously regret it.”
“I doubt that.” I leaned in and kissed her once gently forcing myself to hold back the feelings that the simple task caused in me, “Have a good night, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Colt.” She climbed her steps as quickly as she could and threw a quick wave after she unlocked the front door.
I leaned back in the taxi and watched the lights go by. I had no doubt that there would be some regrets, but I figured those would come after the four weeks were up, and we went our separate ways.
The next morning, I ran five miles on my treadmill and got into work by seven. I’d thought a half dozen times of sending Ember a text message, but curbed the urge to do it. I didn’t want to look overzealous even though I was.
I was seated at my desk reading through a medical journal on some new facial reconstruction techniques when Whitney came in with my coffee.
“I saw your mug still in the kitchen, figured I’d bring it to you.” She set it down on my desk and took the visitor seat across from me.
“Thanks,” I set the article I was reading aside, “how are you today?”
“I’m good, but I’m more interested in hearing about how your not-date was last night.”
“It was no big deal. We had dinner, and that’s it.” I wasn’t going to tell Whit that we went back to my place and danced on the balcony.
“Are you going to see her again?” she asked as she brought her mug to her lips.
“Why do you want to know?” I turned the tables on her interrogation, and she shrugged.
“Because you don’t date very much. I’ve been trying to get you to go out with me for a year, but you keep turning me down.” She gave me a wry smile.
“I turn you down because we are friends, Whit, and I don’t want to ruin that.”
“What makes you think we would ruin it? It might make it even better.”
“I’m not willing to take the chance. Are you?”
