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“That’s it,” Simone confirms.
“Simple pendant,” Trina says, zeroing in on me. “Something that hits right between your gorgeous collarbones. Hair in a ponytail with curled tendrils. Earrings. A fabulous bag.” She squeals, doing a little jig. “Your date is going to need a shovel to pick his jaw up off the floor when he sees you, Mia.”
Laughing, I allow myself to be swept along into these new friendships, and when it comes time for me to make my way to the door of the condo, my nerves have been almost entirely replaced by fresh confidence.
I’m forty years old, and I’m sexy as hell. These things will never be mutually exclusive.
“Remember to use protection,” Simone whispers in my ear as she hugs me goodbye.
“Oh, shut up,” I answer, laughing, and then I get in my old car and drive myself to the restaurant for the first real date I’ve had in a long, long time.
10
DES
Straighteningmy fork with one hand, I smooth my shirt down over my chest with the other. Then I swap hands to smooth the other side of my shirt and straighten the knife. My knee jiggles, and I glance at the door to Dolce Vita for the millionth time since I got here ten minutes ago.
This was a mistake. I’m such a colossal idiot. I can hardly believe it.
I should have told Mia as soon as I saw the cross-stitch in her living room. But now…
Now, it’s too late.
I can’t stop thinking about how she looked the morning after our Netflix show, rumpled and sleepy. If I woke up to her like that beside me in bed justoncein my life, I could die happy, silky nightie or no.
She’s driven me mad. It’s torture being in her apartment, renovating it, knowing she’s just beyond the barbershop door. Ever since I walked in on her picking through her lingerie, I haven’t been able to get that image out of my mind, either.
Her short, tight body clad in black lace, ready to be unwrapped like a present.
I close my eyes, then open them and adjust the pink pocket square in my jacket pocket—the item of clothing I told her to look for.
I’ve had so many opportunities to come clean, and I’ve ignored them all. She’s going to hate this. It’s going to be a disaster.
But what if it isn’t? What if this is your one shot to take this woman out for dinner?
The restaurant door opens, and I hear the hostess call out a greeting. Mia’s voice answers, and the hostess guides her into the dining room.
My heart stops.
She’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. Her body—herbody. God. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Her black dress leaves almost nothing to the imagination, sculpting her curves like it was made for her, but I still want to tear it off and worship her. She takes a couple steps, and I have to suck in a hard breath at the sight of her shoes.
Patent leather stilettos click on the restaurant’s wooden floorboards. I want to fuck her in those shoes. Those shoes and that black bra she was fondling in her bedroom, and nothing else.
Get a grip, Des.
Mia’s gaze sweeps over the dining room, a slight frown drawing her dark-blond brows together. There’s something shimmery on her cheekbones and eyelids. Her hair is curled softly, falling from her ponytail in a golden wave.
She dressed up for me. She put those clothes on, those shoes, she did her makeup—for me. I’m the luckiest man in the world. This woman is a goddess.
Her eyes land on me, then drop to the pocket square. Mia freezes.
No, I realize. Mia didn’t dress up for me; she dressed up for TallDarkandHandy. She dressed up for someone who, in her mind, was another man. A man who isn’t me.
Jealousy tears through me, like the claws of some beast rending my flesh to strips. Completely irrational. I’m jealous of a man that doesn’t exist. Or am I jealous of myself? I don’t know, but I feel like flipping this table and watching all the glassware smash into tiny, sharp shards.
Mia jerks back, frantically scanning the rest of the restaurant. Her gaze catches on couples laughing intimately, a young family in the corner, a table of three women sharing a bottle of wine and laughing. Panic pulls her features tight as she glances at me again, the hostess saying something to her as she gestures my way.
I’m the only single man in the restaurant. The only person wearing a pink pocket square.
