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“Are you busy or not?” I challenge.
“I don’t know,” she draws out, her eyes narrowing further. “It depends.”
Oh, this girl needs to learn to let loose.
“You’re either busy or not. It’s simple.”
Placing her hand on her hip, she volleys back, just as I’d expect. “What time, specifically? Afternoon is rather vague…” she trails off, and I find myself stepping closer.
“Six o’clock.” Surely, she’s done with work by then.
“Does this involve eating?”
Oh-my-freaking-God.
This woman is infuriating.Can’t she just say yes or no?
My nerves are already wound tight from tonight’s show and bantering with her has me on the verge of losing what little control I have left. She has no idea just how much I want to lean in and kiss that smirk right off her face.
The tension between us grows higher as I raise a brow and counter, “It can.”
For the longest time, she just stares at me. Just when I think she’s going to turn me down, her head slowly nods once, as one word escapes from her lips. “Fine.”
Relief floods through me faster than a crack in the Hoover Dam.
Not wanting to give anything away, I keep my expression locked in place.
“I’ll pick you up at six…” Looking her over from head to toe, I slowly take in what I now consider her work uniform—another button-up shirt and pencil skirt. Damn, she’s gorgeous. But this won’t do for what I have in mind. I quickly add, “Dress casual. You can do that, right?”
Letting out a huff, she says, “Again, you need to be more specific. Casual can range from a summer dress to beach attire in this town.”
“As hot as you’d look in a dress…” My eyes roam to her sexy long legs, imagining what they’d look like under a flowy summer dress, I want her to be comfortable. I quickly remind her, “It’s cold at night, so beach casual will do.”
Cocking her head to the side, she raises one of her perfectly sculped brows back at me. “And you’re not going to tell me what our plans are?”
Crossing my arms over my chest to keep from reaching for her, I shake my head. “Nope. I’ve got a feeling you need a little spontaneity in your life, so it's best I keep you on your toes.”
As I throw another outfit onto my bed, I groan in frustration and stomp back to my closet. “Why the hell couldn’t he tell me what our plans are? It’s not like I’m asking him for our national secrets. How the hell can I be prepared if he doesn’t clue me in?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?” Raven asks, scaring the shit out of me. I thought I had the house to myself, but she must’ve gotten off work early.
Clutching my hand to my chest to catch my breath, I blurt out, “What are you doing here?”
“Uh… I live here. What’s going on? I haven’t seen you so worked up about anything in forever.”
“I’m not worked up,” I protest as I go back to looking over my selection of clothes from my closet.
“Sure… you’re not,” Raven deadpans. “Your room always looks as if it’s been hit by a tornado.”
Walking to meet me by the closet, she asks, “Who’s got your panties in such a twist that you have nearly every article of clothing you own strewn across your bed?”
“My panties aren’t in a twist,” I chastise. I always know what to wear. I have no idea why I’m having such a hard time today. “If you were told to wear something beach casual, what would you wear?”
Raven has the audacity to say something sensible. “Uh… jeans and a graphic tee, with a hoodie for when it gets cold.”
“Nothing looks right though,” I moan, pointing to the pile of clothes strewn across my bed.
I start turning toward my dresser, but Raven stops me. “Sloaney, what gives? Clearly, there’s more to this than picking out an outfit. This is me you’re talking to. I felt the tension rolling off you the moment I stepped into the house. I came to find out what’s wrong.”
