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“Oh, she did, did she?”
“Yep.” I smile into my drink, feeling proud of my crisis-management-while-being-flirty skills.
We stare at each other as the air between us swirls with an energy that I haven’t felt before.
“Can I see you tomorrow night?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Grocery shopping will do.”
He bursts out laughing and sets us both off again.
“I’m sorry, we are closing the restaurant,” the waiter says as he places the check wallet onto the table.
“Yes, of course.”
I go to grab it, but Henley snaps it up. “I’m paying.”
“No, you’re not. We will go halves.”
“Shut up.”
“No.”
“You can pay tomorrow night,” he offers.
“When we go to buy my groceries?”
He laughs and sets us off again, and the waiter rolls his eyes from the corner.
“Stop it.” Henley tries to act serious as he gets his wallet out. “The waiter hates us.”
“Because we’re funnier than him.”
“This is true,” he agrees. “We are.”
He pays the bill and takes my hand in his. Electricity shoots up my arm, and as if he feels it, too, he lifts my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it as we stare at each other.
What’s happening right now?
We walk out through the front doors, and suddenly the pressure is on again.
Do I be a good girl, or do we go home together?
“Did you drive?” I ask.
“No, Uber.”
“Me too.”
He stares down at me, and I know the very same questions are rolling around in his head. Be a gentleman or throw me across a park bench and have his wicked way with me?
I’m voting for option two.
“Cab?” he asks.
