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“Come here often?”
“First time.”
I nod, feeling suddenly out of my depth.
“I don’t date often either,” he adds.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know—it’s a lot of hassle.”
“Here you are.” The waitress puts our drinks on the table, interrupting us.
“Thank you.”
She leaves us alone, and we both pick up our drinks, and I hold mine up for a toast. He holds his to mine and waits.
“To smooth hassles,” I say.
He gives me a slow sexy smile. “I never said it was going to be smooth.”
The air between us is electric.
“I like some bumps.” I smile, feeling a little braver.
“Something tells me this date is going to be anything but a hassle.”
“Until I turn into a psychopath tomorrow.”
He throws his head back and laughs out loud, and I smile goofily over at him.
He thinks I’m funny.
A million margaritas and laughs later.
The restaurant has gone quiet. Everyone cleared out. But our conversation is still running hot.
Henley James is funny and charming, not to mention utterly gorgeous. I find myself hanging on his every word.
“So . . .” He sits back in his chair as he acts serious. “How do you rate our date so far?”
“So far?”
He smiles mischievously into his drink.
“So far . . .” I narrow my eyes as I pretend to think hard. “Like a two.”
“A two?” he gasps. “This date is not a two.”
“I know.” I laugh. “It’s a ten.”
He gives me that look, the one he does so well. “Twenty.”
“Twenty?” I raise my eyebrows: it’s like he’s reading my mind. “That’s a high score.”
