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“Bingo,” she sing-songs.
Wow. Just wow. Now I like her even better. A scrappy chick with an attitude. Sign me up.
The waiter comes by and pours the last of our wine. “Can I get you another bottle, sir?” he asks.
“No, thank you. Just the check,” I say.
Amalia looks surprised. “So the evening is done? Over?” she asks in a perfectly smart-assed tone.
“Not exactly,” I say, staring her down.
She stares back, a hint of a blush washing over her pretty face. God, I want to kiss her, and the truth is that as soon as we leave the restaurant, I probably will.
Hope that’s not a problem for her.
“I want you to know I like you, Amalia.”
She runs her fingers over her lips, thinking about what I just said.
“Actually, I think I can safely say all us guys like you.”
She shifts in her seat, her usual unflappable confidence thrown. I don’t mean to make her uncomfortable, I really don’t. But I do want to be honest.
“Um. How does that work?” she asks in a small voice. “What… what do you mean, you like me? Do you like me like a sister? Or in some other way?” She throws me a little smile, her confidence creeping back.
Like I knew it would.
I lean over the table and answer her as quietly as I can. “Would you like to find out?”
32
WYATT
I givethe cab driver my address and while we drive cross-town to my apartment, I let my hand wander across the seat to rub my thumb over Amalia’s. She looks up at me and smiles, and it’s all I can do not to pull her to me right there in the cab.
“Oh, you live in one of these loft buildings,” she says as I press the code for the exterior door. “Cool. I’ve always wanted to see one.”
With my hand on the small of her back, I lead her through the short hallway to the three elevators that take people directly to their apartments. I press a code again, and my elevator opens.
“Why all the codes?” Amalia asks.
“Well, this one goes directly to my apartment.”
Her mouth drops open. “You have your own elevator?”
Before I can answer, the doors open into my living room, and she steps out, looking around and taking it all in.
It is a pretty amazing place, if I do say so myself.
“Shoes off, please. Hope you don’t mind.”
She kicks off her boots and steps further into the apartment.
“Oh. My. God.”
Yeah. It’s like that.
“What? Why? This place isyours? Like all yours?” she asks, following me to the kitchen.
