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As if I could have forgotten. He’d only brought up our date literally every other time we’d talked.
“Yeah,” I said somewhat absently, having spotted a typo on my screen. “Dinner, right? Do you know what time you’ll be in yet?” His schedule had been up in the air most of the week—something about the deal he was working on.
“Ah, yeah, probably sometime early afternoon. We’re signing the papers at noon, thank fucking God, so hopefully I’ll be able to get out of here right after that.”
“That bad, huh?” I frowned at the screen, trying to rework another sentence.
“I just want to see you, baby.”
His words set a small, warm fire in my belly, and suddenly grammar didn’t seem to matter so much. I swiveled around and propped my feet up on the edge of my bed, wrapping an arm around my waist as if I could mimic his touch.
“I want to see you too,” I admitted, and immediately a hum of approval zipped through the phone.
“Good. So, I was thinking I’d pick you up around six.”
I looked up at the ceiling, contemplating the schedule. “Six? Isn’t that kind of early? I don’t even finish at the clinic until five.”
“Oh.” The disappointment in his voice was palpable. “Well, I was thinking I’d get tickets for something, and then we could go to dinner late. Do something nice since it’s Valentine’s Day and all.”
My feet fell off the bed. “Uhh…” I stuttered as I quickly scrambled back to the computer to check my calendar. There it was, right at the top of the Friday box: February fourteenth. The stupid holiday hadn’t even been on my radar.
Immediately I spun back around and made a stealthy dash for my closet. “Sure…yeah…what kind of tickets?”
Brandon chuckled, low and satisfied. He probably knew he was catching me by surprise, the bastard.
“I don’t think I can tell you that yet, Red. Gotta keep some things a secret, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know…I sort of like predictability.” I thumbed through my clothes, trying to decide if I had anything decent enough for a fancy dinner date with a man like this on the most romantic day of the year. Shit. I stopped, deciding to focus my energy instead on convincing him to divulge his plans. “Plus, you don’t exactly have the best track record with surprises.”
“I think I’ve done all right,” Brandon purred, and I realized he wasn’t just talking about gifts. Okay, so he wasn’tsobad at surprises.
“Come on,” I wheedled. I pulled one dress, then another—all of them basic, boring, and black. “A girl’s got to plan her wardrobe. Don’t you want me to look all sexy for you?” I tried to make my voice sound light and flirtatious, but failed miserably.
Brandon burst out laughing. “Babe, you know the ‘gotta please my man’ shtick doesn’t really work for you, right?”
“Gah!” I erupted. “Okay, can you just tell me whether or not it’s formal? Going to the opera is pretty different than seeing a garage band, you know?”
“Hmmm.”
He was so obviously enjoying this. I rolled my eyes and stomped my feet.
“I think,” Brandon said finally, “that you’ll be fine in a dress. Something that shows off your legs.”
“Brandon!”
“I’m just kidding!” He laughed through the phone so hard that I couldn’t help but giggle with him. “Okay, you’ll want to dress up a little. But it’s not black tie.”
“That’s no help at all!” I screeched.
“Red?” Brandon asked, his voice suddenly sweet. Its calming effect was immediate.
“Yes.”
“It’s just a date, not the Oscars. I can give you until six thirty if you really need it, but that’s it. If Kieran tries to make you stay late, tell her I’m giving my funding for FLS to the business school instead.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I bet that would go over well.”
I wasn’t worried. I could splurge on a cab if I needed to get back in time to get ready. If I could figure out something to wear in the first place.
