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My body instantly thaws, far more worried about failing to impress my daughter than I am about making a fool of myself in front of a woman I shouldn’t be exchanging numbers with. “That would be great actually.”
Riley practically rips the phone out of my hand after I pull it from my pocket and unlock it. She types for a few seconds before a ding sounds next to her hip as she hands my phone back to me.
“Thank you again,” I say stuffing the phone back in my pocket.
When I look up, the smirk she had when we first ran into each other is there. “You’remorethan welcome.”
My eyebrow twitches watching her return to her cart. Her incredible hips swaying as she pushes it down the aisle and around the corner.
What does she mean? I’mmorethan welcome?
I pull my phone out again and open the text she sent to herself.
ME: Daniel the Gumbo Guy. Text in case of an emergency. Or whatever. ;)
Oh, shit.
She is going to be trouble. But for some reason, I don’t care so much anymore. And don’t hesitate to add “Trouble” to my contact list.
∞∞∞
RILEY
The conveyor belt rolls forward letting me fill the empty space with my groceries.
Did I seriously just give my phone number to a stranger?
A completely hunky stranger. Who’s old enough to be…
Nope! Not going there.
I don’t give a crap about things like age. Especially since every relationship I’ve ever had with guys my own age has ended with my face buried in a tub of fudge ripple ice cream. Not that I have a chance at a relationship with someone like Daniel. The look he had on his face when I flirted with him made that perfectly clear.
Whether he’s interested or not, I meant it when I told him I couldn’t in good conscience leave him without a lifeline. I don’t know. I felt kind of duty-bound. And since I have the means to help, who am I to stand in the way of him impressing his daughter.
His daughter… Who I could have gone to high school with. Granted, I would have been a senior and his daughter a freshman but that’s still a bit strange to think about.
Ugh! Stop it.
You’re an adult with a kick-ass job and your own apartment. Making enough money you don’t need a roommate like most of your friends.
The checker announces my total. I don’t even blink as I push my debit card into the payment kiosk. It’s still hard to believe, after eating mostly pot noodles and crackers for four years, that the day has come when I don’t have to count pennies, literally, to purchase my next meal. Now, I’m able to buy organic everything, gallons of my favorite wine to appropriately pair with my meals, and not even think about whether or not I’ll end up homeless when the rent comes due.
Loading my groceries into my cart and then into my car, I can’t stop seeing Daniel’s forest-green eyes or feeling the callused grip of his massive hands. When I wonder how he earned them, a lump catches in my throat.
Shit. I’d completely dominated the conversation. He probably thinks I’m a selfish, spoiled brat to go on and on about myself and not ask a single question about him. Or his daughter. Or why the meal is so important.
I slump into the driver seat of my car and shut the door before planting my forehead on the steering wheel.
If I had any chance with Daniel, my big mouth ruined it.
My phone dings and buzzes against my hip.
No way.
My heart stomps on the accelerator. Zero to a million in half a second.
It can’t be him.
