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“Sure.”
Damn it, he’s going for option one.
Gentleman.
He puts his arm around me as we walk and pulls me close, and there’s a familiarity between us. This feels like the most natural thing in the world.
“I had a good time tonight,” he says as we walk.
“Me too.” I smile goofily. “I’m already excited about going grocery shopping tomorrow.”
He arrives at a busy corner and stops at the traffic lights, and he turns me toward him.
“Is this where you kiss me?” I ask.
“I don’t know, is it?”
I nod. “Probably.”
Right here, in the middle of everyone, he takes my face in his hands. His lips softly brush against mine, and my feet float off the ground. We kiss again and again, and it’s like a wave of perfection comes crashing over us.
The lights change. People are rushing . . . but it’s the two of us lost in the moment. It’s not awkward, like a first kiss should be. It’s intimate and tender, something more.
He smiles against my lips and pulls me close, and we stand in each other’s arms for a moment.
“Henley.”
“Yeah.” He kisses my forehead.
“This is my best first date.”
“Until the next one.”
I giggle, and he gives me a sexy wink.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach because, holy crap, this is something.
We arrive at the taxi stand, and damn it, one is there waiting. He opens the back door for me and kisses me softly as he brushes the hair back from my face. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I smile shyly and get into the back seat, and he closes the door behind me.
I wave, and then before the car can drive away, he opens the car door and pulls me out by the hand. “Change of plans: you’re coming home with me.”
“What?”
He cuts me off with a kiss, and everyone in the cab line groans in disgust.
Lips locked, hormones in overdrive, we burst through the door of his apartment like animals.
Gone is the polite first-date Mr. James; we left him in the restaurant.
I like this version better.
All the way home in the Uber, he had his hand up my dress, and I think it’s fair to say that we are both very good to go.
“Get this fucking dress off,” he whispers as he struggles to unzip it. The zipper snags, and he tugs it hard.
I giggle at his impatience. “Who said I am a sure thing, anyway?”
