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“Cosmopolitan?” Carly asked, the question mark at the end of that word making it clear she wasn’t all that sure of her order.
“Sure.” Jordana nodded and looked over at me. “Do you want a refill?”
I took a deep breath, fully intending to go nonalcoholic with my next drink. But I needed some liquid courage right now.
“One more,” I said, then I looked over Carly. “Do you want something to eat?”
I tried not to stare at her chest, but this woman was hot. Everything about her, from the way her long, caramel, wavy hair landed on either side of her face to her plump pink lips, scrambled my brainwaves.
In six years, not a single woman had me even thinking about betraying Amanda’s memory, but this woman was something else. She had me forgetting my own name, I was so distracted when she was around.
“Do you have a pepperoni flatbread?” she asked Jordana, who nodded. “I’ll take that.”
“You’ve never been here before?” I asked once we were alone again.
Carly shook her head. “We usually hang out at Whiskey Dick.”
Whiskey Dick. A weird name for a bar if I’d ever heard one. It was a more casual version of this place, but a lot of my colleagues liked to hang out there to pick up younger women. I preferred the quiet solitude of the Lamplighter Lounge.
“I think I like this place, though,” Carly said, looking around. “The mood lighting, and this booth is kind of private. That comes in handy when you’re wearing a goofy costume you don’t want anyone to notice.”
“That costume is far from goofy,” I blurted.
Had I said that out loud? Maybe I didn’t need another drink to work up the courage.
She looked down, probably checking out the degree of cleavage she was showing. I’d noticed her tugging at the bodice when the kids were around. This time, instead of tugging, she shrugged the coat off her shoulders and sat up a little straighter. Suddenly, she didn’t seem so self-conscious about baring some skin.
Jordana brought over our drinks, along with a plate and some silverware for Carly. “I’ll be right back with your flatbread.”
As she took off again, Carly lifted her drink by the stem, careful not to tip the liquid over the top. I lifted my glass and lightly tapped it to hers.
“To Santa and his elf,” I said.
Our eyes connected as she carefully touched the rim of her glass to her lips. There it was again, the self-consciousness. How could I make her comfortable around me?
I took a generous swig of my drink and told myself that was all the liquid courage I needed. Taking a breath to calm my racing heart, I leaned back against the seat, my arm not quite around her. But then she sat back, and I took that as a hint she wanted more.
As my fingers made contact with her arm, just below the shoulder, I felt that initial jolt of arousal that’d become so unfamiliar to me. Sure, I’d been with women before meeting Amanda, but that seemed like another lifetime.
Carly didn’t set the drink down until she had a good half-inch off the top. That kept the liquid from sloshing up to the top. My thumb and forefinger brushed over her skin and she moved, filling me with the urge to run my hands over her entire body, then my tongue—
“So, what’s your story?” I blurted, decimating the chemistry between us.
What was wrong with me? That sort of gruff questioning kept almost everyone at bay. It had been my core personality since losing my wife. Before her death, that side of my personality only came through at work. I seemed to have lost the ability to be a sociable human.
She took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m twenty-three, I work in finance—accounts payable, and I live in Reboot. You know, the condos at the end of the street.”
Yeah, I knew Reboot all too well. The owner was a buddy of mine, plus I’d had my eye on the place for a few years. I still lived in the suburbs in the same five-thousand-square-foot house I shared with my wife. It was ridiculous to have a home that big just for me, especially considering I was almost always at work, but I hadn’t taken the time to make the switch.
“Never married, no relationships, no kids,” she said. “I guess that probably went without saying.”
I looked over at her. “Why would that go without saying?”
“I’m barely out of college. It’s not like I’ve had all that much time to hit all those milestones.”
I couldn’t really relate to that. Amanda and I had married later in life. Truth be told, I’d dragged my feet on popping the question, and by the time I had, her biological clock had been ticking. We talked about having children, but we never took action on it.
I probably should tell Carly all that—just spill it. A young woman with an entire future in front of her probably wouldn’t want to get stuck with an old widower. She should know what was sitting next to her now—before it was too late. No way would I want this woman to be just a one-night stand.
