But it doesn’t erase my fear.
Doesn’t absolve me of shame.
“Would you like a drink? Wine? I’m sure the bartender has merlot,” Daniel offers, waving a hand toward the full-service bar set up against the far wall specifically for the party.
I smile, a burst of pleasure blooming inside me. This is the fourth time we’ve been out together, counting that first disastrous date, and his attentiveness still surprises me. It’s as if he keeps this little journal in his head, and it’s all about me. It’s flattering and thoughtful. And kind.
I’m coming to believe it’s Daniel.
“That would be great, thank you.”
“Be right back.”
More than my gaze follows Daniel as he cuts a path across the room. And not just because he’s tall as hell. Or a beautiful man. Given Cyrus is an entertainment attorney, Daniel isn’t the only athlete in the room. So no, it isn’t his height or handsome face. The man carries a sense of utter confidence and calm around him—like an indomitable shelter in the midst of a raging storm—that draws people to him. I almost missed that given how bad our first date went. And whew. It wasbad. While I sat at that restaurant table, a tingling had started at the back of my eyes as I’d wondered if I’d been set up for humiliation with another athlete.
Again.
But then Daniel had called a couple of days later and explained why he’d been so stiff and painfully awkward. His willingness to be so open and vulnerable with me, little more than a stranger to him, had dented the shields I’d reinforced. How could Inothave agreed to go out on another date with him after that?
“Please tell me his dick isn’t underwhelming like the last guy.”
Well, thank God I didn’t have wine already, or I would’ve been choking on it. On it and my mortification.
“Could you say that just a teensy bit louder? I’m not sure Cyrus’s geriatric neighbor heard you,” I snap at Renae.
“A shame.” She tips a dark-green beer bottle to her mouth, arching an eyebrow. “I’m sure she wants to know too. Now spill. Because if he has whiskey dick sans the whiskey, I think I’m going to cry for the fate of all men.”
I return her arched eyebrow, taking a step back and scanning her from the top of her crown of dark-red twists, down her tightly toned body draped in a sleeveless floor-length dress with an empire waist, and back up again.
“You look gorgeous.”
“Don’t try and change the subject.”
“I don’t think I am.”
She snorts. “What I look like has nothing to do with whether that guy has granted you answers to whether or not alien life forms exist. With orgasms.”
“Ma’am,” I growl. “Keep it down. And I have no idea what intergalactic mysteries Daniel can solve with his penis because we haven’t had sex. And of course alien life forms exist,” I scoff. “Leave it to humans to assume they are the only race on the sole life-sustaining planet in this huge universe. We’re so arrogant. No wonder we’re always being probed.”
“Focus.” Renae snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Say what now? You two haven’t fucked? What is this? Date five?”
“Four.”
“Four? And he looks like that?Andhe’s a basketball player? What’s wrong with him?” she demands, voice flat. “Forget it. I’ll find out.”
“Nothing’s wrong with him, sheesh. And could you dial back your secret-agent crazy?” I shake my head, caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to dash across the room to urge Daniel to run to the nearest safe house. “He’s a widower,” I murmur, and the pain that flashes across Renae’s face pulses inside me like a hot brand. “I don’t think he’s looking for sex from me. Just companionship. I think he’s ... lonely.”
“I get that,” she murmurs back. “But, babe. Have you seen yourself?” She waves a hand up and down in front of me. I don’t need to peer down at myself to take in the long-sleeve emerald-green dress with the plunging neckline and flared skirt that hits me midthigh. “Widower,yes; eunuch, no. He wants to hit it. So that must mean you’re the holdup.”
Friends are beautiful, priceless blessings.
And other times, like now, they’re complete pains in the ass.
Especially when they refuse to let you avoid shit.
“Spill it, chick,” Renae presses.
“I—” I frown, wrestle with what to say. What not to say.
