Find out what his problem is.
“Hey, thanks again for a great evening. I really enjoyed it.” Rhys smiles at me, and I force myself to slip the phone back into my purse and look at him.
He really is beautiful.
Surprising myself, I reach out and cup his cheek, softly whispering, “Thank you.”
He gazes at me, silently asking permission to kiss me good night. He doesn’t have to say anything, and although my heart has launched itself into my throat, I lean forward anyway.
This is all part of moving on with my life, right?
Kissing another guy.
Letting Atlas go and…
This is the first guy you will have kissed since him. Do you even remember how to?
Ignoring the panicked taunts in my head, I lean a little closer… and a little closer… until Rhys’s lips are pressed against mine.
Closing my eyes, I sink into it, really trying to feel that thing. That spark. You know? The one that came so easily for Atlas and me. The one that curls your toes and sends a current joltingthrough your body. The one that makes your insides want to dance and rave and…
Nothing.
Wait, maybe I just need to deepen it.
Threading my fingers around Rhys’s neck, I brush my tongue across his lips and he responds, opening his mouth to me. Our tongues glide together for just a moment, but…
Nope. Nothing.
We try for just another second, but I’m starting to get the sense that maybe there’s no spark for him either.
Seriously?
But he’s so perfect!
My insides are wailing as I ease away from him and we share an awkward smile.
Clearing his throat, he nods and murmurs, “Thanks again for a great date.”
“Yeah, you… you too.” My laughter is wispy and insincere, so I push the door open and make a quick escape.
The wind catches my dress as I walk around the back of his car, and I quickly snatch it down, holding it against my thigh as Rhys sticks his hand out the window and waves goodbye.
I frown after his car, disappointment searing me as I watch him drive away.
No spark.
Shit. I’m never gonna find myself a man.
With a soft huff, I shake my head and wrench my phone out of my purse.
Reading Tyrell’s text again, I send back a quick reply.
I’m ready for a debrief now. But I don’t want to do it over the phone. Meet me at that park a block from my place. You know the one with the red bench seat?
Why I want to see him, I’m not even sure, but as I wrap my arms around myself and stomp toward the playground, I start running through scenarios.
Maybe I want to be able to slap him for being a douche.
