“Coming!” I yell as I run toward the door, leaving Roger in my bedroom, and Angelo knocks again.
I take a deep breath as I touch the doorknob, giving myself a minute to get my shit together. “You got this,” I say because somehow saying it out loud makes me feel better. Mental? Maybe, but it works. “It’s not a date. We’re just friends.”
When I open the door, Angelo’s leaning against the wall in a white dress shirt, black slacks, and looking yummier than he does when he’s wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. The man could wear a paper sack and make it look good.
“Hey.” My stomach flutters, and I drink him in.
His eyes travel up my body, and there’s a hunger in his eyes. “You’re stunning.”
My body warms at the compliment, and parts of me that haven’t been touched by another human in years remind me they’re still alive too.
“Thank you.” I stop myself from downplaying the outfit or how I look in it. “You’re looking quite dashing yourself.”
Dashing isn’t the right word. I’m totally out of sync with the realities of dating in my thirties. Who the fuck says dashing anymore?
The man looks straight-up edible. Like I could spend hours exploring every dip and ridge if I were ready for that. I’m big at talking—hell, even thinking about all the naughty things I could do with him.
But would I?
I haven’t let another man touch me in so long, I’m not sure I could actually go through with it. My head knows Mitchell isn’t here anymore, but my heart hasn’t quite caught up.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yes,” I say simply because I don’t want to seem overeager about this evening.
I’m excited to be going out with someone, even if we’re only friends, because in a city of millions of people, I have very few I consider friends. There’s always room for one more, especially a sexy drink of water like Angelo.
He steps to the side, giving me room to pass like a true gentleman. I can feel the heat of his gaze on my back as I walk in front of him. “Where are we going?”
“I thought we’d go for some steak. There’s a popular place not too far from here. Unless you’d like something else. But if you’re in the mood for something more casual, we can do that too. I’m easy. I like everything.”
“I’m kind of in the mood for pizza.”
His heavy footsteps stop behind me. “Pizza?”
I glance over my shoulder. “It’s my favorite. I heard there’s a great place on the South Side, Vito & Nick’s.”
Angelo’s eyebrows rise. “You really want to go to Vito & Nick’s?” he asks as he starts walking again to catch up with me.
I nod because there’s nothing better than a thin crust pizza covered with hot, gooey cheese and a cold beer to wash it down. “Yeah. Why’s that so hard to believe?”
“You just don’t look like the pizza type, and then there’s your outfit.”
I laugh. “I’m very much a pizza girl.”
I can feel his body heat against my skin in the cold hallway. “Are you sure?”
I glance upward, taking in his ice-blue eyes and knowing I could get lost in them. “I’m sure. I want to relax, and there’s nothing relaxing about a stuffy, overpriced steakhouse.”
We’re within steps of my building’s front door when Angelo places his hand on the small of my back. It’s gentle but unmistakable. I’m rendered speechless, almost unable to breathe.
I’ve missed being touched like this. The move isn’t forward or sexual, but manly and comforting. Something Mitchell did often, and I forgot how much I missed so simple an action.
“Pizza, it is.” He ushers me outside with his hand still on me. “Whatever makes you happy.”
My insides are a jumbled mess. My stomach’s fluttering like a horde of butterflies was let loose in a tiny box, banging against the sides and trying to escape.
This man did that to me.
