My heart dropped. I wrung my fingers together, bracing myself for the bad news I’d been expecting—as if I’d just beenwaitingfor the bomb to drop that would blow up our perfect weekend, and itwasSunday night now, so . . .
“What is it?” I asked.
He jutted his chin at me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I have no idea what you’re going to say,” I said. “It could be anything.”
He laughed and kissed me between the brows. “Honeybee,” he said softly, “I’m not going anywhere. Quit bracing yourself for bad news.”
My shoulders eased as the elevator slowed. We exited, and he unlocked the door to the apartment. I hung up my scarf and jacket with his in the foyer, then tailed him to the bedroom. “Well?” I asked.
“Oh. I’m mad that I’ve never taken you out on a proper date,” he said. “You know—picked you up, driven you to dinner, dropped you off. Kissed you on the doorstep.”
I laughed on an exhale, relieved to hear quite the opposite of bad news.
He stripped off his shirt and tossed it into the closet hamper. “Due to the nature of our relationship,” he continued, “I’ve skipped over the entire courting process. So we’ll have to make up for that.” He turned to me. “Olivia Germaine, would you let me take you out tomorrow night? Anywhere you like.”
“Surprise me,” I said, scrunching my nose at him before peeking at his six-pack. “Also, is walking around shirtless something you do often? It makes it hard to concentrate.”
“I’m thinking ‘no shirts allowed’ would make for a good rule.”
I went to him and wrapped my arms around his warm skin, careful not to touch his injured ribs.
He ghosted a hand over my bruised biceps. “I hate that he got to you before I did.” Without making contact, his palm moved to hover over my shoulder blade, to the bite mark. “Did I hurt you last night?”
“No.” He’d handled me perfectly the whole night. I tilted my head back to look up at him. “Your dad was pretty upset, though.”
“Where do you think I got my temper?” he asked. “He sits on a few boards, one of which focuses on domestic violence.”
“He’s scary,” I said. “Like you.”
David laughed just as my cell phone rang. I rolled my eyes and tried to pull away.
“Ignore it,” he said, kissing my forehead.
I wanted to, but I couldn’t with all the things going on in my life. I detangled myself from his arms.
“Who even has your new number?” he asked.
“Just Gretchen, my dad, and Bill.”
“Bill?” David asked as I rummaged through my bag.
“I e-mailed it to him.”
“Why?” he asked irritably.
“Like it or not, we’re going to have to be in touch.” I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Olivia?” My mother’s panicked voice came through the line, and I paled instantly.
“Mom?” I felt behind me to sit at the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s going on?” she cried.
My heart sank when I realized from her hysterical voice that she’d probably been drinking. “I don’t know.Youcalledme,” I said. “Calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down, young lady,” she said. “I just spoke to Bill, and I just—I justdon’tbelieve what he told me. Tell me he’s mistaken.”
