None of those things are bad, exactly. I’m just not sure they’re for me.
“Farting patients aside,” Mitch continues, “I really have been looking forward to seeing you all day.” He pauses. “I always do, Pen. Whenever we have a date planned. And the days between.”
My heart gives another nervous hop. “I always look forward to seeing you, too.”
It’s the truth. Whenever I know I’m going to see Mitch, whether it’s for our weekly date or trivia at the Hop-less Horseman with our friends, I wake up in the morning filled with a fizzy sort of anticipation. I spend extra time on my makeup and my hair. I spend far too long sorting through outfits to find oneI think Mitch will like. And I invariably spend most of the day thinking about him—wondering what he’ll wear, what he’ll say, how many times he’ll laugh, and if we’ll end the night with a kiss or something more intimate.
No, we haven’t had sex yet. We’ve progressed to some pretty intense makeout sessions, but it’s always stopped just short, which I’m both relieved and disappointed about.
Iknowit would muddle our relationship even further, and holding off is probably the best idea. But when I’m kissing Mitch, when his hands are all over me, when I can feel his erection prodding my belly or between my thighs, and my body is begging for more, I’m tempted to throw caution to the wind and just do it.
And later, when I’m home alone with only the little toy stashed in my nightstand to satisfy me, I’m left wondering if I made the right choice by stopping.
I’m also left wondering if Mitch will get tired of waiting and look for another woman instead. A woman who won’t drag her feet about sex and commitment. A woman who would be thrilled to date a man like him and would do anything to keep him.
In those worried, fearful moments, I wonder if I’m making a terrible mistake.
But then I flash back to that horrible night in my apartment two years ago. I remember the fear in Ari, Thea, and Shea’s eyes as my crappy ex, Mark, held us at gunpoint. And I think about the vow I made to myself in the days after, that I’d never let myself get close enough to a man to let him hurt meormy friends again.
Do you really think Mitch would hurt you?the logical voice in my head whispers.He’s not like that. And you know it.
“Do you?” Mitch asks. His normally-confident veneer slips. Vulnerability flickers in his eyes as he adds, “That actually reminds me about something I wanted to ask.”
Shoving my conflicted thoughts aside to deal with later, I lace my fingers between his and ask, “What is it?”
With his free hand, he brushes a lock of unruly hair away from his forehead. “Well, I know you said your landlord?—”
“Can I get you two anything else?” Our server’s chipper voice interrupts him mid-sentence, and we both jolt before turning towards her.
“An aperitif?” she continues, “or maybe an espresso?”
Mitch glances at me, and I give him a tiny shake of my head. He looks back at our server and says, “I think we’re all good. But thank you.”
“Okay,” she chirps. “I’ll just leave your check here. But there’s no rush. Take as long as you want.”
Once she’s gone, Mitch reaches into his pocket for his wallet, then pulls out a credit card and slides it into the check holder. Just like every time we go out, I make a grab for my purse while saying, “I can take care of it this time. I don’t mind.”
He moves the check holder out of my reach. With a smile, he replies, “Absolutely not, Pen. I asked you out. That means I pay.”
“Well,” I protest, “you didn’t really ask me out. Webothdecided to go out tonight.”
“I’m the one who brought up coming to Horse and Ghost,” Mitch retorts. “When we were leaving trivia. So I think I asked you out.”
“But I’m the one who suggested going out on Thursday night. So you could sayI askedyou.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Mitch turns my hand over and runs his thumb across my palm. “Maybe it’s old fashioned, but my dad always told me the man pays on a date. So, I’d like to keep doing that, as long as you don’t mind.”
His touch sets off prickles of electricity across my skin. Desire shoots straight to my core, and I squeeze my thighsagainst each other to ease the ache it leaves behind. “I don’t mind,” I reply. “I just don’t want you to think I expect it. Since…”
His brow creases. “Since what?”
Since we’re not officially together,is what I almost say. But I swallow it back, not wanting to ruin the moment. Instead, I cast about for a vague answer, finally coming up with, “Since you always pay. I wouldn’t mind sometimes. If you wanted.”
“Well, I don’t,” he answers firmly. His thumb glides up to my wrist, lightly stroking. “Anyway. Back to my question.”
“Okay?”
“Your landlord. Is he still planning on selling the building?”
