His gaze grows heavy. “Whatever you want.”
Well, this just got more interesting. I purse my lips and consider his offer. “That’s it? That’s your grand offer? I get one thing?”
“One dinner, one thing in exchange.” His smile turns confident. The cocky bastard knows he’s got me.
“Fine. You can haveonedinner. But not tonight. Thursday.”
“Done. I’ll have a car pick you up at seven.”
I must admit, the coffee paired with a dinner date and private driver is far more appealing than anything any other man has offered me. “Great.”
His smile turns sinister. He rises to leave but pauses in the doorway, turning to look at me over his shoulder. “And Gemma?”
“Yes?” I ask, lifting my gaze from my laptop.
“Buy the butt plug.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Gemma
I twist the cap of my nail polish, inspecting my handiwork on my at-home pedicure. I picked New York Apple. Red always makes me feel confident and put together.
Blowing on the polish to help it dry, I readjust my toe separators and waddle across my flat, trying not to smudge my masterpiece. I’ve just reached my bookshelf when a loud buzzing noise reverberates. April’s here.
I desperately need some girl time. My head has been a mess since Saturday night—since Max and his dumb perfect mouth and his even dumber apology coffee.
When I told him that dinner was a bad idea, I wasn’t lying. The words felt hollow when I said them, like an empty promise I knew I couldn’t keep.
I never agreed to date the man, and I’m afraid that’s exactly what this is turning into. We’re both shitting all over the rules.
I should end it. I know weshouldend it. But I can’t bring myself to do it. Shit. This is the first time I’ve allowed myself to think these thoughts properly. To dissect them and articulate what this means—how I feel.
I’ve fooled around more with Max in a week than I have with any dates over the last fewyears. And now the idea of a dinner date sends cold trickles down my spine—the kind that make me wonder whether I should take it as a warning sign because, against my better judgment, the feeling is suspiciously close to anticipation.
I press the intercom button. “Come up. Door’s unlocked.”
A moment later, the door swings open and I greet April with a warm hug.
“Thanks so much for coming,” I say.
She rummages through her tote bag before pulling out a bottle of champagne. “I brought bubbles. Figured we might need them.”
“You know me too well.” I take the bottle, pop the cork, and pour us each a flute. Our glasses chime lightly as we toast.
Settling into the sofa, April turns to me, a serious look on her face. “Where did you and Max disappear to Saturday night?”
Shit. She noticed. I wince slightly.
“Was it obvious?” I ask.
She shrugs. “Only because I know what’s happening between you two. I don’t think anyone realized you were both missing at the same time.”
April’s eyes dart to my laptop screen. She does a double take and squints. “Are you looking up butt plugs?”
“Yes,” I say.
When I don’t elaborate, she blinks before taking another long sip. “Do I even want to know?”
