He grinned, handing over his phone. “Would now be a bad time to tell you I already have your number?”
“You do not.”
“I do.”
I scrolled through his contacts and found my number, biting my lip, unsure how to feel about this nugget of information. I looked up at him. “Why haven’t you used it?”
He smiled gently. “Didn’t wanna freak you out.”
“You couldn’t freak me out if you tried,” I blurted.
“Seven,” he said again.
I sighed. “Can we make it seven-thirty?”
“Yeah, Dimples, we can do that.”
“Can I meet you somewhere?”
“No.”
I swallowed. “I…I can’t get on your bike, Sundance.”
“How come?”
“Oh, maybe because I’m scared to death of them,” I admitted.
He smiled again. “I’ll bring my truck.”
“You have a truck?”
“A nice big, safe one,” he retorted.
I relaxed. “Oh, okay, good.”
He reached out and stroked my cheek gently. “I’ll see you tonight.”
I bobbed my head up and down but couldn’t really speak, considering his touch made me all melty. He walked away and threw his long leg over his bike, taking off and giving me a chin lift as he passed. I was still stuck to the sidewalk…you know, because I melted and all.
“Shit,” I whispered.
What the hell was I supposed to do now?
Wyatt
MY PHONE BUZZED at seven twenty-nine, and I snagged it off my kitchen island as I zipped up a boot.
Sundance:Downstairs. Your doorman won’t let me up. I like him.
Me:Be right down.
I smiled, my heart fluttering with excitement, grabbed my purse, and with one quick look in the mirror by the door (and a boob fluff), I made my way to the elevators.
As the car took me down, I laid my hand over my belly to calm the butterflies, then stepped into the lobby once the doors opened.
And there was Sundance in all his glory. Dark jeans, a tight white T-shirt, and a black leather vest with patches on it. He wore black motorcycle boots, a cuff on his wrist, and I saw a chain on his belt loop, which I assumed was attached to his wallet.
“Am I overdressed?” I asked.
