He looks crestfallen. “Do you have a thing against musicians?”
My words fly out. “Of course not! I play the drums. The problem is—you have a girlfriend.”
“We just covered that. I’ll let things ride during the holidays, and then we’ll figure it out.” Before I can interject my two cents’ worth, he plows forward. “Zoe’s out of town until Friday afternoon. There’s no way I could have a conversation with her over the phone. It would be too cruel. The party’s on Saturday, and then the benefit takes place three days after that on Christmas Eve. There’s no time to break the bad news until after Christmas.”
I shake my head. “You’ve got it all figured out, huh?”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“You never asked me how I feel about the situation.”
He makes a face. “Yes, I did … in a roundabout way.”
“Don’t you want my take on what’s happening between us?”
He blinks. “Of course. What do youthink is happening here?”
I moisten my lips. “Well, you’re unsure about your relationship with Zoe, so you’re jumping at the chance to start something new. Classic rebound.” He tries to refute my words, but I talk over him. “You know I’m right. Admit it.”
He presses his lips together, grimacing. “Okay, I can see your point about the timing, but you’re overlooking one critical aspect.”
“What’s that?”
A sly smile tugs at his lips. “Our kiss.”
I sense a trap. “What about it?”
“It was dynamite.” He fixes me with a penetrating gaze. “You and I both know it.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “It was … nice.”
His voice pitches high. “Nice? It was more than nice. And trust me, I’ve kissed enough girls to know.”
My eyes widen. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
A sheepish grin curves his mouth. “At least you know I’m being honest.”
“At least,” I smirk and then switch gears. “The kiss was great, but maybe it was just a fluke. We were dancing and got caught up in the moment.”
“Maybe. There’s only one way to find out,” he murmurs, eyes going to my lips.
It’s crazy how fast longing rustles through me. “Don’t,” I warn. “I’m not a stand-in to keep you entertained during your existential crisis.”
“My what?”
“Your existential crisis where you were triggered by a major event that’s causing you to question life’s meaning and purpose.”
He bursts out laughing. “You really are too much. Existential crisis,” he muses. “I suppose if you ever get tired of playing the drums and working for high-strung interior designers, you could always become a writer with that vocabulary.”
I make a gurgling sound and nearly choke on my saliva.
“Are you okay?”
I cough to clear my throat. “I’m okay,” I squeak.
He fixes me with an intense gaze that makes me squirm. “Let’s get one thing straight.”
“I’m listening.” He can be quite formidable when he wants to be.
