“Really? You still want to have dinner?” He looks surprised.
“I do. I like you, Clint. I can’t say that this will be forever, but I would be happy to get to know you more. That is, if you want the same.”
A real smile fills his face. “I would love that. It might sound lame, but this is my first date in three years. I mean, sure, she and I went out, but this is different. It’s new. I’m a little nervous, but excited too.”
“This isn’t my first date, but I haven’t had that many over the years, so I understand. Now here is the real make-or-break question…” I trail off.
He looks nervous again. I almost feel bad for him.
“What?” He swallows hard.
“Calamari or spinach and artichoke dip for a starter?”
He lets out this boisterous laugh, drawing the attention of others.
“Dip for sure. I’m sorry, but fried octopus? No, thank you.”
“Right answer, Clint. I have a feeling we will get along just fine.”
With the ice broken, we continue to chat as the night moves around us.
He really is a handsome man. Funny and kind.
So why is another brown-haired man stealing my thoughts away?
MAX
She went out on a date last night. I know because Bernard, our doorman, told me. I had to slip him a hundred to give up the details, but all he would tell me is she went out to meet a suitor. Fucker is loyal to her.
I can’t be mad at him, though. I would prefer him to be loyal to her than to me. That way he keeps her safe.
When I showed up at her door this morning, she was running around trying to get her things together. Her eyes looked a little sunken, as if she hadn’t gotten enough sleep.
The way my blood heated at the idea of her going home with her date last night had me ready to start a war. The only thing that stopped me was her sleepy voice telling me she stayed up too late watching some Formula One show.
It still didn’t wipe away my bad mood, though. After glaring at Bernard, reminding him I was unhappy with his refusal to tell me where she had gone last night so I could make sure she was okay, I loaded her into my car at the curb and drove us to the airport.
We didn’t speak, even after I stopped and got her favorite morning drink of chai tea. It wasn’t until we were seated in business class on the plane that she finally spoke to me.
“How long is the flight?” she asks, her eyes on the magazine in her hand with her feet spread out on the mostly reclined seat.
“About four hours, give or take,” I tell her, my own eyes on my laptop.
“Mmm. Wake me when we get there?” she asks as her eyes start to drift closed.
“Of course,” I tell her.
At first, I try to let her sleep in peace. I really do, but when her neck twists toward the aisle, I grip it, turning her head toward me. I put my laptop away before I lean my own seat back.
“Are we there?” she mumbles as I rest her head on my shoulder.
“No. Go back to sleep.”
I sigh, wishing I had given her the window seat. She would be more comfortable. Then again, my shoulder must be more comfortable than the wall of the plane.
I wouldn’t get any work done anyway. Not with my thoughts focused on her.
So I settle in, loving the feel of her head against my shoulder. I like that she feels safe with me.
