“But not by you.” There’s a fresh wave of a strong feeling he’s inspired in me before, wanting to take care of him. Wanting to soothe him. “I’m glad you shared honestly with me. I promise.”
He doesn’t reply Instead, he flicks on his turn signal and takes an exit.
With a start, I realize we’re almost to my apartment.
Crap.
What terrible timing I have.
Now there’s so much more I want to say.I know that we’re very… different. And it might seem like I’m junior to you, that we don’t have anything in common. But if nothing else, maybe sharing this weird story might mean that we could be friends, in a way?
Except that’s far too much to ask of someone in his position.
He slides into an empty visitor parking spot and cuts the engine.
Before I can thank him for the ride anddinner, he’s out of the driver’s seat. After he opens my door, he gestures to the walkway.
His intention is clear, he’s going to walk me to my door.
“Will you get annoyed about the age gap between us if I say that you’re a gentleman from another era?” I ask, knowing I’m teasing a little, knowing it’s pushing the boundaries.
But as the seconds rush by, our dinner rapidly coming to an end, I find myself wanting more. More teasing, more flirting, more of what we had at dinner.
“As long as you’re finding something to compliment about my age, I suppose I can’t complain.” He winks back at me as I stop in front of my door.
He frowns. “This is you?”
“Yep.”
“It’s not very secure.”
“I have a couple of deadbolts, don’t worry.”
His frown doesn’t lessen as I dig out my keys—and because I’m juggling the takeout bag of leftovers and I’m distracted by that divot between his furrowed brow, the keys go flying.
But not very far.
With lightning-quick reflexes, Jeff catches them midair.
“Impressive,” I say with a little laugh.
“I haven’t lost all of my skills.” He skims his palm up the back of my arm. “Here, let me get thedoor for you.”
Reaching past me, he puts my key in the lock, then turns the door handle.
I turn to say goodnight, and suddenly I’m in the circle of his arms.
His strong, muscular, solid arms.
I swallow audibly as I catch my hands on his shoulders.
“That wasn’t a move,” he says thickly. “I swear.”
I flatten my hands and smooth them down against his chest. His heart pounds against my fingertips. “I believe you.”
He groans and cups my face in his hand, his thumb brushing at the corner of my mouth. “Stop looking at me like that, Molly.”
“Like what?”
