Karl—with a K—laughed and leaned forward.
“I was testing if you were listening,” he said, reaching across to touch my hand. “You’ve been somewhere else for the last five minutes.”
“Sorry, I’m a little distracted,” I muttered, feeling like an asshole. “I have these meddling neighbors… never mind.” If the past two weeks had taught me anything, it was that the first date wasn’t the best time to try to explain the Rhett and Troy situation to a guy.
The waitress delivered our food, and I took a bite of my pasta—which was fucking amazing—and let the conversation lull. My therapist would tell me to be mindful and present, so I looked around the restaurant, taking in the scents and sounds, cataloging things the way she taught me. No firefighters behind that table. No firefighters in the hall that led to the bathroom. None at the bar.
Karl must have taken my silence as a sign, because he set his fork down, reached over, and patted my hand. “Look, if you’re not into this, we can call it a night. No hard feelings.”
“No, I am,” I said quickly, and found that I meant it. Karl was attractive and funny, in that slightly arrogant way that sometimes worked for me. Sex was on the table.
Sex. God, I missed sex.
“Wait, are you saying you’re not into me?”
“Of course I’m into you! You’re gorgeous and brilliant and I’d love to get to know you better. But I know you mentioned ADHD. Did you, perhaps, forget to take your medications?”
I choked on my water. It was a weird thing to say, but Karl must have realized it because he quickly apologized, patting my back as I coughed.
And Karl’s hands on my body sent a pleasant little shiver through me.
Determined to get this date back on track, I switched my phone to silent and put it away, leaned in, and used my podcast interviewer skill to make him feel special. And like most of my guests, he blossomed under my full attention, holding court like a sexy, preppy, dog-obsessed nerd.
He was the exact opposite of the two men currently wreaking havoc on my plumbing. Between the aftermath of my devastating breakup and the firefighters next door, it had been ages since I’d been with a man. And maybe it was the wine, or the long dry spell, or the way his forearms looked with his sleeves rolled up, but I made a decision.
“What would you think about skipping dessert and heading somewhere more private for a nightcap?”
Karl’s eyes lit up. “I’d say that’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”
“Your place? Mine is a little… inconvenient.”
His face fell. “We could, but I live in Broomfield, so it’s a bit of a drive. My car is parked in the garage across the street.”
“Broomfield?” I frowned, wondering why I’d matched with him. “Not downtown?”
“I work downtown. Not all of us can live in cool lofts.”
“It’s not exactly a cool loft. It’s a two-bedroom loft-style apartment.” “Two-bedroom. Do you have a roommate?”
“No, the second bedroom is my office and recording studio.”
“Ah. I love a short commute.” He laughed at his own joke and waved for the check.
I ignored the little voice in my head screaming about the state of my apartment and the two man-children currently ransacking it. How long did it take to fix a small leak? Surely they’d finished, right? Karl pulled out his credit card and offered to pay, telling me I could treat next time if I wanted, then left a generous tip. Green flags everywhere. Enough to get a girl turned on.
In theory.
“Fair warning,” I said as Karl helped me into my jacket. “My place might be a bit of a mess. I’ve had some… maintenance issues.”
“I’m not coming over to judge your housekeeping,” Karl said with a suggestive smile. “Though I am interested in exploring your… maintenance issues.”
It wasn’t his best line, but I laughed anyway, the wine and anticipation making me generous. As we walked toward the door, I checked my phone one last time. No texts from the disaster twins, which either meant everything was fine or that they’d flooded my bathroom and were too busy trying to fix it to tell me.
As I swiped the messages closed, a notification popped up, this one for an email. I almost dismissed it as spam, but the subject line caught my eye: “Your Soul Requires Saving.”
My stomach dropped as I opened it.
FROM: [email protected]
