I nod, taking a swig of my own. “I did. I got a full ride, actually. All four years.”
Her eyes widen, slapping her hand on the table in excitement. “That’s amazing! You were that good? That’s really impressive, Dr. Carrington.”
The professional way she addresses me reminds me of what this night really is. An accident. We weren’t actually supposed to behere together tonight. She still views me as a someone she works with. I need to change that. Immediately.
“Elias. Please. We aren’t at work, Olivia.”
Her gaze falls to the table, a shy smile grazing her lips. “Elias,” she tries out my name on a breathless sigh, one that creeps down my spine and has my blood flowing south. “Well, that’s very impressive. Did you ever want to go pro?”
I shake my head, taking another small sip of wine. I don’t want to drink too much. I want to be here, in the present, with her and her conversation, because I have a feeling I might not get this opportunity again.
“Why not?” Her mouth falls open, stunned. “I would think that would be anyone’s dream. If I was good at anything, I would have totally tried to go all the way.”
I toss my head back and laugh loud enough for the nearby patrons to hear me. “Oh, yeah? I find it hard to believe you aren’t good at anything.”
She leans forward, holding her chin with her hand as she bats those long eyelashes at me. “Well, much to my disappointment, I found out very quick that I wasn’t good at sports. I wanted to be, but I was a mess. Being on a team would have only hurt the other members. I did everyone a favor by burying my face in books.”
I match her position, closing some of the distance between us so I can be as close as possible to her face. The edge of the table digs into my ribs. The slight discomfort is worth it.
“Oh, yeah? You liked to read? What are some of your favorite books?”
She nibbles on the side of her bottom lip, and covers her mouth as a bright red blush tints her cheeks. She shakes her head. “No way am I telling you that!”
“You have to tell me now. I’m too curious. Come on, tell me,” I urge with a happy, no-pressure kind of smile.
I want to get to know her. I want to know everything. Anything she’s willing to give me, I’m ready to keep it as a token. I’ll cherish it because it means she trusts me enough to tell me something about herself.
“I like romance novels. I don’t know if I have a favorite. I would rather be lost in other worlds than this one, you know? Reality is so hard, and fiction gives me a break from it all.”
“I’ve a read a few romance novels in my day,” I say to her, loving the excitement that has energized her face.
“Really? No way.” She narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t know if I believe you.”
“What can I do to prove it?” I lean a little closer, placing a flirty tone in my question.
“What’s your favorite subgenre in romance, then? If you read them.” She crosses her arms, thinking she has me caught in a web of lies.
I glance to my right, pretending I care if anyone hears me. “Don’t tell anyone, but I really love mafia romances. High stakes. A lot of sex. Enemies to lovers.” I ease my lips against the rim of the wineglass, smiling when I remember the last book I read. “That’s my favorite.”
Her squinted eyes go wide before she bursts into a fit of giggles, gasping in shock at my answer. “No way! I can’t believe that.I figured you for someone who read mystery, thriller, murder books.” She traces the rim of the glass with her fingers. “Maybe even self-help books.”
I raise my hands in innocence. “Nothing against self-help books, but I really like fiction as well. Maybe…” I risk it, swallowing my nerves, and finally put myself out there for the first time in years. “Maybe you’d want to go to a bookstore together sometime? We could both pick a book out for one another, and then report back on our thoughts.” I reach my hand out in front of me, hoping she’ll agree.
“Deal. That sounds like a lot of fun.” She slips her hand into mine, that familiar spark tickling the inside of my palm.
I brush my thumb across her knuckles, once, twice, three times to make my interest clear, before she pulls away.
Shit. I pushed too far. I need to remind myself that this is a colleague and she doesn’t need a man hitting on her, especially after tonight. I’m about to open my mouth to apologize when her attention catches on someone else who’s standing at the bar.
“I think that’s Wyatt,” she whispers, her gaze landing on me before going back to the man named Wyatt.
I blink, not knowing who she’s talking about.
“Wyatt Warrick,” she explains. “Winston’s little brother.”
“That’s right. I forgot Winston has younger brothers. He’s mentioned them briefly, but I’ve never met them before.”
“I wonder what he’s doing here,” she mumbles. “Wyatt!” she calls. “Hey, Wyatt!”
