The fringes of my long, sheer vest swing against the backs of my thighs as I walk through the door Harrison is holding open.
Since Mike’s still giving me the stink eye, I mutter, “Sorry. I’m trying to get over someone.”
Can this night be done already?
The door of the restaurant flies open and out strides Ten. I wait for his friends to materialize, but it’s only him. He stops beside us and nods at Harrison.
“Hey, Ten,” Harrison says.
“You’re named after a number?” Mike asks.
Ten gets that crooked, provocative grin of his that gets meeverytime. He slides his gaze off Mike and onto me. “I was on my way home. Want a ride?”
My heartbwirls.
“It’ll save Rae a detour,” he adds.
“I don’t mind.” She hooks her hands around Harrison’s arm. “Angie?”
I choose Ten.
Rae blows me a kiss before heading toward her Beemer. Harrison gets behind the wheel. Rae loves driving, so I’m a little surprised she’srelinquished control of her steering wheel to her boyfriend. Then again, I feel like she’s relinquished control over a lot of things since hooking up with Harrison. I realize that dating requires concessions, but molding yourself into someone you’re not seems wrong. Which is one of the reasons I can’t entertain thoughts of Ten and me together. I could never shun Mona Stone to please him.
Mike walks away without so much as a goodbye and gets into his own car.
“Are you having regrets?” Ten asks.
“About not spending more time with a guy who called me a bitch? Not really.”
Ten stiffens beside me. “He called you a bitch?”
“In his defense, I was rude to him.”
Ten rests one hand on my shoulder, his palm making contact with a piece of skin that feels acutely sensitive. “Never make excuses for a guy who insults you.”
His quick pulse nips my skin, beat-matching my own. For a second, I forget what we’re talking about, but then a car revs up and I’m reminded of my sucky date.
Ten’s hand slips off my shoulder, and I shiver from the sudden nippiness that replaces his fingers’ warmth.
I look at the door of the restaurant, still expecting Archie and Bolt to step out. “Where are your friends?”
“They wanted dessert; I didn’t.”
“Oh. Okay.”Real glib, Angie.
“Unless you want dessert? I noticed you passed on it.”
I fold my arms, unsure what to think that he noticed this. Then again, Ten seems to notice a lot of things most people miss. “I’m not hungry anymore,” I end up saying, not because I couldn’t have dessert—I always have room for dessert—but I’m not sure what it would mean to go back inside with Ten.
“All right. Let’s go, then.”
We head toward his gleaming steed, which is parked at the end of the full lot. He powers his car open. For a split second, he hesitates by the front bumper, as though debating whether to open my door. I hurry to do it to make things less awkward.
A thick envelope rests on the passenger seat. I lift it and am about to chuck it into the backseat when I see the address and the row of stamps.
38
Mailing My Heart Away
