Caspian waits patiently as I try to regain my dignity.
I have good news and bad news about the date I just promised him.
The bad news: I don’t have the slightest clue what could be better than this.
The good news: my hindsight remains excellent. Obviously plans should be made pre-boasting. Not during.
Once again, I’m saved by Marcus Aurelius.
“Never let the future disturb you,” I tell Caspian.
“I don’t know how to reply to that.”
“Earlier tonight, you refused to tell me where we’re going. That’s why I’m not telling you either.”
He laughs, and it’s a deep, happy sound that vibrates in my chest—and somewhere lower.
He grabs my waist and lifts me against the wall, effortlessly. I wrap my legs around him and he kisses me again, harder, pressingme into the wall with so much controlled strength I basically dissolve into air.
“Sure, that’s the reason you aren’t telling me,” he teases.
“Shut up,” I mutter, dragging him down for another kiss.
I have some serious date planning to do.
CHAPTER 47 – CASPIAN
I told myself that as a rational, calm adult I could handle whatever Antonio has planned for our date. Turns out, I was wrong. The mere sight of him unlocking a door to a small laundromat, cheeks flushed with determination, makes me dizzy.
“Very impressive,” I say. “After-hours laundromat access. It’s always the quiet ones with the darkest secrets.”
He lifts his chin smugly. “I know. I have connections.”
He flicks on the lights. “Just because the connection is my uncle doesn’t mean it’s any less impressive.”
One fluorescent bulb flickers ominously.
“An atmospheric detail,” he says, pointing at it.
“Certainly,” I agree. “Where do you want this?”
I lift the bag of laundry his mom gave me when I picked him up.
He studies the bag, shoulders sagging a little.
“Excellent. They’re the date… props.” His ears turn pink. “I might as well put them in the washer.”
“Makes sense, considering the surroundings.”
I help him load the date props into the machine.
“Is this yours?” I ask, holding up a faded bath towel with pyramid prints.
“I can take that, thank you,” he says primly and shoves it in with the other towels. He throws in some detergent, starts the program, and throws me a defensive look.
“Detergent is extremely romantic, if you think about it.”
“Really?”
