I knew what she was doing. Willow was trying to put some distance between the two of us. It was valiant of her to play hard to get. Frankly, it made the whole thing all the more fun. Whether she wanted to admit it or had even realized it, I was into this.
Me
I won’t survive. I understand if you’re busy, but I really would like to see you. There’s a festival in Central Park that would be fun to check out. It’ll be low-key. No roses and candle lit dinners. Just walking around and taking it all in.
I didn’t care about getting her endorsement for The Ford Method. I wasn’t going to lose any business from one person’s criticism.
If anything, it made more people look into my programs so they could form an opinion for themselves. My social media accounts had gained massive numbers of followers overnight. My clientele didn’t run in the same circles as her fan base, and most of my coaching came from client recommendations to their friends. But now her fanbase was looking at me, boosting my public profile.
I had been enamored from the first moment I saw her standing in the check-out line. That night, I had gone home cursing myself for not even getting her name. Usually, I was smoother than that. But something about Willow Winslet had knocked me off kilter. When I saw her the next day, all I knew was that fate had intervened. In all honesty, I had planned on catching Willow after the conference and asking her out.
The bit about wasting your life buying seltzers and vibrators was a convenient way to get her attention. Willow wasn’t one to walk away from a fight, and I knew that subtly calling her out would have her chomping at the bit to get back at me—which would require her to talk to me.
I didn’t expect it to turn into this, but now that I had three months to make her fall, I wasn’t wasting a second of it.
Me
I promise to have you home before curfew.
Future Wife
I can take myself home, thank you very much.
Me
Pick you up in an hour?
There was a pregnant pause as three dots appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared over and over.
Future Wife
I guess I’ll put pants on.
Bingo. I bolted out of the recliner, shoved my wallet in my pocket, and headed out the door.
It felt like it took longer to get to Willow’s hotel than it actually did. It had been a long time since I had been this excited to see someone.
But there she was—the woman who didn’t want me. The one I couldn’t stop thinking about.
Willow stood outside the lobby doors, pacing the sidewalk as she talked on her phone. I paused on the opposite side of the street and stole a moment to simply look at her. She was in jean shorts that hugged her ass. Tendrils of frayed denim danced across her thighs with each step. Her billowy tank top was tucked into the front of her shorts. The neckline dipped dangerously low between her breasts. She was in her Chucks again and had her hair piled on top of her head in a wispy bun.
She kicked a pebble as a smile drew up on her lips. Whoever she was talking to made her happy.
I waited for the light to change, then hurried to the other side of the crosswalk. Willow turned and spotted me before I could surprise her.
“He’s here. I gotta go.” She paused, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Okay. I will. Love you. Drive safe.”
While she stuck her phone in the small bag slung across her chest, I stuffed my hands in my pockets to keep from touching her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your call,” I said.
Willow waved it off. “He had to go anyway.”
He? Who the hell was ‘he’? For the next two months and fourteen days, I was the only‘he’that she would get.
“Wow,” she said with a self-satisfied smirk. “Either you’re constipated or you’re jealous. I’m going to go with constipated.”
I blinked away the red haze that had clouded my vision. “Me? Jealous? No. I don’t get jealous.”
Willow snorted. “Yeah. Okay. Sure. Whatever you say, con man.”
