“I know. And that’s what makes me nervous. It’s like he understands exactly what I need, sometimes even before I do.” I stare out the window. “Each date is designed to push me just far enough out of my comfort zone that I feel... inspired to write.”
“And that’s bad because...?”
“Because what if this is temporary? What if once I finish my book, he just... goes poof?” My voice drops to a strangled whisper. “I don’t think I could handle that, Sash.”
She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Has there been any indication he’s becoming less real?”
“No, the opposite, actually. First his truck shows up, then his clothes, now his motorcycle…” I wave at the building across the street. “…the tattoo shop.” I take a deep breath. “His past is starting to fill in too—memories, friends, his whole life story.”
“Then stop worrying about the future and just enjoy what’s happening now.”
“Also, Goonie has all but abandoned me for him. And yesterday, Ryder didn’t look so good. Almost like he hadn’t slept in days.”
Sasha taps her fingers thoughtfully against her coffee mug. “Maybe he had a nightmare? PTSD is a big part of his backstory, right?”
Guilt washes over me as I nod slowly. “I didn’t even think about that. God, I’m so selfish! I’ve been so focused on my own issues, I didn’t even think to consider that as a factor.”
“Hey, this whole situation is uncharted territory for both of you. Cut yourself some slack.” She tilts her head. “Cats are veryintuitive, you know. Maybe Goonie is picking up on what he’s feeling.”
“Yeah. I think you could be right.”
Our food arrives, and I cut into my waffle.
“What’s our plan for getting ready for tonight?” Sasha asks around a mouthful of food. “This party tonight sounds like a big deal.”
“I’m nervous,” I confess. “Meeting all his friends and colleaguesisa big deal.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be there for moral support.”
“You just want to see if Ryder has any hot friends.”
“Possible bonus,” she grins, then her expression sobers. “But seriously, I’m glad this is happening. The universe picked up on what you needed and literally made it appear.”
After paying the bill, we head out into the crisp morning air. When we reach the car, Sasha grabs my arm.
“Wait a minute.” Her eyes light up with a dangerous gleam I know all too well. “We can’t go to this party without proper ammunition.”
“Ammunition?” I raise an eyebrow. “What kind are you talkin’?”
“You said you wanted to up the ante on his slow-burn game, right?” She waggles her eyebrows and jingles her keys. “We need to go shopping. Get you something that’ll make his eyes pop out of their sockets.”
“Sasha—”
“I saw this boutique a few blocks back.” She looks at me over the hood as she unlocks the car. “The window display had this little black dress that would look phenomenal on you.”
“I don’t need a new dress,” I protest weakly as I climb into the passenger seat.
“Oh, honey,” she laughs, starting the engine. “This isn’tabout need. This is about psychological warfare—and we’re going to make sure you’re armed with something nuclear.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m in a dressing room surrounded by dozens of rejects. Still, Sasha keeps passing more options over the door, each one skimpier than the last.
“Try the red one next,” she says through the door. “Red is the color of passion. And revenge.”
“I’m not trying to get revenge,” I mutter, but slip it on anyway.
When I step out, Sasha’s jaw drops. “Holy shit. That’s the one.”
The deep crimson dress hugs every curve, ending mid-thigh. The neckline dips just low enough to show a good amount of cleavage, while the back features a large diamond cutout that exposes most of my spine.
