I stop walking, and Alex meets my gaze.Oh yeah, that little point of contact is driving him just as wild as it’s driving me.
He blinks his eyes and clears his throat as if he can will his lust away.
“Joey—” he starts, almost as if he’s about to apologize.
I reach out and cup his chin, delighting in the surprise that elicits. I lean forward slowly, leaving no question what I’m about to do. As tempting as it is to deepen the kiss, I keep it to a chaste press of our lips, aware that we’re in public, and this is thestartof the date.
It’s a good kiss, as chaste as it is, but when I pull away, I find myself frowning. “Why do you taste like watermelon? I thought you quit.”
It takes a few moments for his confusion to clear, but when it does, a sheepish smile replaces it.
He reaches into his pocket, and I’m not sure what I expect him to pull out, but a Jolly Rancher definitely isn’t it.
“Replaced one addiction with another. Want one?” he asks, offering it to me, his voice deep and throaty, betraying how affected he is by our kiss.
I shake my head. Years of having to religiously use prescription sensitivity toothpaste to keep my teeth from being in a constant state of pain has completely turned me off hard candy.
“I’m good,” I assure him. He shrugs as if to say,Suit yourself, and pops it into his mouth.
It shouldn’t be hot. Itshould notbe hot to watch a guy eat candy. But something about the motion, him bringing it up to his mouth and closing his plush lips around it, combined with the fact that his voice never lost that lust-filled huskiness does something for me.
If I weren’t so curious to find out where he’s taking me, I’d grab his hand, lead him back to his car, and demand he drive us somewhere we can have some privacy. Why the hell not? Didn’t he say we could keep this casual? A car quickie is about as casual as it gets.
Though driving across town to a surprise date he planned doesn’t exactly screamcasual.
“You’re just really excited about your Edible Arrangement, aren’t you?” Alex jokes.
“Iknewit.” I laugh. “You know they deliver those, right? I mean, I’m sure they’ll appreciate you going through the effort of picking it up…”
“You’re very funny, and normally I would take the time to see this bit out to its natural end, but we’re late. Come on.”
“I didn’t realize the people at Edible Arrangements were such sticklers for punctuality,” I retort, continuing up the stairs.
I stop short when I look into the window of the only place that’s currently open, its brightly lit interior on full display through its huge floor-to-ceiling windows.
“You didn’t.” I gasp, turning toward him to see that he looks… unsure? Wary, even. “You booked a pottery class for our first date?”
“You said you always wanted to learn,” he says simply, as if this weren’t the most thoughtful date anyone has ever planned for me. “I know you’re going through the prerequisites right now, but I figured, why put it off?”
Throat clogged with emotion, I realize that if I had truly met Alex for the first time on Saturday—if I didn’t know the cheating asshole he once was, and if I weren’t already in love with Ellie—this sweet, tremendously thoughtful date would feel like the perfect follow-up to that first night where we justclickedin a way that felt like kismet.
Or itwould havefelt like kismet, had I not walked up to him that afternoon with a plan, knowing exactly who he was, pushing all his buttons on purpose, and trying to punish him for misdeeds he had yet to commit. Hell, I even knew he liked punishment, just a little bit, in that weird way he always loved to hint at.
Does this feel like kismet to him?
Does it feel like fate dropped me in his lap on Saturday, just a wild, contrarian girl walking around campus in her pajamas who could talk for hours about the same inane stuff as him? Is he mentally writing the screenplay of his life, casting me in the role of his manic pixie dream girl? Or does he think this is the real deal?
Real deal?
I can’t allow myself to think this could be real. To thinkwecould be real. I won’t be the fool I once was. Whatever he might think, I know better.
I know where this story ends. I know wherehisstory ends, even if I’m rewriting my own.
Alex Aquino is going to be a very successful man. And in his success, he will succumb to the same downfalls to which I imagine many successful men succumb. The entire world will be within his grasp, and in his greed, he’ll try to take it all. He’ll have the perfect wife who is, if not loyal or doting, at least beautiful and decorous. And what he doesn’t get from her, he’ll find outside the marriage—because I know, I alwaysknew, that I was not the only person he used to cheat on Ingrid.
Alex Aquino is, quite simply, not a man made for true love.
And yet—is it possible for me to rewrite his story?
