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“You could always grab a plate and come join me.” When I don’t answer, she clears her throat and shrugs. “If you want, of course.”
“That sounds like a good idea, then we can talk about plans for the day.”
“Plans?”
I wink at her, all nervousness gone now that things are going smoother, and say, “I may have something planned for us, as long as it’s all good with you.”
“Uh, okay.”
This can’t be a date, only a way for us to get to know each other better as professionals — which is what I’ll engrave into my brain once I tell her my plans.
***
Her plate is nearly empty when she clears her throat, her brow arched curiously. “So, these plans, mind telling me about them?”
“We’re getting out of the house.”
“Wouldn’t that be risky?”
I nod and run my hands down my pants. “It could be, but I think we should try to get to know each other outside of the house. It’s stuffy sitting in here all the time, and it’s never going to help either of our moods.”
She nods and takes a small sip of her coffee – which has more creamer than coffee in it. “Okay, I’m listening. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, that’s the surprise.”
“Not sure that’s a good idea.”
I can see the wheels spinning in her head, so I reach out and give her knee a reassuring squeeze. “Not a date, strictly platonic and friendly. As a way to say sorry for my attitude.”
“Not a date,” she repeats, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. “Got it.” Her eyes travel to the open closet behind me. “Can I at least know what kind of clothes I should wear? I'm going to be walking around with a rock star, after all, it would be nice to look the part.”
“Anything you wear would be perfect,” I say softly. “But, if you’re worried about it, something nice.”
“And this isn’t a date?”
“Nope.” If I keep repeating that it’s not, eventually it will be true.
Wren made sense the last couple days – we’re supposed to have a professional relationship, nothing more. She’s my therapist, not a new girlfriend that my manager is trying to set me up with. I’d hate to be the one to ruin her career.
“Okay, give me twenty minutes to get ready?”
I give her a bright smile and nod while grabbing the tray and my empty plate. “Take as long as you need.”
Everything is going to be okay.
We’ll keep our distance.
***
It takes a little longer than twenty minutes, but I stand when Wren’s footsteps echo from down the hall and wait for her to emerge around the corner. My mouth pops open when she steps into the room, a pink sundress flaring wildly around the middle of her thigh that molds into her curvy hips. The curve of her breasts is popping out of the neckline, taunting me from afar, and I have to clench my fists together at my side to keep from jumping on her.
She’s got her curls fanning her heart-shaped face perfectly, lips the color of the brightest rose… and now my mouth has gone dry.
“Is this okay? I can go change.”
“No,” I say abruptly, then clear my throat. “Uh, not necessary. You look great.” Before I get into too much trouble, I head toward the front door and grab my car keys while letting her walk ahead of me.
The moment my eyes land on her ass, which is making the bottom of her dress flare out beautifully, I have to hold back a groan as I lock the door. I’m in trouble, that much I know. This was supposed to be a way for us to get on a good foot, figure out my shit before I went back to the city, but it’s becoming more and more difficult to adhere to that.
