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I smile. “I think we know each other well enough to hug.”
He gives me a quick one, patting me on the back. It’s nice, this hug. I’m not feeling sparks, but who feels sparks from a hug?
I sit, setting my purse next to me on the zebra-print booth by the window that looks out on the street. “I have to do a work thing later,” I say, explaining the big work bag.
“Totally get it,” he says. “I have a thing too.”
Does he though? What would he have at night? But then I tell myself not to be suspicious. To be present. To be engaged.
He asks if I want a drink, and I opt for an iced tea since I don’t want to show up tipsy to a work dinner. After he orders, he shoots me a grin. “How’s everything going? What have you been up to?”
We chat for several minutes, catching up on life, then trading book and movie recs, but when I’m about to ask him if he’s seen the newest episode ofThe Dating Games—a show we were both addicted to when I worked with him—the words die on my tongue.
Since my gaze catches on a man crossing the street.
It’s Max, and he’s headed this way.
17
JUST A LITTLE SABOTAGE
Max
Almost there.
The destination is in my crosshairs.
My sister shoots me a suspicious look as we cross the street. “Where are we going?”
“Just to grab a drink. That’s all,” I say as casually as I can, given my secret mission.
She hums doubtfully. “You never call and ask me to grab a drink on a random weeknight.”
“Can’t a brother take his little sister out after work? It was a long day, right?”
“I’m a nurse. It’s always a long day,” she says.
“Then it’s a good thing I called,” I say. “Even better that Kade’s on a playdate.”
Better still because it means Sophie’s here in the city hanging out for another hour, which ties in perfectly with my pre-dinner-meeting plans. Better yet because I’ve got a wingwoman. “In fact, I’d call it kismet.”
She snort-laughs. “Kismet, Max? It’s kismet, you asking me to go to The Spotted Zebra instead of, say, McCoy’s?”
That’s the bar near the urgent care where she works. I shoot her a don’t-be-silly look. “You don’t want to run into colleagues, do you?”
She points to the pink neon sign for The Spotted Zebra, twenty or thirty feet away now. “This is a trendy bar. A date bar. They have fancy craft cocktails. It’s not a hang-out-with-your-sister bar. You’re up to something, Max Lambert. Mark my words. I will find out,” she says.
She’s right. She probably will figure it out. But I don’t care. Right now I care about one thing—checking out Everly’s date. No way is he the right guy for her.
Like when I’m on the ice, I’ve got blinders on. I’m single-minded in my mission.
Stop. That. Date.
When I reach the door of The Spotted Zebra, I yank it open, then scan the establishment. There they are, at a table by the window. My jaw ticks. I clamp my molars down. He looks sooo fucking nice, and I hate him on principle.
I march over to the hostess. “We’ll grab a seat at the bar, please,” I say.Naturally, I’ll stop by her table first, but I don’t need to reveal the details to the hostess.
“Of course,” she says, but as we’re heading over there, I look toward Everly’s table the whole time, waiting, just waiting for her to catch my eye.
