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“Enough.”
I laughed. “From here it sounds like more than enough.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“No, I’m not free Saturday,” I lied. “When I said maybe next week, what I meant was definitely not this week.”
“And the other question?”
At least he couldn’t see me blush over the phone. “No, you didn’t tell me that.” I wasn’t sure how to end this call. “Josh…”
“Yes, Nickels?”
The nickname sent heat rushing through me. “The flowers were very sweet, and I’m very appreciative, but—”
“I get it,” he said, cutting me off. “I still have to work myself out of the ogre category.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then cut the crap, Stanford. Make up your damned mind for a change.”
Somehow I’d lost control of the conversation. I’d made my choice—maybe next week—but no, that wasn’t good enough for Mr. Decide Right Fucking Now. He’d put himself out multiple times for me in the last week, and all he was asking for was dinner. What was so unreasonable about that? Turning him down the same night he’d so thoughtfully sent me flowers seemed like a bitch-of-the-year move after how nice he’d been.
“Getting together next week sounds good,” I finally said, giving up my insistence on being in control
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“I know you will.”
I’d removed the maybe because it was the right thing to do after all he’d done for me—for us.
“On one condition,” I added.
He sighed. “Which is?”
“You stop calling meStanford.”
“Sure thing, shnookums.”
“Eww, that’s worse.”
“Snugglebunny?”
“No way,” I objected.
“Sugar lips?”
“Cut it out.”
“Sweet cheeks?”
If we were going through every word starting with an S I had to stop this before we got to sweetheart. “No, and you’re not letting me get to sleep.”
“Goodnight, Nickels. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight.”
After I settled under the covers, sleep didn’t come as quickly as I’d expected. A dose of Josh was like a hit of adrenaline, keeping me awake thinking about the what-ifs. And now, instead of dialing things back, I’d committed to a next step.
