Page 70 of Flirting with Trouble

“I’m sure it’s like riding a bike.” He offers the guitar. “Please?”

What is it about him that makes me want to do things I haven’t done in forever? I take the guitar, and as I settle it on my lap, the peaceful sensation playing used to bring washes over me, as does that old spark of excitement. I start strumming, and it doesn’t take long for it to come back to me and for me to get comfortable. I fall back into playing an old favorite, “I’ll Be There for You.”

Wells starts singing the lyrics. I swear when we’re together it’s impossible not to grin like a fool, which I must be, because he gets up, singing into an invisible microphone, and Carey calls out, “Sing it, Wells!”

We both laugh, and I get into it, too, playing louder. Wells struts and sings into that imaginary microphone, and when he gets to the line about swearing things to me, he drops to his knees, places one hand on his chest, his eyes pleading, belting out the song with so much emotion, it’s like he means every word.

And I’m surprised by how much I hope he does.

Chapter Sixteen

Wells

August brought humid days and steamy nights, and Victory and I have made those nights even hotter. The last three and a half weeks passed in a blur of busy days at the restaurant interspersed with seeing properties in the city with Seth and tumbling heart first down that magical slope with Victory. We text and play WordLink when we can during the day, and every night we talk until neither of us can stay awake. I love our late-night chats, but I wish she was in my arms. We never miss our Wednesday Walkabouts and overnights at the hotel, but it’s getting harder to leave her on Thursday mornings when I return to the island and she goes to work. Even though our Friday Flitabouts bleed into sexy nights and Saturday Scoutabouts, it’s never enough.

It’s Friday night, and I’m back in the city for what Victory has dubbed her Friday Flitabout, and she’s not letting me in on her plans. Last Friday we went to a concert in Central Park, and we took a ride in a horse-drawn carriage, which neither of us had ever done before. It was pretty fucking great. She hasn’t made it to the island yet and I’m trying to be patient, but I’m glad Leni’s wedding is next weekend. I want Victory to be a bigger part of my life and for her to get to know my family and friends better.

“Have you talked to Leni?” I ask, reaching for Victory’s hand. She looks beautiful in a breezy blue dress that brings out her eyes as we make our way down the sidewalk. “Is she a nervous wreck about next weekend?”

“I talked to her this morning. She’s excited to get married, and she is a little nervous, which isn’t like her, but it’s a big step.”

“From what I hear, jitters are normal, and she’s so independent.” I squeeze her hand. “Like someone else I know. Are you nervous?”

“Why would I be nervous about Leni’s wedding?”

“Not about the wedding. About spending time in my world. I would think being seen on the arm of the hottest guy on the island can be a little nerve-racking.”

She leans against my side as we stop at a crosswalk and says, “What do you think?”

“If I were you, I’d be excited to show me off.”

She laughs. “Okay, let’s go with that, or it’ll make me nervous.”

“You got it.” I lean in and kiss her.

The light changes, and as we make our way across the street, she says, “How did your property search go with Seth and Jared today? Did you see anything promising?”

“It was great seeing them, but none of the properties jumped out at us. I figured it would take time to find the right place, but I’m starting to wonder if we’re looking in the wrong city.”

“You haven’t been looking that long. My mother always says the best things come along when you’re not looking for them.”

“Like running into you at the bar that first night.”

“Exactly like that,” she says, flashing a coy smile.

“Are you ready to tell me where we’re going yet?”

“No. It’s a surprise, and it’s just around the next corner.”

I love that she planned an adventure for us, but it never matters what we’re doing. We’ve gone out to dinners at places that were new to both of us, listened to bands and solo artists in dive bars, and we even went to a poetry slam in a park one afternoon. Each of those things was just as fun as the times we’ve aimlessly knocked around different parts of the city or stayed in my hotel room for half of a Saturday.

After we round the next corner, she says, “Surprise!” and stops in front of a little French café. “I haven’t eaten here, but I’ve done some research. The chef came here from France twelve years ago, and he’s worked in this bistro for the past eight years. His food is supposed to be out of this world, and he makes tarte tatin. It might not be as good as Olivier’s, but I knew we’d still have fun trying it out, so I made a reservation.”

My heart thunders. I gaze into the eyes of the woman who’s making me all too aware of that particular organ, and I gather her in my arms. “You’re amazing. I don’t care if it’s as good as Olivier’s or not. It’ll be fantastic because you thought of it. Thank you.” I press my lips to hers in a tender kiss.

“You make it impossible not to think of you,” she says. “I’m convinced that on the nights we spend together, you spend all night whispering ‘Think of Wells’ in my ear when I’m sleeping, like some kind of hypnosis.”

“You caught me,” I tease as we head inside.