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I glance at the clock. It’s a few minutes after six. I’m annoyed with myself for not snatching Andrew’s stupid phone out of his stupid hand and finding out exactly what he texted Hailey—if he’d asked her out for tonight or for next week. I thought I didn’t want to know, but not knowing is way more hideous.
I plow my fingers into my hair before dropping my arms, shaking my hands, and taking a deep breath. Get it together, Georgie. You are not the girl who turns into a hot mess because of a guy.
I go to the cabinet, pull out a wineglass, and pour a small glass of the wine Andrew opened last night, refusing to think about how right it felt to share a spontaneous meal with the jerk.
I take my wine into the living room and turn on the TV, flipping around blindly for something to watch. Nothing catches my interest, and I wonder if I shouldn’t take Marley up on her offer after all.
I’ve just turned off the TV and taken a sip of wine when there’s a knock at the door.
My head swings toward the door as my heart begins to pound in, well…yeah, hope.
I set my wine on the counter and look through the peephole. The hope blooms from seed to flower at the irritated scowl on the other side of the door.
I carefully wipe the smile from my face and swing the door open. “Good evening, Andy.”
His hands are on his hips, and it takes me a second to register that I’ve never seen this version of him. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
I’ve seen Sick Andrew, Work Andrew, and Gym Andrew, but this is new. This is Date Andrew.
He looks amazing, but it’s hard to get too excited about this, knowing that his reason for looking both casual and delicious is that he’s about to take some other woman out to dinner.
“You forget something?” I ask.
Andrew reaches out one hand, bracing it on the door frame, the other still at his waist, the picture of a pissed-off man.
“You want to know why I texted Hailey?” he asks, leaning forward.
“Um, to ask her out?” I ask, instinctively taking a step back from the anger in his gaze.
“I mean before yesterday.”
I shrug.
“It’s because I wanted to know what sort of fucking flowers you liked. Only she didn’t know what kind you liked, so I texted her for nothing, and then you made me pay for it.”
“I…what? I’m confused.”
“Yeah, me too,” he snaps. “How’d you even know that I texted her?”
“She told me,” I say.
“Why?” he says, lifting his other hand so it too is braced on the door frame, almost as though he’s deliberately disallowing me from leaving this apartment or this conversation.
I look away, and he reaches out and grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger, drawing my gaze back around. “Why, Georgiana? Why would you care if I texted your friend?”
“Because you’ve never texted me!”
“So?”
“So I texted you the other day, and you never texted back.”
“Let me get this straight,” he says, his voice a low growl as his thumb runs lightly along my jaw. “I didn’t reply to your one text, which said hi, and you take that to mean I want to date your friend?”
“Well, it sounds a little ridiculous when you put it that way, but—”
“No, it sounds a lot ridiculous,” he says, stepping toward me, forcing me to step back.
His hand lifts. Slides into my hair to cup the back of my head as his other hand reaches behind him to slam my front door.
