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When I turned toward the bar, I intentionally moved a bit closer. I can smell her now, and it’s an entirely different scent than last weekend. This one is vanilla. With a hint of coconut. And suddenly, an image of the two of us sitting on a beach sipping piña coladas makes me want a vacation. With her. We could get away from it all, Devon included, and figure out this thing between us.
I glance back at my open laptop. “If you told me in college I’d be working every weekend, living in New York City, and . . .” I hesitate, not wanting to sound presumptuous.
“Sending cars for your . . .” She stops, not knowing what to call herself. And I can’t help her. The worddatesticks on the tip of my tongue too. “For your friends? I mean, Devon’s told me the whole story, of course, but I’d love to hear it from you.”
And even though I’ve told this story a million times, I’m happy she asked. Or at least happy because of the way she asked. It feels . . . intimate.
“I knew it was something big, almost immediately,” I say, skipping over the part about the experiment that went wrong before I got it right. “When my professor confirmed my findings, he helped me set up trials. But it was Hayden who made the whole thing explode. If it weren’t for his dad’s backing, for the initial capital investment, I probably would have ended up selling the idea.”
“Instead, you get to live like a king,” she says, a corner of her mouth tipping up.
“A king who goes to sleep with that every night.” I gesture toward my laptop. “But it doesn’t feel like work to me. We’ve grown every year, and that feels like a new victory.”
“Eye on the prize.”
I turn fully toward her. “Exactly.”
But the prize isn’t more money. Or new products. Or new markets.
Not tonight.
I want to put down my glass, reach both hands behind her neck, and pull her to me. Kiss her senseless until she begs for me. Until I give myself to her, completely.
But here’s the thing: I know what it’s like to joke around with Chari Atwood. To play kickball with her. To swim up to her in a murky lake, pretending to be a fish, and listen to her squeal in fright when I emerge from the water.
But I don’t know what it’s like to kiss Chari Atwood. To reach underneath her dress and run my hands up her thighs for proof that she’s as turned on at this very moment as I am.
My usual confidence has abandoned me. If this were any other woman, I’d say fuck it, and pull her into my arms this very second. Dinner be damned.
But it’s not.
So I don’t.
“We should leave for dinner,” I say. “Our reservation is for seven thirty.”
Her face falls, and I can tell she’s just as disappointed as I am. But I have every intention of making it up to her.
10
Chari
If I thought the ride to New York was nerve-wracking, having Enzo next to me in the back seat is at least ten times more so. From the moment I walked into his apartment, I’ve felt like a kid turning the crank on a jack-in-the-box, waiting for something to happen. Anticipating it. Fearing it. The tension is so thick between us, there’s no doubt it needs to break soon.
With a kiss. With a conversation about Devon. With a discussion of what, exactly, is going on between us. I’m not sure what will happen, but I don’t want to be the one to initiate it. I’ve decided to ignore all of my questions and worries for a change and try to enjoy myself.
How many times have Mom or Devon told me to stop planning, live for the moment? Lisa would take it one step further—she blames my need to control for sabotaging my last few relationships. I’m not a controlling person, or at least I don’t think I am, but I do like to know what’s coming next. Which is why this thing with Enzo is putting me so on edge.
Not to mention I’ve never wanted to touch someone more in my entire life. Lying at home in my bed, imagining him kissing me, touching me . . . that’s one thing. But it’s a whole new ball game now that I’m sitting here next to him. When it could actually happen.
This is the big leagues, and I’m way out of practice.
“Here it is.”
It’s close enough that we probably could have walked, but there’s no denying the elegance of pulling up to the restaurant and having the driver come around to open our door. I sometimes imagined myself living in the city after college, but places like this intimidate me.
Enzo gets out first, but only so he can reach for my hand and help me out. I forget my purse and have to make a not-so-elegant grab for it at the last second. Then I put my hand in his and all of the white noise starts to float away.
Breathe. Like a normal person.
