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“It’s okay.”
Which is not totally true. I could live with not having siblings, but knowing the reason for it, even if my mother denies it . . . that’ll never, ever feel okay.
The waitress comes back around and approaches us. “Would you like to order?”
Ada orders a burger and asks for separate checks. I don’t offer to pay, knowing she can’t accept a meal from me while she’s on the clock.
“A burger sounds good to me too,” I say, partly because I haven’t even cracked the menu. “Medium, cheese and onions only.”
Ada makes a face.
“Don’t like onions?”
“Yuck, no. I don’t know how anyone could.”
She must be kidding.
“Have you ever tasted one?”
She wrinkles her adorable nose. “Unfortunately, yes.”
The waitress nods and takes off, and a silence sits between us for a moment. An understanding of sorts. We got off on the wrong foot, and I did nothing to rectify matters last weekend. Another case of acting first and thinking later.
“Ada,” I say, testing the name on my tongue, “I want to apologize for, well, both of our earlier encounters. Sometimes I”—how to phrase this exactly?—“can be a bit much.”
I can tell she wasn’t expecting that.
“Mr. Tanner—”
“Hayden.”
“OK, Hayden.”
I have no business being turned on by the sound of my name on her lips, but there’s no denying I am.
“I appreciate you saying that, but I’m partly to blame. Saturday . . .” She bites the corner of her lip, and I’ll never be the same. “I definitely wasn’t wearing my professional hat.”
Heel, Hayden.
“And you had no reason to. We all wear many different hats.”
“Maybe some of us more than others?”
OK. That’s not fair. It’s almost like she’s asking me to say something inappropriate. Now what am I supposed to do?
You could try not flirting?
“Maybe,” I say, “but I promise to wear my sponsor hat with you from now on.”
I swear, for a millisecond, she looks disappointed. But maybe I imagined it. Maybe that’s just what I want to think.
“Perfect. We have quite a bit to cover before next Thursday. Should we get to it?”
Back to business. As it should be, but still . . . my burning desire to push the envelope with this woman hasn’t abated one bit since the last time I saw her. At the time, I’d wondered if my interest was stoked by the few drinks in my system and the sexy sway of her hips as she grinded on that dancer.
Not to mention the allure of wanting what I can’t have.
But this time I’m stone-cold sober, and she’s perfectly professional in a black, nondescript suit.
