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Except I can confirm it. Because it’s aimed right my way.
“Hey, Pete,” he says.
“Hey,” I say, having been reduced to repetitive, single-syllable words by his smile. And by his freshly showered scent, complete with damp hair I want to run my fingers through. It makes me glad I keep extra clothes here and had time to shower. With him smelling fresh and looking so good in dark jeans and a snug T-shirt, I wouldn’t want to still be in my sweaty athletic clothes.
He chuckles. “Hey. Look—I know we were supposed to meet up and talk about the rules in your office—”
Ugh! Me and my stupid rules!
No—rules are good, not stupid! Rules keep us safe! Rules are part of the turtle shell—get in your shell!
“—but I had another idea.”
I wait, but he says nothing else. “Well? Are you going to tell me the idea first?”
His grin shifts into smirk territory. “Nope. You in?”
I hesitate.
What I should do is say no. Ishouldinsist we stay here, in my office, in professional—not personal—territory. Ishouldstick to the plan and take this time to hammer out what a longer-term fake relationship looks like. Aka, building more armor for my turtle shell.
This is what’s safe. This is what’s smart. This is what—
I jump to my feet. “Let’s go.”
* * *
Logan’sother ideaturns out to be not safe or smart or professional. Or conducive to fake dating.
It’s dinner. In a very romantic, veryrealdate spot, which is the very opposite of what I want. Or, I should say, the very opposite of what Ishouldwant.
I screech to a halt just inside the doorway of a restaurant called Harvested. The first few months it was open, I remember lines out the door of people whose clothing indicated they were both wealthy and foodies.
Not the kind of place I can afford. Clearly.
Having never been inside, I am wholly unprepared for the soft lighting, classical music, and candles flickering next to small vases with fresh flowers. Most tables only seat two. The whole vibe screamsThis is where you drop down to a knee and pull out that ring, fellas!
But in a much classier way. Obviously.
Logan’s hand finds my lower back, keeping me in place even as everything in me screams to turn back while I still can.
“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, ducking his head so his mouth almost brushes my ear.
I have a sudden and very poignant flashback to Logan’s mouth in the same place while he was describing how he would kiss me.
NOT helping, memory. Not. Helping.
“We can go somewhere else if you like,” Logan says.
“No, um, this is”—A terrible idea! Only going to make you feel more like you’re a real couple! Run while you still can!—“fine. It’s fine.”
“Just fine?” Logan asks. “Tough crowd. I was hoping to impress you. From the reviews, this place has fantastic food and a great atmosphere.”
Logan looked at reviews before choosing a restaurant? That’s … really thoughtful. I swallow.
“Or we could go with my plan B,” Logan says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “McDonald’s.”
His suggestion of a fast food chain shouldn’t make me feel a nervous flutter in my belly. But I know Logan said McDonald’s rather than any other place he could have mentioned. And I know why.
