by Susan Hatler
How could I have forgotten? I couldn’t cancel on Chris now though. Ms. H.R. would sink her claws into him for sure. What to do? One thing for sure, this called for ice cream.
****
After an hour watching reality TV, I still had no clue how to resolve my double-booking problem for tomorrow night so I inserted a spoonful of cookie dough ice cream into my mouth hoping a solution would come to me. Instead, my cell phone let out a: Chirp! Chirp!
My heart skipped a beat when I saw a text from Chris: You still up? Just wanted to thank you again for tonight. You’re an awesome girlfriend.
I bit my lip, hating how the word girlfriend thrilled me when I knew it was only in fun: Happy to save you from beautiful H.R. reps whose laughter should be rated X.
Not ten seconds later I received: Not half as gorgeous as you, honey.
Warmth spread across my belly but, remembering my lack of make-up, there’s no way he meant it so I sent back: As my boyfriend, you’re obligated to say that but thx anyway. Tomorrow I’ll be sure to wear something dressier so you don’t dump me for Ms. H.R..
When he didn’t respond right away, I panicked. Had I gone too far with our joking? As the seconds ticked by with no response, I longed to retract my sent text, and tried to distract myself by staring at the TV as the bachelorette debated which guy to choose for her solo date.
I jumped when Kristen’s bedroom door suddenly squeaked open and she trudged out wearing flannel pajamas. Since it was after ten o’clock and I hadn’t heard a peep from her, I’d assumed she’d hit the sack already. She grabbed a bottle of flavored-mineral water from the fridge and then plopped down next to me on the couch. “Who are we rooting for?”
A special cell device to retrieve mortifying sent texts.
“The pilot with the big blue eyes.” I checked my cell, which still hadn’t beeped, to make sure I hadn’t accidentally turned it off or something. My ‘Numbers Add Up’ screen saver stared back at me, showing me my phone was still on and functioning. Ugh. “He’s hot, cooks, and gave her a foot rub earlier.”
“Not bad.” She raised a brow, then tore her eyes from the screen. “When did you get home from your date?”
“An hour ago and you know it was a friend thing.” I groaned when the bachelorette picked the musician instead of the very adorable pilot. “He’s clearly only on the show to promote his new indie album. Can’t she see that?”
After a sip of her bubbly calorie-free drink, she screwed the blue top back on the bottle. “Women typically pick the wrong guy thinking he’ll change for her.”
“Well, not me.” Since the show had gone to commercial, I turned all my attention to Kristen. “No way. No how.”
Chirp! Chirp!
I immediately scanned the screen on my cell: Wear the sweats you wore to the office Monday if you want. Whenever you walk into a room, I can’t take my eyes off you.
My heart flipped over in my chest. How had he known what I’d worn to the office Monday morning? I reread his text in case I’d read it wrong. . . .
“That from your friend?” She emphasized the word friend and gave me a knowing look. “If you’re not interested in getting to know Ethan, just say so.”
“Of course I want to get to know Ethan.” Actually, I wanted to reread Chris’s text a third time but not under Kristen’s eagle eye gaze. “As a matter of fact, we’re having a second date tomorrow night.”
She eyed the large scoop of ice cream I’d stuck in my mouth. “But you haven’t invited him to Ellen’s wedding.”
I swallowed the icy bite, then flinched at the vise-like head pain that followed. Brain freeze. Clearly the universe was telling me to stop flirting with Chris and start paying attention to the guy who didn’t fear commitment. Like Kristen said: men don’t change. “I’m going to ask Ethan, okay? What’s with the pressure? Do you have money invested in this or something?”
“You don’t have to bite my head off.” She narrowed her eyes at me, then did the unthinkable. She lifted my spoon—yes, the one full of high-calorie ice cream—and, after a moment’s pause, brought it to her mouth.
“Kristen.” Witnessing this earth shattering display, I could hardly speak. “What is wrong?”
She closed her eyes as if to savor that spoonful of forbidden deliciousness, which I’d never seen her indulge in. “Ellen asked me to remind you about the group mani/pedi appointment during your lunch hour tomorrow. Not for me though. My nails are already done.”
“Tell me.” No way would I let her out of it. “Truth or Dare, Kristen?”
She looked at me point blank. “Dare.”
My forehead crinkled in concern. “Did something happen with Jake?”
Shaking her head, her voice tightened. “I chose Dare.”
“Fine.” Not knowing what went down, I knew the only thing to bring her back up. Hey, it’d worked for me. So I went to the freezer and pulled out another carton of my new boyfriend (don’t judge me, they were on sale) and handed her the pint-sized container. “Reality TV the rest of the evening and you have to eat this entire thing.”
The corners of her mouth turned up. “You’re on.”
We giggled as the next show started and by the time we’d finished off our respective cartons, I figured it was too late to text Chris back. Not that I would’ve asked him what I wanted to know anyway: if he’d been playing around when he sent that text to me or if he’d meant it.
****
The next morning, I sat in my quiet office, mindlessly plugging numbers into the general ledger when someone said my name. My head whipped up and I half-expected to see Ethan demanding to know why I hadn’t invited him to the wedding. I’d still been trying to figure out that answer myself.
Instead, Chris stood in the doorway, eying my outfit with a smile. “Decided not to go with the sweats, I see.”
Whenever you walk into a room, I can’t take my eyes off you.
My face heated and I put a hand over my heart. “Chris, didn’t your mom ever tell you not to sneak up on a girl?”
“No, but she did tell me never to kiss on the first date.” He shrugged. “Not that it’s applicable to this situation.”
“Hardly.” His mother’s advice had been a good one. Any woman with eyes would be very amenable to kissing him, first date or not. “What brings you down to the first floor?”
“Dropping off my final expense report.” He walked over by my desk and set a piece of paper in my inbox. “Also, I got your email about my going away lunch tomorrow.”
A wave of sadness came over me at the thought of not seeing Chris anymore, but I forced myself not to show it. “Chocolate cake, as requested. And I hope the menu’s all right with you?”
“Of course.” He sat down in the chair across from my desk. “Why don’t we go to dinner tonight before we meet up with everyone? Just you and me.”
I stared, dumbfounded. “What? Why?”
The corners of his mouth twitched at my unintelligent response to his dinner invitation. “For fun? To make sure my girlfriend has a good meal?”
“Oh.” I let out a relieved breath. For a minute I’d thought Chris had asked me out. For real. “That’s sweet of you, honey, but I’m already booked.”
His nose wrinkled. “You really shouldn’t make plans without checking with me first, dear.”
“Oh, really?” I laughed at the way he managed to keep an innocent face while sounding like a barbarian. “Honey, when did you get so possessive?”
His eyes met mine and his voice lowered. “You can’t blame me for wanting you all to myself.”
Heat sizzled between us and I reveled in it. “Think of how much more you’ll want me by having to wait.”
“You don’t play fair.” He held my gaze a few moments longer, then finally checked his watch and stood up. “I’d better go. Phone conference in a few minutes. We still good for eight o’clock?”
“Yep.” I’d have to cut things short with Ethan, but I wouldn’t leave Chris in a lurch. “And I promise to be on time.”<
br />
“Thanks.” He stepped backward toward the door. “I’ll be counting the minutes, dear.”
“Me too, darling.” I watched him leave, then dropped the expense report back to my desk unable to control the huge grin spreading across my face.
I couldn’t wait to play more of our flirtatious game tonight.
CHAPTER SIX
“Gina, you responded to the RSVP saying you were bringing a date to my wedding but Kristen tells me you haven’t asked Ethan.” Ellen managed to sound quite indignant for a girl laying in a massage chair, her eyes closed, as the manicurist painted white tips on her perfectly filed toenails. “Is Ethan in or out? What’s it going to be?”
Tension tightened in my shoulders and I forced my hand to stay still as the manicurist clipped away at hangnail after hangnail. My poor nails had been neglected way too long. “Why is everyone pressuring me about my progress with Ethan?”
“Because you’re our friend and we’re interested in your life?” Ellen’s tone made it sound like a no-brainer.
The big bar in the massage chair rolled up my back, pressing into some knots that I swear had come back since the other day. “Uh-huh.”
“Oh, fine.” Ellen sounded as if she’d been caught. “You know how expensive it is per head and if he’s not coming, I need to know. George’s grandparents keep inviting people even though I’ve turned in the numbers already. They’re driving me insane.”
“Isn’t that what in-laws are for?” I joked.
Rach tilted her head in Ellen’s direction as her manicurist lathered cream on her hands. “In his grandparents’ defense, you did kind of spring this wedding on all of us. I’m surprised they didn’t think you were preggers.”
Ellen’s mouth fell open. “If they did, they didn’t ask. Unlike some people.”
A burst of laughter escaped my mouth. “You didn’t, Rach!”
She shrugged. “Like you didn’t wonder the same thing before I told you she wasn’t.”
Ellen opened her eyes long enough to roll them. “My mom inquired as well, but I’m not going to wait to marry the love of my life just to avoid silly rumors.”
My brows wiggled up and down. “No kids in the near future?”
“It’s stressful enough planning this wedding. I can’t even think that far ahead.” Finally, her lids opened and she turned my way. “So, what’s the verdict on Ethan?”
The pressure in my back mounted. “Like I told Kristen, we’re going to dinner tonight and I’ll ask him then. Don’t give away my date’s seat.”
“Speaking of Kristen, how’s the living sitch?” Rachel’s tone held humor in it. “I figured you would’ve pulled each other’s hair out by now.”
“Not yet.” I grunted as the roller found a painfully tight spot in my upper back, then I adjusted the remote control to concentrate on that area only. “I’m afraid I may have created a monster. You know how anal Kristen is about healthy food, mostly protein shakes? Well, last night I dared her to eat a carton of ice cream.”
“You guys still playing Truth or Dare?” Rach eyed her now French-manicured fingernails and thanked the lady who nodded back to her.
“It’s fun.” Especially playing with Chris, but I shook my head to clear that thought away. “Except I noticed two of my donuts missing this morning. And Kristen always eats oatmeal for breakfast.”
“Sounds like you’re a delectable influence.” Rach’s eyes went wide. “Uh-oh. We might need your size six dress, after all, Gina.”
“Don’t even joke,” Ellen snapped back making us both chuckle. “Speaking of the bridesmaid dress, Kathia finished the adjustments so she wants you to try it on again tonight just to be sure.”
When had my life turned go-go-go? “Okay, I’ll stop by after work. I hope it won’t take long. I’m meeting Ethan for dinner in Old Sac at six.”
Ellen examined her gorgeous mani. “I’m not going to say it . . .”
“Good.” I threw her a grateful look. If only I’d asked Ethan yesterday at lunch, everyone would calm down. Including me.
As we were wrapping things up at the nail salon, I had the urge to tell the girls about the game Chris and I’d started last night, but decided against it. What would be the point? I’d done Chris a favor last night and would do him another tonight. No big deal. It’s not like any of it was real. No matter how much fun we were having.
****
I strode into The Boat House stressed out to maximum capacity. After work, I’d hurried to Blissfully Bridal as directed, tried on the strapless red bridesmaid dress, and held my breath as Kathia zipped it up. I let out a grateful whoosh at its perfect fit and when Kathia approved it, I thought things might finally be going my way until I received the following text from Chris: Hi, honey. If your plans change or you get done early, come join John and me for dinner at The Boat House. Heard on the radio they have an awesome reggae band playing there tonight.
That’s right. At THE BOAT HOUSE.
Why in the world did Chris have to choose the very same restaurant where I’d be meeting Ethan when I, myself, hadn’t been here in years? Since it required more than jeans and a tee shirt, it had never made George’s list of where we should eat out. So what if the radio says the band’s supposed to be cool? I needed to get to know Ethan in peace without a very hot temptation there distracting me.
Instead of responding to Chris, I called Ethan to beg and plead that we eat somewhere else, anywhere else, and got his voicemail each of the five (count them, five) times I called. I mean, really, how could I date a man who turns his cell phone off when I might need to contact him in emergencies such as these?
Determined to enjoy my time with Ethan and not let Chris’s probable presence at the restaurant divert my attention, I strode into The Boat House wearing a white dress that hugged the new curves I’d decided to embrace. I’d splurged on two dresses last Sunday while shopping for the rehearsal dinner and this was one of them. True, white isn’t slimming but whatever. With my dark hair and light skin, Rach said it gave me a Greek goddess kind of look. Who would argue with that kind of compliment? The expression on Ethan’s face when he saw me made it worth the small fortune it cost.
“Gina.” Ethan planted a quick kiss on my cheek, then his dark eyes moved up and down my body. “Wow.”
“Thanks.” I reveled in the attention since I’d never had that reaction from George. Not even when we’d first started dating. “You look nice yourself.”
And he did. His black blazer stretched across his broad chest perfectly and complimented his dark and stunning features.
“Shall we get seated?” He looked thrown for a moment—guess seeing me dressed up differed a tad from the business suit I’d worn to lunch—and I took that as a good sign. He approached the podium, greeted the man in the suit behind it, and gave his last name.
As the host led us to a table inside by the fireplace, he tossed a very obvious second glance my way and I made a mental note to take Rach with me clothes shopping from now on. Windows along the back wall allowed an easy view of the river beyond the deck where the band had already begun playing. The thrumming beat and soothing vibrations made me wish we’d been seated outside.
“Cozy in here by the fire.” Ethan lifted the leather bound wine menu. “This is my favorite table so I reserved it for us.”
Impressed by his thoughtfulness, I tilted my head. “How sweet of you.”
Ethan perused the wine list. “Should we order a bottle?”
I checked my watch. Less than two hours until I needed to be home and I had to drive. “Actually, I’m meeting a friend later. So, just one glass for me.”
He stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “Tonight? I thought you were free.”
“Free until seven forty-five.” I kept my voice cheery since he seemed a little irritated. “We’ll have to plan a full evening out soon.”
His gaze flicked back to the list. “Funny. I thought we had.”
Make that very irritated.
&n
bsp; My stomach clenched. Why had I said yes to drinks with Chris? The sound of Ms. H.R.’s husky laugh echoed through my mind. Oh, right. That’s why. “The seafood linguini looks good . . .”
I’d considered asking about Italian history but things hadn’t plummeted that low. Yet.
“The seafood linguini is excellent.” He nodded, but kept his eyes glued to the menu as if to express I was still in the doghouse. “I’ve had it before. The Cajun Jambalaya’s good as well.”
On the last sentence, his tone seemed a tad friendlier so I relaxed a little. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Good evening. I’m Marcia.” A dark-haired woman appeared wearing a stern expression. “I’ll be your server this evening. May I start you off with a cocktail?”
Ethan raised a brow at me.
“Just because I can’t stay late doesn’t mean we won’t have a great time.” I doubted Chris would make a big deal about a short evening since he’d taken my being late to his business dinner in stride. I turned to the waitress who scowled at me—fine, take Ethan’s side—and asked her to recommend a Pinot Grigio. I ignored the urge to put a fake Italian accent on grigio since Ethan hadn’t realized I’d been joking last time. Ethan ordered a gin and tonic, then the waitress disappeared with one last hostile side-glance. Whatever, lady.
“I’m going to order the Butternut Squash with Cream Sauce.” Forget low-calorie salads and my new dress size. My taste buds called the shots tonight. “What about you?”
“The Cajun Jamba—” He stopped mid-sentence and his dark brows came together. “Is that your friend from work?”
“Huh?” My eyes immediately darted to where Ethan cast his gaze and my heart froze. Solid ice, I tell you, as my pretend boyfriend strolled in looking sexier than ever in dark slacks and a blue collared shirt that made his eyes stand out from across the room. Even my grouchy waitress gave Chris the once-over as the host led him toward the back deck.
As if sensing me watching, Chris’s head suddenly angled my way and our eyes locked.
The ice in my chest burst to flames, heating my cheeks, and forcing me to turn away. Why did I care if Chris saw me with Ethan? I was on a date. So what?
