I paused. “Like a double-date?”
“Yeah.” My friend’s voice was bright and excited. “I think you’ll like him, and if not—no big deal. He’ll be good practice as you get back out there. Plus, he’s really funny.”
Her desire to set me up came from a good place. She just wanted to see me happy, but a voice in the back of my mind whined that she was doing the same thing to me that she did to Troy. She made decisions without consulting anyone else.
“Sorry, but I can’t,” I said.
There was a sigh of frustration on the other end of the line, and I clenched a hand into a fist. She thought she knew what was best for me. Or at least, better than I did.
“I can’t,” I snapped, “because I already have a date tonight.”
There was stunned silence for a long moment before Jenna spoke, and when she did, I pictured my friend bouncing with excitement on her feet. “You do? With who? How’d you two meet?” Her mouth couldn’t keep up with her brain. “Oh, my God, spill.”
I closed my eyes. “Uh, I’d prefer not to say.” That wasn’t going to do anything to satisfy her curiosity, so I gave her a bent version of the truth. “It’s our first date, and . . . well, we work together, so we’re not telling anyone about it just yet.”
“Oh.” She said it like I was being scandalous, which . . . she was not wrong. “Okay, at least give me something to chew on. Is he good looking?”
Oh no. “Um . . . extremely.”
“Been married before? Does he have kids?”
She had no idea, but her questions stung. She was imagining a man much older than Troy. One who was more ‘age-appropriate.’
I did my best to keep my tone even. “No, and no kids.”
“All right, one more question and then I’ll stop.” Her voice went serious. “Please tell me you’re going to wear that black top tonight. You know the one. Your boobs look amazing in it.”
My mouth went dry. “That’s not a question.”
“You’re right.” She laughed. “Are you going to wear it?”
There was no power in my voice. “Yeah.”
“Good, show the girls off. You paid for them.” I could hear the smile in her words. “He’ll think he died and went to heaven when he sees you.”
Too bad I was going to hell.
Erika
Jenna had been correct. When Troy came to pick me up, his tongue nearly fell out of his mouth. His gaze had started at my leopard print sandals, worked up my skinny jeans, and came to a screeching halt at the center of my chest. It took him time to restart his brain, and finally his gaze lifted to meet mine.
“Maybe we could stay here,” he suggested.
I laughed and shook my head. “No way. This was your idea and I want to celebrate.”
When he scrambled to open the door to his Jeep for me, I had nervous flutters in my stomach, but they were the good kind. Yes, I hadn’t been on a date in two decades, but it’d be like riding a bicycle, right? Plus, it was silly to be anxious. We’d slept together a bunch of times.
“You okay?” he asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat and buckled his seatbelt.
“Yeah, why?”
He smiled, curious. “You look nervous.” His eyes widened a degree, like he’d made a mistake. “I mean, you look amazing.”
“Thanks. You too.” Fuck, I was nervous, but he didn’t have to know that. I shot him an exaggerated, hard look. “I’m nervous you might not put out,” I deadpanned. “You’re a sure thing tonight, right?”
A surprised laugh burst from him. “Oh, yes, ma’am.”
My gaze trailed over the interior of his Jeep, which was spotless, as he started the engine. Of course his car was perfect. It didn’t matter how messy a guy could be at home—in my experience, they always took care of their car.
Troy drove to a restaurant in Brentwood, a suburb on the far side of the city where the chances of running into anyone we knew were nonexistent. Not that it mattered if we did. I could always say it was a work dinner. Plus, we were celebrating his big break.
Conversation flowed so easily during dinner. We laughed as the server carded us when ordering drinks, although I had no idea if she’d done it because Troy looked young and she carded me because she was being polite.
We talked about the first concerts we’d ever been to. The best and worst experiences we’d had when performing. Favorite song to sing.
“Easy.” Troy set down his nearly empty pint of beer. “‘Power.’”
It was a Saturday night and the restaurant was bustling, but the sound faded away. I gave him a dubious look. “All the songs in the world, and you’re picking that one?”
“You wrote it,” he said simply. “And you wrote it for me.”
“I did.” I licked my lips to stop myself from mentioning I wrote it about the way I felt about him.
“Can we talk business for a second?” He leaned forward, and his eyes turned serious. “I want ‘Power’ to be my closing song when I perform. Is that okay with you?”
Breath caught in my lungs. He was only allowed three songs in his set, because Stella already had an opening act she was touring with.
“We’d need to get Ardy and Stella to—”
“Yeah, I know. What I’m asking,” he said, “is if everyone else signs off on it, will you?”
Didn’t he know this question was silly? That he didn’t even need to ask? “Yes.” I smiled. “If you want to sing it—I’d be honored.”
Our phones were face down on the table, and when it vibrated, we both flipped ours over. He glanced at my screen and saw the name Clark at the top. To his credit, Troy attempted not to react, but I could see how irritated he was.
I sucked in a breath. “Okay, so you’re a young’un . . . How do I block a number?”
Relief swept through him and was quickly replaced by a victorious smile.
I spent Sunday recovering from the marathon sex I’d had with Troy and dodging Jenna’s questions about how my date had gone.
“Great,” was all I said.
By Monday I was back to being consumed by my job. There were fall festivals I was trying to get two of my clients booked into, a debut album launch for a singer-songwriting duo I’d signed in January, and an international tour of a bluegrass band on my list to help set up.
On top of all that, on Tuesday there was a contract sitting on my desk which had come over from Warbler’s legal attorney. I spent my lunch break reviewing it, and the packaging Warbler was putting together for Troy’s set. He’d sat for headshots this morning and texted me that it went well.
I left the office a little before five, grabbed the mail from my mailbox when I got home, and sorted it as I walked toward the house. My footsteps slowed as I tore open the envelope with my homeowner’s association logo in the corner, dreading its contents before even reading the letter. Ever since Judy Maligner, my neighbor two doors down, had been elected president, the HOA had become a headache to deal with.
“What now?” I groaned.