Chapter 42
forty-two
I have no idea what I’m doing.
I mutter curses at myself while I rush around my bedroom, looking for the gold earrings I think I want.
Or maybe the hoops . What if I wear my hair down instead of up? Maybe. But the ponytail looks good because of the zipper?
Seriously. What the fuck am I doing ?
I mean, really. A date ?
I do everything in my power to avoid dating. More importantly, to avoid what dating means .
And this one means… something. Graham said as much last night when he tucked me in.
“So, I got tested yesterday,” he told me. “You know there’s no one else. I met your grandmother…”
He trailed off, clearly implying what neither of us could admit out loud: that this mess—which could end both our careers and cost Graham his best friend—has started to look a lot like a relationship.
Pissed, I’d narrowed my eyes at him. “And?”
Graham brushed my hair back one last time and then stood. He did that thing where he picks at his shirt, indicating his unease. “And I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight.”
I started to protest. “Graham ? —”
Having unfolded his sleeves and re-buttoned them, he focused on me so intensely that the look sucked all the air out of my lungs. “Jesus, woman, give me a shot.” He tossed in a crooked grin for good measure. “Let me take you out. If you don’t want to do it again, we’ll… revise our terms.”
Then, having thoroughly obliterated all my plans for ending our relationship—and, somehow, conned me into making the whole thing even more legitimate—he walked out.
I thought I would wake up to a hangover of regret, but I didn’t. And as Saturday bled from afternoon to evening, I actually felt… excited.
Jesucristo .
Now, with two minutes to go, I pose in front of my mirror and admire the way my dress’s gold zipper molds to the curve of my back. I know Graham will like that—it’s basically an arrow to my ass. I imagine he’ll also approve of the hot-pink hue and the way the stretchy material hugs every curve from the middle of my thighs to my shoulders.
When I step out of my building, he’s already there, leaning indolently against his town car with his ankles crossed and his phone in his hand.
He looks too handsome, again; this time, in a gray suit so fine the threads shimmer, lending it the silvery quality of a storm cloud. His tie stands out against the lavender shirt underneath—an eye-catching pattern of deep purple and bright-pink poppies.
Dios . The outfit makes me want to laugh and jump him all at once. And we almost match. Again . Why doesn’t that utterly mortify me?
When he hears my heels on the pavement, he glances up and freezes. His dark gaze snakes down my entire body and then up again. Before I can take another step, he charges.
Right there, with faded twilight overhead and the Heights bustling on the sidewalk around us, Graham locks me in his arms and dips me into a stage-worthy embrace. Cradling my head in one hand and my ass in the other, he suspends me over the ground and ravages my mouth with a mind-melting kiss.
Too soon, Graham rights us, glaring at my face. “ Infuriatingly gorgeous,” he rumbles, piercing me with his black stare. “How am I supposed to sit through dinner when you look like this?”
I see an opportunity to get out of the date without sending him away altogether. “We could just skip dinner and go to your place.”
The hunger in his gaze flares. “Dangerous woman,” he mutters, reaching for my hand. “We’re going on a date. Even if it kills us both.”
I make a face, and Graham smirks. “Yeah, I know. It just might.”