24. Zoey
Zoey
Cris sat cross-legged on my bed, holding up two pairs of shoes as if she was making a life-altering decision.
“These,” she said.
I shook my head vehemently. “No.”
“These.”
“Absolutely not.”
She wiggled the heels. “You cannot show up to a date with a man that tall wearing flats.”
“I absolutely can,” I said. “Flats are democratic. Flats respect the human foot. Besides, I already slept with him.”
Cris snorted. “That is not the point.”
“That is exactly the point.” I leaned against the dresser and folded my arms. “It’s just dinner. A casual dinner between two emotionally responsible adults.”
Cris lifted an eyebrow. “You made out with him in a hot tub, slept with him, called him to track a missing child through the woods, and now he’s coming over to take you out to dinner.” She held up the heels again. “Nothing about this situation is casual.”
I sighed. “That doesn’t mean I need orthopedic damage.”
“It means,” she said patiently, “you should show up looking exactly how you want to look when you’re excited about someone.”
I hesitated. “That’s manipulative.”
“It’s honest.”
“Cris, I’m trying to make responsible decisions.”
“You’re wearing the black dress and the heels.”
I looked down at the dress in question. It was simple. Black and sleek, and it made my legs look like they belonged to someone significantly more coordinated than I actually was. The neckline was low enough to be interesting, without making my boobs a social event.
I had tried it on ten minutes earlier.
Cris had stared at me in stunned silence for a full three seconds.
Then she had said, “Oh my god.”
Unhelpful.
“Put them on,” she said, waving the heels in front of me.
“I hate heels.”
“You love heels.”
“I love how heels look. My feet hate heels.”
“You are going to a nice restaurant, right?” Cris asked.
“Yes.”
“You will be sitting down.”
“That is not the point.”
Cris tossed the shoes onto the bed and stood up. “Listen to me.”
I braced myself.
“You are going on a date with a six-foot-four emotionally responsible wolf shifter who already thinks you are the center of the universe.”
I rubbed my forehead. “That’s a dramatic interpretation.”
“He tracked a missing child through the forest and returned her to you like some kind of mythological guardian creature.”
“He was just helping out.”
“He brought you flowers.”
“That resulted in police involvement.”
“He respected your boundaries.”
“Okay, that was impressive.”
Cris grabbed the heels and stepped closer. “You’re wearing the shoes.”
I stared at them. They were exactly the kind of heels that made my legs look absurdly long.
“Five minutes,” I said.
“That’s all you’ll need to know I’m right.”
“That is not true.”
“Put them on.”
Sighing, I sat on the edge of the bed. Sliding my foot into the first heel felt like signing a contract with gravity. The second one followed. I stood up, smoothing down the dress.
Cris clapped once. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
“Look at you!”
I looked at my reflection. The result was… unfortunate. Meaning, I looked extremely good.
The dress fit perfectly, and the heels made my legs look miles long. My hair had been loosely styled in a way that suggested effort without screaming about it. The makeup Cris had insisted on applying made my skin look even and my eyes brighter.
Cris placed both hands over her mouth. “Zoey, you are going to destroy this man.”
“That seems unlikely.”
“He’s already obsessed with you.”
“That’s not a helpful or healthy framing.”
“You’re walking into this dinner looking like that.” She gestured at me broadly. “It’s going to escalate.”
I leaned closer to the mirror and adjusted one of the straps.
Something unfamiliar sat in my stomach.
Excitement.
Actual excitement.
That irritated me, because I had spent most of my adult life avoiding situations that made me feel this invested in another person.
Now I was standing in heels I hated, wearing a dress that made me look formidable, preparing to go to dinner with a man who had literally tracked a missing child through the forest for me.
My brain tried to remind me that this situation contained several red flags, but my heart didn’t seem to mind.
At first, I hadn’t trusted my quick impulse to ask him to dinner. Fast was usually how bad ideas introduced themselves. Quick was how you talked yourself over your own instincts and called it chemistry.
But now, I had to admit that my relationship with speed in this specific situation wasn’t exactly objective.
I had spent most of my life identifying and labeling what was safe and what wasn’t.
I was good at that, but I was also good at treating anything emotionally significant as suspicious.
I was also guilty of avoiding “safe” situations just in case I was wrong about them.
Sometimes that was wisdom. Sometimes it was fear with a better publicist.
What Liam had done at my apartment wasn’t okay. I wasn’t reframing it because he was handsome or helpful or because Bobbi had gone missing and scared the life out of me.
But that night had given me new information.
So had the way he had respected the space I asked for and taken accountability.
So had every small thing since. Going to dinner with him wasn’t surrender.
It wasn’t me pretending the hard part hadn’t happened.
It was one deliberate step taken with my eyes open, in proper lighting, wearing shoes I already regretted.
To be honest, I was proud of myself for coming to that conclusion this quickly.
It was progress.
Cris leaned against the dresser. “So, how are you feeling?”
I considered the question. “Nervous.”
“Understandable.”
“Excited.”
She grinned. “Also understandable.”
“And mildly suspicious of my own decision-making.”
“That part will pass.”
I turned away from the mirror and grabbed my purse. “You’re sure this isn’t a terrible idea?”
Cris adjusted the neckline of my dress. “Zoey, you’re allowed to like someone.”
I exhaled slowly as we walked out of my bedroom.
Across the room, Markie shuffled on his perch. “BAD DOG.”
I looked over at his enclosure. “That has been resolved.”
“DOG DATE.”
Cris burst out laughing. “You told the bird.”
“I didn’t tell the bird.”
“DOG DATE.”
I grabbed my coat. “Traitor.”
Cris plopped on my couch. “You’re going to have fun tonight.”
“That seems optimistic.”
“You like him.”
“I do.”
“He likes you.”
“That appears to be the case.”
“And you look hot.”
I paused in the doorway and glanced down at the heels again.
“Also,” she added thoughtfully, “you are going to be wearing heels and still be shorter than him.”
That image settled immediately in my mind. Standing next to Liam. In heels. And still having to look up at him.
The thought sent a strange little thrill through my stomach, which was extremely annoying.
I shook my head. “Fine.”
Cris grinned.
At that exact moment, someone knocked on the door.
Cris froze. “Oh my god.”
“That’s probably him.”
“Oh my god.”
I huffed. “You’re reacting like a teenager.”
She grabbed my shoulders and shoved me toward the door. “Open it.”
Taking a steadying breath, I opened the door, and all words vanished from my brain.
Liam looked really hot.
Dark jeans. Clean shirt. Boots. His hair was slightly damp, which suggested he had showered recently and run a hand through it instead of doing anything deliberate.
His gaze moved slowly from my heels to my dress and back up again.
He blinked once, then again.
“Hi,” I said.
Liam opened his mouth, then cleared his throat. “You look…” He paused.
His brain appeared to have left the building.
Cris leaned around the corner behind me and said, in a stage whisper, “Use your words.”
Liam glanced at her, then back at me. “You look incredible.”
The sincerity in his tone sent warmth coursing through me. “Thank you.”
His gaze moved across my face again with a calm focus that made the hallway feel much smaller.
Before I could decide what to do with that, he stepped in and pulled me gently against him. He lowered his head and inhaled slowly, like he couldn’t help himself.
Something soft and dangerous filtered through me, and that feeling only increased when he pressed his lips lightly to my forehead.
When he pulled back, it was only so he could look at me again, like he had needed that and wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the fact that he had taken it.
“I brought the truck,” he said quickly. “So, we can drive.”
“That’s generally how trucks work.”
Markie chose that moment to shout from inside the apartment. “BAD DOG.”
Liam closed his eyes briefly. “He and I are still working through that situation.”
I laughed lightly. “Understandable.”
“Before we go,” he said carefully, “may I use your restroom?”
Cris snorted behind me.
“Yes,” I said. “You know where it is.”
Liam headed down the short hallway toward the bathroom.
“He is gone for you,” Cris whispered. “That man looked like he forgot how language works.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
She grabbed my arm and squeezed it once. “You’re about to have the best date of your life.”
I rolled my eyes, but my heart was beating much faster than usual.
From down the hallway, Liam cleared his throat. “Markie,” he said.
“BAD DOG.”
“I maintain that you escalated the situation unnecessarily.”
Cris covered her mouth. “Oh my god.”
I shook my head.
“Let’s go before the bird files another police report.”
We drove through the quiet evening traffic for several minutes before curiosity finally got the better of me.
I shifted slightly in my seat and glanced over at Liam.
He was driving with both hands on the wheel, his face set in concentration. Every few seconds, his attention dropped briefly to the dashboard clock before returning to the road.
Finally, I said, “Where are we going? This is not the way to Korean barbecue.”
He didn’t look over. “I have to make a stop on the way.” He checked the clock again.
“Why do you keep looking at the time?”
“There’s something quick I want to do before dinner.”