I dry my hands, reaching for the door and taking in a few deep breaths to steady myself before walking back outside. I look over at our table, praying Grant has left, but I still see the back of his thick, dark hair. Whatever he’s saying, it’s drawing an enthusiastic laugh from both Steph and Marlaina.
Steph looks up, her eyes spotting me. Grant must notice her looking at me, because his head slowly turns around and his gaze settles on me. We make eye contact and the warmth is back, rapidly spreading up my chest and neck to my cheeks. It feels like he’s staring right through me, like he knows all my secrets—like he knows exactly what I just did in that restroom to thoughts of him. I shake the insane thought from my head and march back over to the table.
“I thought I asked you to leave,” I say, leaning down to swipe his beer before taking a long drink.
“Well, these two lovely ladies asked me to stay, and we were having a very pleasant conversation.”
I feel like an ass. I don’t want to be the miserable Debbie Downer at the table, so I decide to take the high road and be the “bigger man.”
“Look, let’s call a truce. I’m sorry that there’s a minuscule chance I played a part in messing up your would-be marriage.” I roll my eyes a little but swallow down the bitterness that threatens to bubble up. “Deal?” I ask, thrusting my hand out toward him.
He stares at me, a smirk spreading across his lips as he reaches back for his beer and finishes it.
“No deal. Only one way we can settle this.”
“And how’s that?” I ask suspiciously.
“Go on a date with me.”
I blink at him in confusion. “What?”
“Go on a date with him,” Marlaina repeats.
“I heard him, I just don’t see how—”
“Well, that’s the only way I’m agreeing to a truce, darlin’,” he says, standing up and reaching into his back pocket and producing a wallet.
“Fine.” I don’t know why I just agreed, but I can’t take the word back now.
“Good,” he says, tossing a few $20s on the table. “Give me your phone.” His hand is outstretched toward me.
“What? No.” I grab my phone and hold it against my chest like a two-year-old who’s worried someone will take her favorite toy. He doesn’t say it again and just raises his eyebrows at me. I unlock the phone and hand it over to him slowly. He grabs it, types something in, and then hands it back to me. I look down. He’s sent himself a text from my phone and programmed his name and number into it.
Shit, now he has my number.
“Ladies, it was a pleasure.” He tips his head toward Marlaina and Steph, who giggle and wave like little schoolgirls with a crush.
Grant reaches down, placing his thumb and forefinger beneath my chin and tipping my head up. “Wear that red dress,” he says, winking before turning and walking out of the bar.
I feel like I’m about to melt in my seat. My heart is racing, my skin burns where he just touched me, and I’m thoroughly confused.
“What the hell just happened?” I ask, turning to face my friends.
“I don’t know, but that man is sooo dreamy,” Marlaina coos. “And if I weren’t married, I’d be chasing him down the street right now.”
4
Grant
It’s been a week since I programmed my number into Leigh’s phone—a week of being on pins and needles. A week of constantly checking my phone every 15 minutes and feeling phantom vibrations when no one texted me.
I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I’m annoyed. I don’t normally have to work this hard to get a woman to go out with me, even if she hates me. I’m convinced that Leigh is now doing this out of spite, just to piss me off. I’m done playing her game.
I finish with my last patient and duck into my office. I haven’t been back to Grand Lake since before my night out with Leigh. I had too many work obligations back in Denver, and honestly, I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me and rubbing it in my face that the ball is in her court. I pull out my phone, bring up the first and only text I sent her, and type out a new message.
Me: As much as I love being strung along, made a fool of, even . . . my social calendar is quite in demand and is filling up. This Saturday, Capital Grille in Denver. 7 p.m. Don’t be late.
I smile to myself, already knowing her reply will be something snarky. I welcome it. I toss the phone back on my desk, working through a few paperwork items I need to finish up for the day, when my phone buzzes with Leigh’s name appearing on the screen. I grab it, swiping to open the message, and instantly burst out laughing.
Leigh: Oh heavens, how am I so lucky that a man so in demand would want to spend an evening in my company? Do please save a waltz for me on your dance card, sir.
She signs off with the eye roll and middle finger emoji.
Me: You sure have a lot of attitude for someone barely over the legal drinking age and hardly tall enough to see over the steering wheel. DON’T BE LATE.
I reiterate the last statement, knowing it’s bound to piss her off even more.
Leigh: Bite me.
Me: Don’t tempt me.
Me: Actually, do tempt me. Where can I bite?
I add the vampire emoji.
Leigh: My ass.
I want to know if she’s trying to be a tease or if she isn’t picking up on my obvious innuendo when I see the three little floating dots appear again.
Leigh: THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT. STOP TEXTING ME AND GO SAVE LIVES OR DEVOUR YOUR VICTIMS’ SOULS.
Me: Wear the red dress.
She doesn’t respond. I slip my phone into my pocket and lean back in my chair, saying aloud, “This woman is going to drive me absolutely crazy.”
“A candy-red sports car, huh?” I whistle as I admire the Audi she rolled up in. She takes her ticket from the valet, thanking him. My attention is quickly pulled away from the car, though, when I see she wore the red dress. She looks like a snack just waiting to be devoured.
“What about it?” She cocks her head to one side, side-eyeing me.
“It’s fitting,” I say with a nod.
“You seriously giving me shit about a little two-door sports car that literally cost half as much as your Porsche Cayenne GTS?”
She’s already bristling at me and we aren’t even through the door of the restaurant. If she were a cat, she’d have an arched back and a poofed-out tail right now.
“I didn’t say a word about the price,” I chuckle as I lift my hands in surrender. “Just that you’re a little spitfire, so the car fits you.”
She looks at me suspiciously again.
“It’s cute. You’re cute,” I attempt to explain.
Another blank stare.
“I’m paying you a compliment, Leigh,” I say, stepping toward her and placing my hand on her lower back. “Now let’s go eat. I’m starving.”
The waiter leads us to a table near a window overlooking the city.
“Wow, great view.”
“Best in the city.” I take a seat as the waiter introduces himself and asks for our drink order.
“We’ll take a bottle of the Penner-Ash please.”