“I think that’d be a good problem to have,” I say.
“So, am I gonna pick when I get back?”
“Yep, and then if you want, you can choose the night for the first date.”
“Tonight,” Kyla blurts. “If I leave it, I’ll change my mind. I know it. My mind has an almost unfathomable capacity to freak me out. It’ll invent a million and one reasons why all of this is foolish, and I’ll end up regretting not going ahead. I know I will.”
“I’m glad to hear you have so much faith in us.”
“Something like that,” she smiles.
We spend a few more minutes eating and talking. Kyla tells me some stories about her gruesome ex-boss that make Carl seem like a patient angel. On the way back, she asks me about my brother, and I fill her in on our dynamic. She smiles to hear that I’m always introduced as the one with the temper when Kase is hardly a saint.
Back at Ink Factor, everyone is working but the white plastic chip bowl is resting on the reception desk, just waiting for Kyla’s slender fingers to investigate its depths.
“Remember, if you pick out mine, the date is going to be a surprise.”
Kyla nods, her hand swirling the eight pieces of paper around.
Pick mine, I think. Pick mine. It’s a one-in-eight chance, and I’ve beat worse odds.
What would it be like to be her first? Maybe my kink isn’t the kind that would be best to start her off with, but my date could be. I guess it’s all in the hands of the gods, or universe, or whatever power is out there choosing our paths.
Finally, she settles on a slip of paper, bringing it close to herself and looking around before she opens it.
Her eyes flick up to mine. “It’s Lex,” she says softly.
I don’t know what Lex has written on his paper, but I’m sure it’s going to be something that Kyla can handle. He’ll build her confidence up for the next man and the one after that.
Wherever I am in the running, I don’t care. When I finally get my date with Kyla, it’s going to be awesome.
12
KYLA
"I can't believe I'm actually doing this," I say to Dawn, clutching the phone to the side of my head as I make my way to the address that was written on the piece of paper. It said: LEX, A HOMECOOKED MEAL, DESSERT.
I've never heard that dessert can be thought of like a kink, but I guess that's how ignorant I am of sex things.
"You're going to have the time of your life. What could be better? A man with gorgeous brown hair, tattoos on a physique that should be immortalized in marble, who can cook and likes sweet things?"
"Yeah, it all sounds good when you say it like that, so why is my mind throwing up red flags over and over?"
"Because your mind will make red flags out of going to the store. You're always so risk averse."
"I'm trying not to be," I say. "Somehow, between you and the men of Ink Factor, I've become a project."
"Pretty much every single woman in the world, and most married ones, would wish to switch places with you right now, Kyla. Don't you forget that. The universe isn't just smiling at you. It's sending you a colossal Cheshire-cat-style floating grin right now, complete with tooth glints."
"I'm here," I say, looking up at the building that Lex's note has brought me to. "He's lives in a nice building."
"You see. As if he didn't have enough going for him, he has great digs too."
I blow out a big tense breath, bouncing on my toes like an athlete getting ready for a run. "Tell me I can do this?"
"You can do this," Dawn says. "You're going to blow him away and have the best time ever."
"I hope so."
When I reluctantly hang up the phone, I stare up at the building again, approaching the central door with trepidation. There's a large pad of buttons, and I find number eleven, my lucky number, pressing it hard before I change my mind.
When the door buzzes, I rush to yank it open, heading for the elevator. It looks like number eleven is on the third floor, and walking up the stairs won't do anything for my complexion. My antiperspirant doesn't need any more testing than it's getting right now.
I only get time to straighten some wayward strands of hair in the elevator mirror before the doors spring open, and there's Lex, standing in the doorway of his apartment, dressed in gray joggers and a fitted white tee with bare feet.
And oh my God, the sight of his feet sends a volcano of heat rushing over my skin. What the hell is wrong with me?
"Come in," he smiles. "It's good you're on time because everything is ready."