Friends, remember?
Right. It didn’t matter if he was currently sleeping with six different women. I wouldn’t be one of them, anyway. But companionship? That I could easily do.
That was safe.
And safe is all I’d hoped for these last two years.
“I am,” I finally said. “Are you?”
“What time do you want me to pick you up?”
“I’ll meet you there,” I said, keeping it casual.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Where are we going?”
I bit my bottom lip, flipping through my mental list of favorite restaurants. “Let me think on it,” I said. “I’ll text you the info.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Then you’ll need my number.”
“I suppose I will.” I fished my cell from the drawer on my right and handed it to him. He plugged in his info quickly before handing it back to me.
“Now that that is settled,” he said, a serious look coloring his features. I held my breath, wondering what fresh hell he was about to drop on me. “I need a new book. Any suggestions?”
I couldn’t stop my smile as I pushed back from my desk, rounding it to stand next to him. “Oh, you have no idea.”
A crisp bite chilled the Charleston air as I hurried into my favorite Italian restaurant—an internal dilemma on what to wear to this non-date the source of my tardiness. I’d ultimately settled on a pair of warm, black cotton pants, a royal-blue sweater of softest cotton, and my cream trench. The outfit was comfortable while flattering, and unlike the dress I’d contemplated donning, it didn’t scream sex.
Not that I didn’t love sex.
I did.
But there would be no thoughts of that tonight.
The hostess guided me through the warm interior of the restaurant, forgoing the tables and heading through a set of double glass doors to the patio. Lush greenery in terracotta pots peppered the space, stand-up heaters flickering buttery flames to warm the outdoor space. Twinkle lights strung from the dogwood trees that hugged the restaurant’s property.
And, at a lone table tucked in the back corner near one of the glorious heaters, sat Logan. He looked sinfully delicious in a pair of dark jeans and a brick-red sweater, his fingers wrapped around a small glass tumbler of amber liquid that glistened under the lights.
Well, there goes my whole don’t think about sex theory.
He didn’t help matters when he glanced up, spotting me heading his way, and immediately stood to greet me. Damn me to hell, the man was tall as he did the cute little awkward dance of hug or handshake, and I tried not to laugh as I made the decision for him, wrapping my arms around his middle as if we were the oldest and dearest of friends.
Huge mistake.
Because not only did he feel good—all his hard parts against the softer pieces of me—but he smelled good. Like citrus and dark spice and something woodsy. The mere breath of his scent made my heart flutter, heat pooling low in my belly.
I quickly released him, laid my coat over the chair, and took my seat.
“This is a beautiful spot,” he said, sitting across from me. “You know how to pick them.”
“Thank you,” I said before ordering a drink from the waitress who hurried to our table. She barely laid eyes on me, instead electing to take my order while firmly focused on Logan. After ensuring Logan was happy with his drink, twice—to Logan’s obvious discomfort—she rushed off to work on my order.
I crossed one leg over the other, settling into the chair and basking in the warmth from the outdoor heater, wondering why the attention of the waitress had seemed to bother him. Didn’t he have to be used to it by now? The way he looked. Or, perhaps, that was the problem. Maybe too many people noticed his looks instead of the man underneath.
“If you like the décor,” I finally said. “You’re going to lose it for the food.” I tilted my head, a teasing smile on my lips. “That is, if you decide to eat.”
He furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t I eat?”
I gestured to his immaculate body. “I just assumed you were watching your figure,” I teased. “Seeing as you’ve clearly let yourself go.”
A laugh, rich and deep, rumbled from his chest. He shook his head, scooping up his drink and taking a sip. “You’re not wrong,” he said. “I should probably watch what I order, but I can’t resist half the items on this menu.” He gestured to the single piece of parchment listing the season’s meals as he set down his drink.
“Maybe you can not worry about your looks for one night, and indulge a little.”
“You seem to be preoccupied with my looks,” he said, a hint of seriousness underlying his playful tone.
I scrunched my nose, shaking my head. “I’m not,” I said. “Sorry. Don’t get me wrong,” I continued. “You’re cute, but I’m much more interested in other things.”