“Nothing fancy, don’t worry about it,” he said, looking me up and down. “It looks like you know how to handle that anyway.”

My face grew hot again. “Thank you.”

He leaned close to me, and I felt his breath on my neck and shuddered, bracing for an attempted kiss. “Just be ready at eight. You can do that, right?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t think I’m going to try to kiss you here, do you? You’re underestimating me, Kristen.” He leaned back into his chair, grazing my leg with his fingers as he did. His touch sent a jolt through my body, making my breath hitch.

“I can behave,” he finished.

I looked at him, breathing in short bursts. I hadn’t thought it was possible to look intensely calm before that moment.

“I’ll get you another drink.”

As he went into the suite he passed Riley on her way out. She bounced down next to me. “So that looks like it went well.”

I snorted. “I guess.”

“So when’s your date?”

I had to work on being less obvious. “Tomorrow.”

“Good. If you said there wasn’t a date I was going to smack you.”

I turned to her. “You do know I’m still allowed to make my own decisions, right?”

Riley cocked her head. “Sometimes you need a little push to make the right one. Where’s he taking you?”

“It’s a surprise. He wants me to be ready in the morning.”

Riley crinkled her nose. “Doesn’t sound like the usual, whatever it is. Something tells me he’s not the kind of guy to invite a girl to walk around the park.”

“No, definitely not.”

“It’s one date. Worst case scenario, you probably get to do something exotic and fun with a guy who is stunning eye candy.”

I swallowed. “Worst case I lose my job.”

She laughed. “If bad boys got caught easily, they wouldn’t still be bad boys. You’ll be fine.”

The rest of the game passed in an increasingly tipsy blur. I spent the evening waiting for Vincent to touch me again from where he sat behind me—my shoulder, my neck, anything—but he never did.

As we left the arena, the only thing on my mind was the next morning. What could he possibly have planned that required starting so early?

Chapter Seven

My alarm clock buzzed at 7:00 a.m. I woke up face down on my pillow and promptly chided myself for taking full advantage of the complimentary bar in the suite last night. I drew my comforter over my head, desperate for the extra sleep, when I realized I was going on a date in an hour. A surge of anxiety pulsed through me and I shot from bed, shedding my clothes on my way to the shower. I turned the water on hot, hoping the heavy steam might relax me, but I couldn’t stop wondering what a surprise date with Vincent Sorenson involved. Rented out museums? Five-star restaurants? Yachts? I had no idea what I was going to wear.

I lathered up a bar of soap, running it across my torso and down my legs—shit, should I shave? I was planning on wearing jeans but I could hear Riley’s voice in my head, berating me for my informal outfit choice; she would insist on a skirt and I would eventually yield. I grabbed my razor and swiped the blade carefully over my legs.

I turned off the shower and grabbed a towel, quickly drying off before rummaging through my closet to find a modest blue skirt and a silken racerback tank top. I threw them on over a matching bra and panties set and walked into the kitchen to find Riley sipping liberally from a cup of coffee and flipping through People.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” I bypassed the coffee, already jittery enough from nerves¸ and poured myself a generous cup of orange juice.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been up for an hour, there was no way I was going to miss this.”

“Well you wouldn’t have missed much, I still don’t know where we’re going.”

She closed her magazine slowly and pushed it away before looking at me in contemplation. “Are you bringing condoms?”

“What?” I asked, the abruptness of the question catching me off guard.

“This,” she said, “is why I got up early. You have to think about these things!”

“No, Riley, I am not bringing condoms. It’s only our first date. A test date really.”

“Well, I commend you. It would take some serious restraint to keep me from tearing the clothes off of a guy like Vincent.”

I rolled my eyes over the rim of my cup. “Are you sure you don’t want to go on this date for me?”

“Come on, I was kidding. I’m just excited for you,” she said. “It’s your first official date in—”

“Don’t remind me,” I interjected, cringing at the thought that it’d been two years since my last relationship and months since I went on anything close to a date.

“You’re ready for it, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Yeah, I think I am,” I said softly, remembering my tryst with Vincent in his office, the way I had practically collapsed into him as he kissed me. I couldn’t remember a time when things had felt so natural.

“Well, the outfit is definitely cute,” Riley said, giving me a quick once-over.

“I thought you’d approve.”

“But I hope you plan on using a comb before you leave.” She laughed and gestured to the knotted curls my hair had dried into.

I glanced at the clock and darted to the bathroom when I realized I only had a few minutes left to get ready before Vincent was supposed to arrive. I grabbed a brush from the sink and tamed my hair into a stylishly messy bun, finishing just as a knock came at the door. I jumped in nervous anticipation and quickly applied a coat of mascara to my eyelashes.

“He’s here!” Riley sang out from the living room, her voice a high trill. She ran into the bathroom and ushered me out, thrusting my purse in my hands. “Have a good time, be safe, and tell me everything.”

“I will, I will,” I reassured her as I opened the front door. She escaped back into her room before Vincent could spot her in her pajamas.

He stood in front of me, six feet of muscled perfection fitted in jeans and a sleek black sports coat. He gave me one of his lopsided smiles and my heart skipped a beat. “Good morning,” I managed, suppressing the bashfulness that had suddenly overwhelmed me.

“You look great,” he said, placing his hand on the small of my back and guiding me out of the apartment building. I could feel his fingers gripping at the fabric of my shirt, the familiar gesture sending a flush of heat to my face.

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