But the way he looked at me as if he wanted to uncover all my secrets and tell me all his . . . The way his hand felt as he’d helped me out of the car—as if he could protect me from anything. And the way he said my name like he’d never heard anything quite so exotic. It was all too overwhelming. Despite the logical side of my brain telling me to run far away, the thumping in my chest and the pulsing ache somewhere far below it overruled my head. Like it or not, I wanted him to convince me to go to dinner with him.
“Challenge accepted,” he said, before turning to disappear into the crowd.
Seven
Dexter
Hollie Lumen. She’d finally confessed her last name. It had only taken two days and God knows how many messages. She was a challenge indeed.
“Have you fallen victim to Fortnite?” Beck asked me as I set his water in front of him.
“What are you talking about?” I replied and slid my phone onto the table and went back to the bar for my whiskey.
“You’ve looked at your phone about ninety times since I said hello three minutes ago,” he said as I pulled out the stool and took a seat. Beck and I were almost always the first to arrive at our weekly mates’ night. It gave us a chance to catch up before everyone else arrived.
“No, I haven’t.” I had been kind of caught up with my phone in the last few days, but Hollie was funny. I looked forward to her messages.
“Yeah, you really have. Is work okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. How’s Stella?” I knew mentioning the love of his life would be the best way to throw him off the scent of the phone obsession I didn’t have.
“Oh, you know. She blows my mind every day.”
“You know if you say things like that, it’s almost mandatory that I have to make an oral sex joke.”
“Why? Because you’re fifteen? Or you’ve turned into Tristan?”
“You just make it so bloody easy. It’s ridiculous.” He’d left the door open, true, but we both knew Stella was the best thing that had ever happened to Beck. I was pleased for him. I knew what it was to find the love of your life. I’d been there. And Beck had done better than me. He’d hung on to his and was living their happily ever after.
“You need a woman who blows your mind,” he said. “That’s your problem. It’s all about the sex for you, but there’s more to a relationship.”
“Sorry, did you just become my mother?” Ever since Beck had finally sorted it out with Stella, he’d become the world’s biggest proponent of serious relationships. I got it. But he needed to understand—I wasn’t looking for Mrs. Daniels. That ship had sailed.
“You talked sex with your mother? I just want to see you happy.”
That’s why I couldn’t even stay mildly irritated at Beck. All he wanted was for all of us to be as happy as he was. Judging by the grin on his face, that was pretty bloody happy.
“So, what’s going on?” he asked. “You stressed about the competition?”
“No, that’s not it,” I replied. I had nothing to hide. And maybe if I threw him a bone, he’d get off my case. “I’ve actually been messaging a woman I want to take to dinner. She’s funny. And . . . pretty.” I couldn’t help but grin like a ten-year-old who had been given a United season ticket as I thought about her.
“This is news. You never talk about women.”
“I’m not talking about her. I’m just explaining—”
“I’m not complaining. Who is she? Do we get to meet her? I have to tell Stella.”
He grabbed his phone from where it lay face down on the table. Before he could start to gossip with Stella, I pulled it from his grasp. “None of your business and no. We’ve not even been on a date yet. Put a hold on that hat.”
“Wait, what do you mean you’ve not even been on a date? You lost your bollocks and haven’t asked her?”
“When I lose my bollocks, you can take an ad out in the Times.”
“So why haven’t you been on a date?” he asked.
It was a good question. We had chemistry. And I didn’t normally have trouble getting a woman to have dinner with me. But there was something about Hollie that made her scared to say yes. That only made me more intrigued about what lay beneath her beautiful surface—what had made her so scared. I wanted to take her to dinner more than ever. “I’m not sure.”
“So, you’ve asked her?”
“Yeah. She said no and then confessed that she’d wanted to say yes. We’re messaging back and forth.” I’d thought about calling her but I didn’t want to spook her. I couldn’t tell Beck that, because Beck would ask me why I cared—and I wouldn’t have an answer. I also wouldn’t have an answer if he asked me why I was checking my phone incessantly in case she messaged me back. I wouldn’t have an answer if he asked me why my stomach flipped whenever a message finally came through.