“The elderly and the terminally ill,” he cuts in. “Yeah, I helped cater it a few years ago when they had it at The Met. It looked like a good time. I’d love to go…assuming my boss lets me out of training on Friday in time to get pretty.”
A smile bursts across my face. “Yeah. I think that can be arranged.”
“Cool,” he says. “Then I’m game.”
“Good,” I say, now grinning so hard my jaw aches a little. “It’s a date, then.”
He arches a brow. “Is it? So you aren’t just asking me to go as a business associate?”
Pulse pumping faster and my smile fading, I shake my head. “No, I’m not. Is that…okay?”
“Is it okay that you’ve changed your mind about dating me, even after I nearly killed you this morning?” He laughs softly as he adds, “Yeah. That’s okay. It’s pretty amazing, in fact.”
“You didn’t almost kill me. That was totally my fault.” I bite my bottom lip to keep from grinning like an idiot again, but I can’t help myself. The smile pops through as I add, “I had such a good time with you the other night. And after meeting your friend today, I just…” I shrug. “She made me think I should trust my gut.”
“And your gut wants to take me to a super fancy fundraiser and introduce me to your best friend?”
My eyes widen. “Um, yeah. Though, when you put it that way, it sounds a little unhinged.”
He brushes a hair from my forehead in a way that makes my nervous system light up like the Times Square ball on New Year’s Eve. “It’s not unhinged. It’s awesome. I want to meet your best friend. And I want you to meet the rest of mine. I have two more. Maybe you can come over next week after training for dinner and board games? We might as well take advantage of the fact that we’re not working until midnight for a while, right?”
I nod. “Yeah, sure. That would be great. Assuming you still want to see me off the clock after Friday night, and I can get the nanny to stay late.”
“Or you could bring your daughter,” he says, sending a rush of cool air swirling into my lust-fogged thoughts. “I make a mean grilled cheese or homemade chicken fingers. Whatever kid-friendly thing she likes.”
I shake my head as I take a step back. “No, I don’t think so. I mean, that’s very sweet, but I’ve never introduced Crissy to someone I’ve dated, and I don’t see that happening anytime soon. It would have to be really serious. I don’t want to confuse her or have her get attached to someone who’s going to end up breezing out of our lives as quickly as he breezed in.”
I brace myself for his response—will he be offended? Irritated? Decide I’m an uptight, overprotective helicopter parent who’s not nearly cool enough to hang out with him and his twentysomething friends?
But he just smiles and nods. “Of course. I totally get it. My mom was the same way. I didn’t meet her boyfriend until they’d been dating nearly a year, and I was twenty-two when they started hooking up. I just wanted to offer, in case that was easier for you.”
“Your mom met someone?” My next breath comes easier. “That’s great. All my older friends say the dating pool is even worse in your fifties. Their stories are so nightmarish I’ve decided that if I don’t find someone by then, I’ll give up and spare myself the torture.”
“Well, my mom had me young, so she’s only forty-four,” he says with a laugh. “But yeah, it’s pretty rough out there for the middle-aged set. But it’s rough for everyone, I think. Especially in the city. People are so focused on their careers, they shut down the possibility of something serious before it even gets started. Which sucks. Career success is great, but not nearly as much fun without someone to share it with.”
“You’re probably right,” I say numbly. “But I’m still reeling from the fact that your mom is only ten years older than I am. Is she going to hire a hit man to take me out for messing around with her baby boy?”
His smile takes on a wicked twist. “Doubtful. We’d have to actually mess around first. And my mom doesn’t know any hit men.” He shrugs, making the fabric of his tight navy sweater strain deliciously across his shoulders. “Not anymore, anyway. Our family got out of the mob life a few generations back.”
I’m pretty sure my eyes are saucers as I squeak, “Really?”
“No, not really,” he says with a laugh. “Not everyone in Jersey is connected to the mob. Though, now that I think about it, this restaurant used to be. When Pierre bought the place in the nineties, the previous owner was still getting linens from the most notorious cartel in the city. He had to pay a severance fee to switch companies without getting the shit beat out of him on his way to his apartment. And turn a blind eye to the mob guy who sold the managers their cocaine until the police finally caught up with them and shut it all down.”