So, he’d done what any level-headed man would do. He’d used the phone number she’d given to his best friend, pretended to be that friend, and charmed her into agreeing to go out with him. When she’d told “Logan” she was studying tonight, Andrew had a thought she might have come here. He had been studying on his couch at home and decided he could use a change of scenery.
Until this moment, though, he hadn’t considered that she might be excited about the prospect of seeing Logan again. She had given Logan her number, after all. And had been less than thrilled that two weeks had passed before he contacted her… Had she waited in anticipation and been disappointed when he hadn’t called her the next day? According to his sisters, Logan was good-looking, and Andrew knew he never had trouble with women. Could it be that Lauren’s hesitation to go out with Andrew stemmed from her desire to see how it went with Logan first?
Problem was…they were one and the same.
Shit. I’ve really dug myself into a hole now.
Her quiet voice brought him out of his reverie. “I’m sorry.” She gathered her belongings into a pile on the table, and she stood. The black shirt she wore brought out the brightness of her eyes, and the color was a lovely contrast against her pale skin.
Don’t go, he wanted to say.
She took a deep breath and exhaled, her eyes on his. “I just can’t.” She picked up her things and turned to face the door. “I’m sorry.”
Then she was gone.
This is a mistake.
Andrew closed his eyes and leaned his head against the headrest. Scrubbing one hand down his face, he pounded the steering wheel with the other.
He sat in the Republic parking lot. It was two minutes past seven, and because pharmacists had to be some of the most detail-oriented people on the planet, he’d bet his left arm that Lauren was already inside.
Waiting for Logan.
What the fuck had he been thinking?
An hour ago, it had been: I have cancer. Yes, the chances of complete cure are greater than 80 percent for the type and stage I have…but 20 percent don’t get there. What if I’m that 20 percent? This is not a time for fear. It’s a time to take risks. To live life and go after what I want with both hands.
Now, it was: I’m a complete moron.
He wouldn’t stand her up, though, even if the only person it made look bad was Logan. Andrew couldn’t do that to her.
Man up and get in there.
He slid both hands through his hair, straightened the collar of his button-down shirt, and got out of the car. His stomach was in knots.
Once inside, he stopped at the hostess stand.
“Reservation for two for Andr—I mean, Logan Davis.”
The young woman at the podium referenced her book and smiled at him. “Follow me.”
She led him through the maze of tables, and Andrew’s palms began to sweat. He focused on breathing as his eyes darted from table to table until he saw her. In a stroke of luck she was facing away from the door and hadn’t caught sight of him yet.
“I see her. Thank you,” he said to the hostess, hoping that would suffice as a dismissal. He wasn’t sure what kind of reception he was about to get and didn’t particularly want an audience.
His eyes never strayed from Lauren’s beautiful auburn hair, which she wore down in long waves. He took a deep breath and fisted his hands at his side. Approaching on her left, he stopped at the edge of the table.
She was reading a menu but looked up when she sensed his presence. Surprise registered on her face.
“Andrew?” She looked past him, then her eyes returned to his face.
He offered her a cautious smile. “So, funny story…”
Her eyes narrowed.
Andrew wiped his hands across his jeans.
“Logan’s my best friend. I was with him the night you gave him your number.” His pulse raced, but he forged ahead. “I told him who you were, that I knew you, and that it would be weird for me if he called you. I took your number, and for two weeks talked myself out of using it. But I couldn’t do it anymore. I’m the one who texted you yesterday.”