“Seriously. If you were, I would have taken your hint that night and run with it.”
His words remind me of what happened, or almost happened, on his couch.
“And last weekend?” I take another sip, the surreal haze of the last few hours wearing off. This is actually . . . comfortable. Enzo and I sitting in his kitchen, chatting like old friends.
“I’d have learned in the basement of Tris’s new restaurant that you like to go commando.”
Holy shit, this guy.
“So you’re saying you’d have asked me out sooner?”
“Do you honestly think I would have stopped myself back there”—he nods to the couch—“with any other woman?”
Ah, so that’s it.
“I told you. You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves. I’m not a young girl anymore.”
He makes a sound that forces a smile from me. “No kidding.”
I wanted more. Still do. But now I’m kind of glad he stopped. Sitting here with him, drinking coffee at midnight as the fire roars behind us, the New York skyline spread out in front of us . . .
This just might be my new favorite part of the night.
Well, with one exception.
“I had a good time tonight,” I admit.
“So did I.”
Good. So we aren’t playing games.
“And I’m serious, Char. You have no idea how difficult it was for me not to take you on that couch tonight. How hard it will be not to invite you into my bedroom.”
My core clenches a bit.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he adds, “but we should probably take it slow.”
I’m not one hundred percent on board with his plan, but I suppose there’s some merit to it. If only I knew exactly what it meant. But my pride won’t allow me to ask, and to be honest, I’m nervous about what he might say. What he might reveal.
“Sounds good to me,” I lie. “Nice sweatshirt, by the way.”
Cornell, his undergrad alma mater. “Luckily we’re in two different conferences.”
I realize, belatedly, the joke makes it sound like we’ll be together come football season. Which is ridiculous. This is a first date. An epic first date, sure, but nothing more.
Suddenly, Enzo’s reasoning makes sense to me. His desire to take it slow. We aren’t two strangers with no stake in this thing. I might not know Enzo the billionaire, but I know the guy standing in his kitchen in sweats. And there’s little to dislike about this guy. Given our chemistry, and how this date is going, he’s probably right, maddening as it is.
How can I possibly keep myself from falling for him, hard and fast?
Deep inside, I know it’s already too late.
13
Enzo
“Earth to Enzo.”
We’re about to head into a meeting with our marketing team, but I can’t concentrate—something I’ve been struggling with all week.