TRICIA: Not really. I’m happy with anything I don’t have to make myself.
MATT: Italian? D’Angelo’s?
TRICIA: It’s a date!
Yes, yes, it is.
If Jared thought my grin earlier was suspiciously happy, he would label me downright loony if he could see me now. My mind is filled with visions of a romantic candlelit dinner with Tricia. Wine, flowers, deep and meaningful conversation, staring endlessly into her bright blue eyes and basking in her warm smiles.
Call me a hopeless romantic, but I cannot wait to wine and dine her and show her exactly how captivated by her I am.
CHAPTER FIVE
TRICIA
No! No! No!
Panicking, I shove the sodden, heavy mass of my hair out of my face, knowing I probably look like a drowned rat and praying I don’t, while racing from the far corner of the parking lot to the entrance of D’Angelo’s. I’m over thirty minutes late for my date with Matt and my heart pounds with the fear that I completely blew this.
Wrenching the heavy door open, I barrel in, colliding with a solid mass.
Gasping, I fight to stay on my feet, large hands locking onto my arms, helping to keep me upright.
“I’m so sorry,” I stutter, shaking the hair out of my face again and sending droplets of water flying while I chance a glance up at the poor person I almost ran over.
Matt’s brown eyes meet mine. Except they lack the warmth I associate with him.
I rest my hands on his chest, staring up into his solemn face. “Matt, I’m so sorry.”
His lips pinch tight, his chest rising slightly, his hands covering mine for a moment before he pulls my fingers away, holding them gently in his. “It’s fine, Tricia. I understand,” he mumbles.
His words ease some of my tension and I blow out a deep breath before I realize he was on his way out when I ran into him. “Were you leaving? Could we go get a table and still have dinner?”
“I gave our table up. There are people waiting.”
“Oh.” Guilt swamps me. “Want to hit another place? My treat,” I offer, hoping to salvage the evening.
Another couple enters the restaurant and Matt steers me out the door before dropping my hands. Thankfully, the rain has stopped, though puddles dot the parking lot, glistening in the faint light from the overhead lights.
“No, you don’t have to do that.” His eyes bore into mine for a moment. “I’m sorry if I pressured you into this. You don’t have to have a pity meal with me.”
My lips part and I can only stare numbly at him. “Pity?” I stammer out when I can finally speak, my head swimming, trying to wrap around how in the world he thinks I would feel sorry for him. “Why would I pity you?”
He runs a brisk hand through that mop of long hair on his head, the parking lot lights catching glints of silver in the dark mass. “I’m older and you’re a beautiful young woman. I’m sure it happens all the time, clients developing crushes on you and asking you out. You probably felt sorry for me, so agreed just to get me out the door. I deeply regret any discomfort I caused you.”
Listening to him, I want to laugh and shake him all at once. I’m seriously confused how such an attractive man could, for one minute, believe any woman would go out with him out of a sense of obligation or pity. Number one, he’s a major catch. I can almost see my mother jumping in glee if I brought Dr. Smyth home. And two, most women aren’t that nice. There’s no such thing as a pity date.
“Matt! What I feel for you is most definitely not pity.” I step closer to him, loving how he’s just the perfect amount taller than me. He’s tall enough to make me feel all delicate and petite, but not basketball player tall that forces me to crane my head to look into his face.
“I’m attracted to you,” I say, loving how his eyes widen with a look of awe. Pressing even closer to him, I reach up and skim my fingers along his jaw, his beard soft against my skin. “I like you. I’m glad you kissed me and asked me out today because I was far too chicken to do it.”
His head tilts down, the warmth returning to his beautiful eyes.
“What I’m saying is what I feel for you is the furthest thing from pity.”
He doesn’t ask me this time. This time his mouth captures mine with only the flickering heat in his gaze as my warning. His tongue sweeps between my eagerly parted lips. Swiftly, I meet it, my tongue gliding and twining around his. Desire rides me hard as we gasp and lick into each other’s mouths. The taste of him is intoxicating, a blend of minty mouthwash and something clean, fresh, and wholly his.
My skin is flushed and the light jacket I’m wearing, though wet, feels far too hot. I want to peel my clothes off and snuggle against Matt’s big body. The thought of his chest hair against my breasts causes a surge of want to grip me. My nipples bead tightly while my core pulses in greedy anticipation of the thick erection he was spotting earlier at the clinic.