I swallow, searching for words, but my libido hid them all. I need to speak soon.
As in…now.
“Um, your jeans are nice too,” I blurt out.
What kind of drivel was that?Your jeans are nice? Am I fifteen again?
He spreads his fingers across my back, making a statement.Mine.“Glad you like them. Want a drink?”
A drink. Yes! I can do this. I can order something.
Except what do I like to drink? I can’t remember.
Help, universe! Help!
A Shirley Temple? A Coke?
Somewhere in the back of my mind, words form, and I grab them, spitting out, “A piña colada would be nice.”
I cringe. I wouldn’t blame the place for barring me. But the truly mortifying thing isn’t that I had just asked for grandma’s beach cocktail in a place calledGin Joint. It’s the vivid memory of fifteen-year-old me trying to Lolita my way over to him in the kitchen like I did when he offered to make mac and cheese the second time he babysat. Instead, I jokingly asked for a piña colada because it was the only drink I knew of, and somehow, I thought that’d make me sound sexy to him.
But Gabe simply flashes me a charming, confident smile, then says, “A virgin one, Ellie?”
Like he’d said that night, calling me on my bluff.
He’s only going to see me as a little girl. Too young to date.
Is there a start-over button somewhere, please? “Can you excuse me for a second?” I ask, then I scurry to the ladies’ room. After I shut the door, I press my palms to the counter, then talk back to my reflection.
Get your act together. He’s not the off-limits, sexy lawn guy from down the street anymore. He’s an NFL receiver, and you’re a successful actress turned writer. You might have once had a filthy crush on this sweetheart of a man, but you don’t need to act like you’re fifteen and he’s forbidden fruit.
You’re on a date.
I take another breath, reapply my lip gloss, then return to the bar. When I reach Gabe, I give him a smile and a smidge of the truth. “So, I apologize for my evil twin sister who started this date poorly on my behalf. I’ve kicked her to the curb and it’s just me now. To answer your question, I’d love a chardonnay.”
Gabe grins, the cocky lopsided kind of grin that makes my stomach flip, then sets a hand on my back again, heating me up once more. “Too bad about your twin sister. But I like both of you,” he says in a dirty whisper.
Tingles race down my chest. “Good to hear,” I murmur.
With his free hand, he calls the bartender over. “Hey man,” he says with a charming smile. That must be his PR grin, the one he uses for the sports media. “How’s it going? You having a good night?”
“I am,” the guy behind the bar says. “What can I do for you?”
Gabe looks at me, running his hand possessively over my back. “My datewould like a chardonnay, and I’ll take a bourbon.”
I squirm a little bit in my seat, stifling a smile at the claim.
“Coming right up,” the man says, then spins around to grab glasses.
Gabe returns his focus to me. “So the piña colada comment, Ellie. Tell me something,” he says, his tone a little demanding.
“Yes?”
“Do I make you nervous?”
More like nervous and hot.But I’m not ready to bethatcandid.
I do admit, “You did at first, but then I realized you’re a good guy, and I shouldn’t be nervous around you.”