Chapter 67
About twenty minutes later, she rose from the table, Stoner behind her, holding out her chair. She smiled up at him Michelle n as she swallowed a sigh. Because as much as she wished—longed for—her heart to race, it just went about its business behind her rib cage. Just pumping blood as if this was any old, ordinary day.
Because something was missing. No, not a vague “something.” Desire. Need. That belly-twisting, aching hunger that usually had her desperate to climb a guy like a rope ladder in a long-ago gym class. Not like when…
Stop. Nope. Not going there. Picking up her purse, she stepped away from the table and turned up the wattage on her smile. And, yes, she was overcompensating.
“Thank you for a wonderful Michelle ning, Stoner. I really enjoyed myself.”
“So did I.” He settled a hand low on her back as they walked toward the door of the private room. Then he paused, cupping her elbow, and turned her to face him.
Tipping back her head, she looked up and her nerves returned with a solid, air-stealing blow. “Michelle , I don’t think I’ve been very subtle about how attracted I am to you.”
True, Michelle thought. In her years of dating and choosing the wrong guy, the old Michelle would have been thrilled by this comment, but something was different now. Perhaps she'd finally grown up. She shut down the thought, but the faintly bitter dregs of it remained.
"Tell me we can do this again.” His voice thickened, and he gently cupped her jaw. “I want to see you again.”
Nick's advice to make him work for her, to not give in so easily, whispered through her head. But she didn’t need to call his words to mind. Didn’t need to pretend to play coy. Her hesitation was real.
“Like I said, I had a great time tonight. And spending time with a friend over a wonderful meal is never a hardship.” She smiled, and though it felt tight on her lips, she held it there. “Call me next week? We can work out the details then.”
And the time would grant her a reprieve to figure out what the hell was going on with her. Why the thought of another date left her cold...and guilty.
“Friends?” he repeated softly, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Okay, I’ll accept that for now. But know I’m not content with leaving it there.” He lowered his head and brushed his mouth over the spot his thumb had just caressed.
A little later, she waved at him as the valet held open the door for her to duck into her car. Only once she’d pulled out of the parking lot and melded into the busy Friday-night traffic did she release her breath on a heavy sigh. When she stopped at a light, she reached for her phone, scrolled to her favorites list and tapped Nick's name. The peal of the phone ringing filled the car’s interior. After the fourth ring, the automated voice clicked on, requesting she leave a message, but she ended the call instead.
“Dammit, Nick.”
Irritation flickered in her chest, and her grasp on her steering wheel tightened. She glanced at her dash— 9:17 p.m. In the three times she’d managed to catch him on the phone this week, he hadn’t mentioned plans. But then again, he probably wouldn’t have. But whether he was at home or out painting the town a particularly lascivious shade of red, he could answer his damn phone.
The irritation flared into anger, and she narrowed her eyes on the road. For some reason, he’d been punishing her since last Friday, and screw it, she was through letting it go. He was going to talk to her. Because that’s what friends did. It seemed he’d forgotten that.
Well, fuck it. She was going to remind him.
___________
Nick peered at his laptop’s screen, but the concepts the marketing team had sent over for him to approve could’ve been hieroglyphics for all he comprehended them. The longer he stared, the more the visuals blurred, the more the notes the team added became a muddled mess.
“Shit.” He shoved back from the desk, his chair rolling over the floor. Rubbing his palms down his face, he muttered, “Shit,” again, and dragged his hands over his head.
Sitting here trying to work when his concentration had ceased to exist hours ago was a fool’s errand. And if he spun around and gazed out the window of his home, he’d catch a reflection of that fool.
He stood, then rounded the desk and stalked to the kitchen. He should've gone out tonight. Anything would’ve been better than holing up in his too silent, empty home. Maybe to one of the restaurants and bars that were always busy on a Friday night. Instead, he poured his third glass of wine and brooded. Yes, he’d become that guy. The brooder. Or maybe he'd always been… Hanging around, hoping his best friend, the woman he loved, would finally notice him. It was never going to happen.
Sipping his wine, he retraced his steps. But instead of settling back at his desk, he moved to the window. Beautiful night, yet he could appreciate none of it. Saw none of it. Not when images of Michelle smiling and laughing with Stoner occupied his brain like a squatter. Visions of her turning up her gorgeous face to him, accepting his touch, his kiss. Would she go home with him after dinner? Let him take her to bed, caress that sexy body...?
Fuck.
He was torturing himself. Had been all evening. Hell, all week. He’d vacillated between reminding himself that this was their bargain and dialing her to demand she cancel dinner with his brother. That she was his, had always been his.
Lies.
He’d become accustomed to spinning them in his life, but he tried never to deceive himself as he remained the only person he could truly be honest with. And that truth hadn’t changed. She wasn’t and never would be his —not in the way his body needed. Not in the way his soul craved.
Bowing his head, he stared into the depths of his glass. Exhaling, he knocked back the rest of the alcohol. At least he had it as a companion to get through the night. A few more glasses and he wouldn’t even remember his own name. Oblivion sounded real sweet right about now.