Boyfriend for Hire(20)

Biting my lip, I pull out my phone.

Are you free to meet for coffee this week?

After pressing SEND, I squeeze my eyes closed, then put the phone facedown. I need to focus on work, and staring at my phone won’t make him respond any faster.

After a few minutes, I can’t resist anymore and check my messages. To my surprise, Nic has already responded.

I pull up the text, preparing myself for rejection.

Sure, what day are you free?

I let out a sigh of relief. After exchanging a few texts, we decide to meet Thursday afternoon since my boss will be out of the office for the day, and I want to keep this meeting casual, not like a date. I’m already feeling a huge weight lift off of me.

I should have known he wouldn’t hold a grudge over this. He’s not like most of the other guys I’ve dated who would be pissed at me for giving them blue balls. I smile to myself as I get back to my research, finally ready to dive into my huge workload.

It seems like the more I learn about Nic, the more amazing he is. I just hope it’s not too late to salvage our connection from this past weekend.

? ? ?

Frustrated, I stare into my closet. I’ve tried on about fifteen different outfits, and none of them seem right. I need an outfit that says I’m put together, and not a hot mess. Something that also says I’m interested in more. It might be just a quick mid-afternoon coffee date, but I still want to look good and yet not break the dress code at work. Finally, I settle on casual black skinny jeans and a pink blouse.

It’s ridiculous to be this nervous . . . it’s not like Nic has never seen me before. But I still haven’t officially apologized for last weekend, and I’m not sure how he’ll react. It’s possible that after seeing me as a drunk, crying mess bent over a toilet while I’m dry heaving, he just wants to be friends, but I hope that’s not the case.

As I slip out of the office that afternoon and drive to the café, I plan what I’m going to say. I just want to make sure he knows I usually act like a responsible, trustworthy adult and not a teenage sorority girl. My nerves kick in as I walk in and pick a table. I’m first, so I order a latte and settle into my seat, trying not to stare at the door as I wait. I’m scrolling through social media, hoping to distract myself, when the door opens and Nic walks in.

I have to take a deep breath because it feels like all the air just left the room. Nic looks as gorgeous as ever in jeans and a black T-shirt.

When he sees me, he smiles, and my heart swells. How does he look just as good in casual clothes as he does in a suit?

I stand to give him a quick hug, and when our bodies touch, heat shoots through me and straight between my legs. I swallow, wondering if he can tell what I’m thinking. I didn’t expect to still have such a strong reaction to him, but he looks so good, I’m ready to forget the coffee and go back to my place for a do-over.

“It’s good to see you again,” he says as we pull back from the hug. His lips are turned up in a half smile, and his eyes are alight with playful satisfaction at seeing me.

Relief floods through me, and I grin up at him. “You too,” I manage to say, still smiling.

I try not to stare as he orders at the counter, and I’m not the only one. Women all around the café are looking at him. And who can blame them when he looks like he just walked off the pages of GQ?

He’s barely back at the table when I launch into my apology.

“So, look, about the other night,” I say, fidgeting with my cup. “I’m really sorry. I never, ever get that drunk.”

Nic holds up a hand and smiles. “There’s no need to apologize. Like I said, it happens to everyone.” He takes a sip of his coffee, then smiles warmly at me. “Trust me, I’ve been there more times than I’d like to admit.”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know I don’t usually take guys home and immediately start throwing up.” I grin back at him, so blown away by how open and forgiving he is that I can’t keep the smile off my face. Or maybe it’s just that it’s so nice to see him again.

“It wasn’t my typical experience with a woman,” he says, smirking. “But that’s what I like about you. I never know what to expect.”

We laugh, and I do an internal happy dance. I’m so relieved we can still joke around with each other.

“How’s work going?” I ask, grateful that we can move on to normal conversation. “I know you’re probably really busy, so thanks for meeting me.”

I can’t figure out why he’s dressed in jeans and a T-shirt rather than a suit. I know he works in finance and it’s not yet quitting time on a Thursday. Then I think that maybe his firm is really casual, less stuffy than the norm like ours is. Maybe it’s one of those internet startups run by a twenty-two-year-old or something.

“Work is fine,” he says.

I get the sense again that he doesn’t want to discuss work, so I don’t ask any more questions. He’s being so sweet that my heart is skipping. I’ve never dated a guy like this, someone who is so thoughtful and forgiving all the time. It’s refreshing, and I could definitely get used to it.

“How’s paralegal life?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts. “Have you signed up to take the bar yet?”

“It’s busy,” I say, filling him in on the big new client we signed. “And no bar exam yet. But I’ll get there. Hopefully someday.”