The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(13)

“I’m not bossy.”

“You are right now.”

“No, I’m not.” He laughs, the sound rich and comfortable.

“Okay, sweetheart. You’re not bossy.” He removes his jacket, setting it on the back of the chair before sitting down. “So, the appointment you missed?”

“A date.”

“And you’re a…”

“A matchmaker.”

“Got it.” He settles in his seat and orders a drink from Sara before smiling at me again. This… he’s entertained by this.

“I think this is a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“Because of yesterday… I was…” I’m stuck on my words, looking for him to fill the gaps, but he just stares at me, an eyebrow raised and waiting. “I was rude,” I say, a near whisper.

“You were frantic and stressed out. Totally reasonable. I don’t hold it against you.”

“But I acted like you were a mechanic.”

“I am a mechanic.”

“No, you’re not.” He scoffs with a laugh.

“Yes, I am.”

“But you don’t dress like a mechanic.” I can feel my brows furrowed in confusion, and I should smooth them out like my mom always reminds me to so I don’t get wrinkles, but I’m so lost. I feel like I’m watching season three of a show without any insight into the first two seasons.

“My sisters bought me these clothes.”

“They’re… nice.” Another handsome laugh.

“Yeah. I can dress up with the best of them.” That much is clear as broad shoulders fill out the grey sweater that’s just tight enough to outline his well-defined chest, which is absolutely mouth-watering. This man is a dream.

“I see that.” The words fall from my mouth and my face burns with warmth. What is happening to me?! But the deep laugh he lets out, tipping his chin back with a scarred hand on his stomach, makes the embarrassment almost worth it. When he finally comes down from his laugh, he looks at me with a smile on his lips.

“Okay, so before I get too far into this, can you tell me what this is all about? Like how it works? I get I’m dating you, but not… really.” My eyebrows move together in confusion.

“Didn’t my assistant tell you the process?” A hand moves through his hair, the hand rough and worn with a small gash on the side of his pinky finger. My mind immediately wants to ask where it came from, wants to know what his hands feel like, if they’re calloused, and how they’d feel on my— “—my sister.” He stops talking, but it’s clear when I’m staring at him with my mouth agape I missed a good chunk of what he just said.

Shit. What is wrong with me? This man has me so frazzled, which is not like me. Not at all. My job is to be attentive, read body language, learn everything there is to know about the person sitting across from me. Not… daydream about them.

“I’m sorry, I missed that. I was… distracted.” My eyes flit to his lifted arm, his hand now behind his neck, and I note his nervous tic is a hand through his hair and settling on his neck. He revealed something. Something I should have caught. I begin to chastise myself but almost get distracted again when my eyes land on his wide bicep, stretching the fabric of his sweater in a way I don’t often see on my dates.

The men I meet with are typically well-dressed, financially stable, with well-paying jobs. They keep on top of their appearance with clean-shaven faces, perfectly styled hair, and regular visits to the gym. Luke is sporting a five o’clock shadow, and he seems as comfortable in the expensive, familiar brands he’s wearing as he did in his coverall last night. His body, clearly built and lean, isn’t crafted in a gym. Last night, he lifted those tires like they were for a Barbie car, not a full-sized sedan.

He is an enigma, and I cannot decode him.

I’ve never been more uneasy on a date in seven years.

“I said, it wasn’t me who set this up. It was my sister.” My eyebrows push together once more before I remind myself that it will only make wrinkles my family will point out. I smooth my features.

“Your sister?”

“Yeah. She, uh. She has a friend of a friend who used your services? My sisters are tired of me being single. I’m the only one left. Both sisters are married off. They think I need someone.”

“Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Need someone?” He pauses for a moment, contemplating the idea. This typically would be a check in the cons column because any man who sits across from me should say yes, they need someone, they’re ready for someone. But Luke doesn’t seem the impulsive type. Instead, he seems the type to carefully craft an answer, not because he wants to say what you want to hear, but because he wants to get his words out without botching his true feelings.

“Yes, and no.” I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, I don’t need someone to be happy. I’m happy with my life now. Good family, good friends. Like my job.”

“Like helping damsels on the side of the road?” He laughs, and the sound flows through me.

“Yeah, that.” I smile at him, and what is happening to me? “But do I sometimes wish I had someone to go to dinner with? Does it suck being the only one at the family Christmas that shows up alone?” There’s a pause, and this I’ve seen before. The pause that a man uses to decide if he wants to share more or stop. I’m impressed when he continues, opening up to vulnerability. “Does it scare me seeing everyone I know pair up and being left behind? Yeah. So no, I don’t need someone, but I’d like one.”