The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(23)

“Gabrielle, I—”

“He kissed you!” Her hands are on my shoulders, arms stretched over her desk, her face in mine.

“I know, I was there.”

“But that’s against the rules. It’s, like, one of those most important rules.”

“Yeah, well—”

“Should we take him off the list? Should we blacklist him? Should I—”

“Stop, calm down. It wasn’t—it isn’t—”

“He kissed you.”

“I know. And it was….” My mind flits back to it, shockingly clear in my drink-addled memory. That kiss. How do I describe it? I should say it was inappropriate. That it was wrong, that it was unprofessional, that yes, we need to blacklist him. But then I remember how he didn’t kiss me but instead put it in my hands, let me make the move, made sure I was okay with it. So I say, “It was nice.”

“Nice?!” She sits in her seat with a flop, eyes wide.

“Yes. It was nice. At least we know he can… kiss. Well.” Her lips turn up in a smirk. “You know. For any… future clients.” Why does that feel so icky? Why does it churn my belly, those words, the thought of setting him up in the future?

“You’re going on another date?” Once again, her voice is shrill and surprised. “But you kissed him!” I make my way to my desk, dropping my bag on top.

“He kissed me.” Not the full truth…

“Same difference. You’re going on a date with him again?”

“That’s my job.” My back goes to her, digging in my bag before continuing, not wanting to see her reaction to the next bit of info.

“Yeah, but…”

“Saturday.”

“Saturday?” She’s as confused as she should be. I sit at my desk, shaking the mouse to wake the screen.

“My next date.” I busy myself with papers to avoid her eye once again.

“You’re going on a date with him on Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t do weekend dates.”

“I’m making an exception.” Once again, she’s silent. When I finally find it in me to meet her eyes, the shock is still there, but so is something softer, kinder.

“You like him.” There’s a smile playing on her lips.

“What? No. He’s a client. Nothing more.”

“Bullshit.” She says the word, but immediately her eyes widen with shock, like she can’t believe the word left her lips. “Cassie—”

But instead of getting angry or reprimanding her as she seems to expect, I burst out laughing, the sound flowing from me with an ease I haven’t felt in years. And while I try to pretend I’m not sure of the source, of why I feel free, deep down, I know.

I know and it scares the shit out of me.





Twelve





-Luke-





“How was it?”

“Remind me to thank you and Q one day when this shit settles,” I say when my sister Tara calls me on my lunch the day after my date with Cassie. Or, I guess, technically, the same day it ended. I didn’t get home until close to four after I dropped off Cassie, brought her car to the shop to fix her tire, and then dropped it back off at her apartment, which means I’m running on close to two hours of sleep. Still, somehow I feel more energized than I have in years.

It’s the girl.

Knowing she exists, knowing I found her, gives me the energy I need to get through this long day.

My parents met when my dad was a senior in high school and my mom a sophomore. He spotted her while attending his little sister’s, my Aunt Tanya’s, band concert and knew then. Hunted her down, convinced my grandfather to let her date him, and since that day, they haven’t spent more than two days apart. He’s told us since we were kids it was love at first sight; he always knew she would be it for him.

And thirty years later, it’s held strong.

While I don’t necessarily believe love at first sight is a thing, I couldn’t get her out of my mind when I pulled over to help Cassie that night. The entire next day, and when I was getting ready for our date, she was on my mind, making me wonder if going was a good idea. It almost felt like cheating, like I was already betraying my dream woman. But I had no way of finding her, had no clue where she might be, so what could it hurt?

And then the hostess walked me back to the small table in that snooty restaurant where she was sitting in that demure but still somehow sexy as fuck dress, and I knew.

She’s the girl.

And then we talked, and I learned more about her, even if she didn’t want to share, and it was cemented. I learned what she likes and what she doesn’t. Not just from her work, but by reading her, taking in how she reacts, how she treats others around her, how she endures my teasing, the teasing of my friends. She’s the girl. Now my job is to get her to listen to me, to try it out with me. It’s clear to me between us is some unseen obstacle I can’t quite pinpoint, and I know already it’s going to be hard to overcome.

But the work will be worth it...

“Do you think you aced the interview? Think she’ll set you up with someone good?” She sounds shocked, which is hilarious to me considering she’s part of the duo who forced the date on me. Some annoying little brother part of me loves that she feared I’d screw it up completely.