The Ex Files (Ocean View #1)(34)

“No. Not even close,” he says the words with a surety I can’t pinpoint, once again the meaning so multifaceted.

“Let’s go to my place. I need to change.” With a spark in his eyes and a smile on my lips, we’re off. Once again, his rough hand twines with mine, fitting perfectly.





“So should I stay out here or…” We’re standing outside the apartment, the moment bringing back memories from the last time and sending a shiver down my spine, ending suspiciously in my core. Looking him up and down, I shake my head.

“No, you can come in. The hall is freezing. Just hang out in the living room.”

“Do you want to text your assistant?” he asks as I open the door, an arm out to usher him in.

“What?”

“Your assistant. Do you want to text her? Tell her I’m coming in for a moment?”

“Why would I do that?” I stare at him in confusion. Why would I tell Gabi he’s here?

“For your safety, sweetheart. A strange man, a date in your apartment? Even for just a moment, that’s a risk.” I stare at him, floored by the thought he would think about that when I didn’t. I should. I usually do, never taking risks that could put me in any kind of danger. The risks any woman dating men knows are always present. But with Luke, it’s just… not on my radar. Still, I nod and type out a text.

Cassie: Gabi—I got something on my dress. Luke is coming in while I change.

Before I even close the door behind Luke and me, my phone vibrates in my hand.

Gabrielle: WHAT?

Gabrielle: WHAAAT?

Gabrielle: IN YOUR APARTMENT?

Gabrielle: YOU’RE STILL ON THE DATE?

Gabrielle: HELLO, I NEED DETAILS.

“Everything okay?” he asks, tipping his chin to my phone.

“Uh... I uh… yeah. You can sit in the kitchen; I’m going to… get changed.” He smiles at me, that dimple making my belly quake as he walks into my kitchen.

Cassie: Gabi, stop. You’re going to make him think I’m crazy.

Gabrielle: You are crazy!

Gabrielle: I need details.

Gabrielle: Has he kissed you again?

Gabrielle: Please tell me he kissed you again.

Cassie: What?!?

I close the door to my bedroom behind me right as my phone rings in my hand. Gabrielle calling. Jesus, this girl.

“Gabi, what?”

“What? Are you kidding me?! I need details!” she shouts in my ear.

“Shut up! You need to be quiet!” I whisper yell into my phone as I sit on my bed.

“Cassie, I need details.”

“About what? He’s a potential match. We are on a date.”

“It’s been seven hours, Cassie.” Shit, she’s right.

“It’s been… enjoyable.”

“What are you doing?”

“He taught me to change a tire.” Silence. I stand and walk to my closet, my new flat boots clunking on the floor. The sound is unfamiliar, contrasting with my heels as I decide what to change into. Nothing seems right.

I try not to overthink how I’m so concerned about what to wear.

“Gabi?” I pull the phone from my face to check she’s still on the line.

“He taught you to change your tire?” She’s going to read into this.

“That first day in a panic, I mentioned it was something I keep meaning to learn. So he… taught me. So I wouldn’t be caught unaware again.”

“The man taught you to change your tire for your safety.”

“I guess.” I move hangers to find my favorite pair of jeans, the ones that hug me perfectly in all the right places, once again trying not to think about why I want to wear a pair of jeans that hug me perfectly.

“Then what?”

“Then we… went to a few places.”

“Where, Cass?” She knows. She knows it was more. Because now I know it was more. This wasn’t my normal second date, a typical second date where I’ll go home after and write up some notes and match him with a woman in my file. I know now when the time comes, the decision will gut me. All the ‘what ifs’ will fly through my mind.

What if it were me?

What if I were brave?

What if he were mine?

No, no, no.

No man is worth that kind of stress, that kind of drama. Trauma.

“Cass?”

“Feds. For mozzarella sticks.” She’s silent. “And then Tia Maria’s for strawberry mango margaritas. And then we drove to the other side of town to get those fries I love. I’m so going to need a trip to the gym after this.”

“The ones with the parmesan and truffle oil?” I’d taken her there once.

“Yes.”

“And then?”

“Dumplings.”

“Let me guess, at Chao’s.” I stay silent. “What did you spill on your shirt?” She has to know.

“A salted—”

“A salted caramel latte.” Silence again. “Cassie.” This time her voice is soft. I might not have let her in much, but she orders my food enough, knows my likes and dislikes enough to know my favorites. To understand what it means for this man to do this, plan this.

“Yeah.”