The Ex by Freida McFadden(32)

“I have to be honest,” Dean says. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that day.”

I laugh despite myself. “Well, I’m sure you’ll get over it.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“I am.”

“No.” He shakes his head sadly. “I think you should take pity on me. Let me take you out to dinner.”

“I, uh…” I look down at my hands. “I’m sorry.”

He winces. “All right. I had to try, right?”

He’s staring directly into my eyes. His eyes are so dark and intense. In spite of the fact that I don’t want to go out with him, I respect his perseverance.

“How about peanuts?” he says.

I blink at him. “Peanuts?”

He jerks his head at the cart a few feet away from us that’s roasting up some peanuts. “Let me buy you some peanuts. Not dinner—just peanuts.”

I hesitate. They do smell really good. But they never taste quite as good as they smell.

“Come on.” He seizes on my hesitation. “It’s not a big deal. It’s literally just peanuts.”

“Okay,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“Yeah?” He looks surprised I agreed. “Well, great. Let me get them before you change your mind.”

So he buys one large greasy bag of peanuts, then we sit down on the steps of a nearby building to share them. The step feels very cold when I first settle down, but the peanuts are warm when I reach my hand into the bag.

“See?” Dean says. “Isn’t this great?”

“It’s not so bad,” I admit.

I reach into the bag to take more peanuts, and this time Dean’s hand brushes against mine. I get a little tingle that goes through me, and when I raise my eyes, he’s grinning at me. He’s admittedly very cute.

“How are the peanuts, Miss Loren?” he says.

“Good,” I manage.

“I don’t think there’s anything better than street peanuts,” he says.

“What about street pretzels?”

“Nah, street peanuts win. Street pretzels are too salty.”

“I don’t think they’re too salty.”

He laughs. “Really? You don’t?”

“Not at all. They’re the perfect amount of salty.”

“Geez, you have terrible taste then. I thought you’re supposed to be some kind of great chef.”

My head jerks up. “What? Who told you that?”

The smile vanishes from Dean’s face. “Uh…”

I wipe the remains of the peanut dust on my slacks. “I’m going to go.”

“No, wait!” He reaches out and puts his hand on my arm. “I’m sorry. Please don’t go. I’ll explain.”

The irritation I’m feeling is outweighed by my desire to hear this whole story. So I stay sitting on the steps and focus my eyes on him. “Fine. Explain.”

“After I saw you at the park the other day, I told Joel I met this great girl.” He tugs at his collar, giving me another glimpse of his tie. “And he saw you standing there and… well, he told me who you are.”

Oh God. I can’t even imagine what Joel must have said about me.

“He said good things,” Dean says quickly. “He said you were great, but just… not right for him. But he told me where you work, and he said I should…”

I suck in a breath. “So this wasn’t a coincidental meeting?”

He ducks his head down. “No. It wasn’t. I’ve been waiting here for like half-an-hour, hoping to see you.”

“So basically, you decided to stalk me, lie to me, and trick me into having dinner with you?”

He smiles sheepishly. “When you say it that way, it sounds really bad.” He sighs. “Look, I just really wanted to see you again. Is that so awful? I was going to tell you the truth over dinner. Then we were going to laugh about it.”

I let out a sigh of my own. It’s hard to throw stones at Dean for plotting to meet me here. “I’m sorry,” I finally say, “you seem like a nice enough guy, but… I’m going through a lot right now. It’s… it’s not a good time in my life. I’m kind of a mess right now, to be honest.”

Dean’s brow furrows. He’s quiet for a moment, just looking at me. “I could make you forget him.”

I clear my throat. “What?”

“If you gave me a chance,” he says. “I could make you forget all about Joel. Don’t get me wrong—he’s a great guy. But he’s wrong for a woman like you. He couldn’t have made you happy.” His dark eyes stare into mine. “I could. Give me one hour and I’ll have you saying, ‘Joel who?’”

I snort. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really.”

I don’t know what to say to that. But as Dean stares into my eyes, a tiny part of me believes him.

“Listen.” He reaches into his back pocket and yanks out his wallet. He pulls out a little white rectangle, and scribbles something on it with a pen from his coat. “Here’s my card, and I wrote my cell number on the back. I promise I won’t stalk you anymore, if you promise you won’t throw this away in the nearest trash can.”