Penthouse Prince(38)

Keagan’s brown eyes widen to twice their normal size. “Wow, you, uh, really care a lot about this.”

“Of course I do,” I mumble, pinching off a bite of bread and popping it between my lips. Maybe if I’m chewing, I’ll be able to hold back all the snarky comments I’d like to spew across the table right now. Plus, the sooner the food is gone, the sooner this first date finishes dying its slow, painful death.

“Well, I think that’s really great. I’m hoping to get back into working with planes someday. Maybe I’ll become a pilot or something. But until then, having the summers off is nice, right? Two-month vacation.” He holds up a hand across the table, like I’m supposed to high-five him or something. After a solid ten seconds of me ignoring it, he dejectedly pulls it away.

“I’m working this summer, actually,” I say. “Nannying.”

As soon as the words come out of my mouth, I regret them. The last thing I need is for Keagan to ask any questions about Grier, or worse yet, her father, who has been occupying my thoughts nonstop for this entire date.

I reach for my menu, trying to busy myself with selecting an entree instead of continuing the conversation about my summer employment. But just the word spaghetti reminds me of Lex and our entirely emoji-based conversation.

My heart squeezes at the memory. Can I do a single thing, anything, without him waltzing through my mind?

I swore turning Lex down was the right decision. But now, sitting across the table from my complete dud of a date, I’m not so sure. Keagan is cute enough, smart enough, a decent overall guy, I guess. But being around him . . . I feel nothing. Add in the fact that he doesn’t like kids, and I just can’t see a future with this guy.

I glance up over my menu, catching my date in the middle of the not-so-subtle act of scratching his balls, and I sigh.

Maybe Keagan isn’t the man I’m looking for after all. I need someone nurturing and strong, yet sensitive. Someone who values my work in the classroom. I’m not just looking for any old guy to spend the night with anymore. I’m looking for someone I can build a life with.

I’m looking for a man like . . . Well, like Lexington Dane.

“Uh, hello? Corrie?”

For the second time tonight, I reenter reality with a jolt. A reality where, unfortunately, I zoned out staring across the table at this guy, making a less than savory face.

“Please, it’s Corrigan,” I mutter, burying my face in my menu again.

A wicked smirk tugs at his lips, his brown eyes narrowing in a challenge. “What, you don’t like it, Corrie?”

Good Lord, for a man who doesn’t like kids, he sure acts a lot like one.

I drop the menu, folding my arms over my chest. “No, I don’t. You can’t just give someone a nickname without even knowing them. What if I called you ‘Kegel’? Would you like that?” I smile a little, proud of my own joke.

Unfortunately, Kegel here takes that as permission to press things even further. He props his elbows on the table, leaning in closer than feels comfortable. “I don’t know,” he whispers, sweeping his tongue over his lower lip. “Does that mean you’re thinking about me being between your thighs?”

“Enough.” With a huff, I shove up out of my seat.

I take back everything I thought about him being a half-decent guy. He’s a jerk who deserves to have the rest of this glass of crappy wine thrown in his face. But I’m not going to do that. Not even crappy wine deserves a fate that dire. Instead, I’m just going to get out of here as fast as humanly possible.

“I don’t think this is going to work out.”

With a quick “see you in the fall,” I grab my purse and put these beautiful wedges to work as I hightail it straight to the door. I don’t even bother to look back before click-clacking my way straight out to the car and gunning it home, turning the radio up all the way to drown out my own thoughts.

What an absolute creep. I can’t believe that man is allowed to work with children.

Back at home, I dejectedly remove my shoes, returning them to their rightful place in the back of the closet, then change into my pajamas and wash off my makeup. My new Saturday night plans involve ordering Chinese for delivery and watching TV until I fall asleep on the couch.

But just as I’m pressing ORDER on my kung pao chicken and crab rangoon, a text from Lex pops up on my screen.

Did you make it home safe?

I can’t suppress my smirk as I type out my response. Does he really think he’s being sneaky by asking me that? I know what the real question is, and I’m not afraid to call him out on it.

Are you actually wondering that, or are you just trying to see if my date went into overtime?

Lex’s response comes right away.

Is there an option C, all of the above?

I let out a loud belly laugh. “Well played. Well played.”

I’m safe at home. Thanks for checking.

I set my phone down on my coffee table and reach for the remote, ready to scout out tonight’s binge watch. But before I even get a chance to press the power button, my phone buzzes again with his reply.

Maybe if I had even an ounce of chill, I’d let the text sit and make him wait for a minute or two. But I can’t deny it—I really want to talk to him. And the giddy feeling in my stomach agrees. Unfortunately, when I swipe open his text, he’s looking for details on my evening.