Four Years Later (One Week Girlfriend #4)(34)

“Yeah. I am.” My schedule is going straight to hell within the next few days. I’ll be back at work, back at practice, and back in action. I won’t have time for girls. For Chelsea.

Meaning I shouldn’t string her along and get her hopes up. But hell, sitting here, breathing in her scent, seeing her pretty face tell me everything she’s feeling and thinking, I know I have to do this. I want to do this.

I want to be with her. Even if it’s only for tonight, for a few hours. We don’t have to do anything. I have zero expectations. She’s not the type of girl who’ll put out. She has more respect for herself than that. I respect her, too.

But nothing says I can’t kiss her. I’m going to try my damnedest to taste those soft, pink lips of hers before the night is through. That’s a f**king promise.

“All right,” she says, her voice so soft I almost don’t hear her. “I’ll go out with you tonight.”

Relief floods me, and it takes everything within me not to reach out and tug her into my lap. “Want to go out to dinner?”

“Okay.”

“A movie?”

She shrugs. “Not really. I can hardly sit still through them.” When I don’t say anything she makes a funny little face. “I don’t like wasting time.”

“So going to a movie with me is wasting time?” I’m almost offended.

“Yes, when I could be spending those two-plus hours talking to you instead.” She smiles dreamily and f**k, that’s it. I’m done for.

“Hey, Chels?”

“Yes?”

“What you’re wearing right now? Wear it tonight.” Reaching out, I give in to my urge and draw my finger across her shoulder, trace the lacy bra strap. Her skin is so f**king soft. I wonder if she’s that soft all over. “I like it. A lot.”

A shiver moves through her. I feel it beneath my finger, and that little hint that my touch affects her kick-starts my heart. Makes it pump wildly in my chest.

Damn. I have got it so bad for this girl it’s scary.

Chelsea

“You’re going on a date,” Kari says, her voice flat, her expression full of utter disbelief.

“Yes. I am.” I tug a brush through my bone-straight hair, then toss it onto the counter, where it lands with a loud clatter. “And I totally hate my hair.”

“Why? It’s so pretty. Such a rich color and so thick.” Kari stands just behind me, that stunned, I-can’t-believe-you’re-going-out-with-someone look still on her face. “So you wear this sexy little sweater, show off some skin, and now you’re going on a date? With whom?”

I smile, wishing I could keep my secret to myself for as long as possible, but I know Kari is going to keep at me incessantly until I have no choice but to confess. She could convince just about anyone to reveal all their secrets. She should go work for the CIA or something, she’s that good. “It had nothing to do with the sweater.”

Okay, it probably did, though I don’t necessarily want to give the sweater that much credit in Owen asking me out on a date. Yeah, he liked it. And I liked it when he traced my bra strap, his finger moving beneath the lace to actually touch my skin.

I’d wanted to die, all over a too brief touch that had somehow set fire to my skin. I can still feel his finger on my shoulder, and it happened over an hour ago.

Which means I need to get a move on, because Owen will be here soon to pick me up for our date.

I’m so excited, I feel like I’m going to burst.

“Don’t act all mysterious, you little bitch.” Kari starts to laugh when I shoot her a dirty look. She loves getting a rise out of me, too. “Tell me who you’re going out with. And please don’t say it’s Tad.”

Grimacing, I shake my head. “No way. I haven’t seen him since that night at The District.”

“Lucky you! I’ve seen him a few times when I’ve been with Brad. He’s just as moody as ever,” Kari mutters.

I don’t even bother asking her for any more details. I really don’t care. The very last person I want to talk about is stupid, mean Tad. “Will you curl my hair for me, Kari? I want it to look pretty.”

“I told you, it already looks pretty,” she says as she moves around me so she can grab the curling iron that’s sitting on the counter, plug it in, and flick the switch on. “Stop holding out, Chelsea. I need to know who this mystery date is with.”

“You probably don’t know him.”

“You’re probably right.”

I give her a look in the mirror. “Don’t be mean.” I bet she thinks my date is a big, studious loser like me.

“I’m not. Just stating fact.” She shrugs, then grabs the brush I threw onto the counter and starts running it through my hair. “You sure you want me to curl it?”

“Yes.” Pressing my lips together, I grip the edge of the bathroom counter and count to three before I start my confession. “He’s one of the students I tutor.”

“Ooh, scandalous, babe! I thought you swore some oath or something. Like you had to sign in blood that you wouldn’t date your students.”

“Nothing like that.” It’s definitely frowned upon, though. Not that I’ll tell anyone beyond Kari that I’m going on a date with Owen. I mean, who else would care? “He’s a football player.”