Playing It Safe(34)

Alex picks up on the second ring.

“Julia,” he says. His voice is deep and lush this early in the morning, and a shiver runs through me remembering his words from yesterday: I’m going to make you come so many times, blah blah blah …

I’ve taken the liberty of just focusing on this piece of his threat because well, honestly, who the hell cares what else he said? It’s not important.

“Julia?” he asks.

“Yes?”

He laughs a delicious low rumble from his chest. Muted, but sexy as hell. “You called me. Is there something you wanted?” he asks.

The question is laced with possibilities. And for once, I’m not going to tuck my tail between my legs and run.

“Yes,” I say, trying to contain the smile threatening the corners of my mouth. “I was wondering if you wanted to get together or something.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Julia?”

“It’s not a date … technically.”

It’s soooo a date.

“It’s not?” he asks, amused. “Then what would you call it?”

“Two friends who obviously are very attracted to each other and—”

“Obviously,” he interrupts. “Go on.”

“As I was saying … two friends who are very attracted to each other and would like to get to know each other better.”

“A date,” he says.

“It’s not a date, Alex.”

“When would you like this not a date but very much so a date to happen?” he asks playfully.

I like playful Alex. Too much. But I don’t want to let that show while on the phone. I’d rather play it cool, safe, and slow. It’s also a bit of a torture trip for both of us, which in the long run makes the chase that much more exciting. I mean, who doesn’t love a good slow burn? I know I do.

“How does tomorrow after work sound for our very much not a date?” I ask. “Fox’s? Say around six o’clock?”

He’s smiling when he answers. “It’s a date. Shall I pick you up at your office?”

“I’ll meet you there.”

“Of course you will because it’s not a date, right?” he asks. “Just two friends who are very attracted to each other and want to get to know each other better?”

“You’re catching on,” I answer.

“I’m a fast learner, Julia,” he says with a light chuckle. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

We say our good-byes, and as soon as I hang up I hear a slow clap coming from my office door. I turn my head to find Lisette leaning against the doorframe with a pleased-as-punch smile plastered across her face.

“Don’t gloat,” I say. “You shouldn’t be eavesdropping.”

“Oh, I’m not gloating. And you left the door wide open for anyone to hear you being all giddy like a schoolgirl on the phone with Alex, so that one’s totally on you.”

“Well go gloat somewhere else then,” I say. “I have work to do.”

She laughs. “Sure thing, boss. Question though—do you need me to be a ‘buffer’ at this not a date but really a date tomorrow night?”

I roll my eyes and swivel my seat to face my computer. “Very funny.”

I can still hear her laughing when she walks away. As my computer begins to power up, the smile I’ve been trying to keep under control breaks free. I did vow to myself that today was going to be better, and so far so good. Hopefully tomorrow it will be even better. At this rate, by the end of the week I may be singing “Zip-a-Dee-Fucking-Doo-Dah!”





CHAPTER TWELVE


What was I thinking?

Me calling Alex for not really a date, when in fact it’s a real date? I must have had a momentary lapse of reason. That or someone slipped a Mickey in my coffee when I wasn’t looking that all of a sudden gave me a pair of really big balls.

I’m a fairly upfront, outgoing, and honest person. I tend to say whatever comes to mind. Sometimes that gets me in a little bit of trouble, but for the most part, it’s a good thing. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Anyway, in all my years of being on the dating scene, I’ve never once asked anyone out on a date. I know it’s kind of a surprise to hear, but it’s true.

I’ve always been the one to be asked out on a date, not the other way around. I think because I’ve been programmed to believe that a woman should wait for a man to come to her. And that’s a great way of looking at it. Nothing wrong whatsoever with it. It’s laced with good intentions from both parties of the old-school romantic variety.

And maybe that’s one of my problems, along with the other issues that have been dusted up recently. I’m sitting here waiting around for some miracle of a man to step out of the shadows and sweep me off my Jimmy Choos instead of the other way around. Why can’t I be the pursuer for a change?

Oh, gee, that’s right. I almost forgot. It’s because it makes me feel like an idiot with a side of nervous wreck.

Like I do right now, for instance.

“Too late to turn back now,” I say out loud to myself as I turn into Fox’s. I canvass the parking lot and spot Alex’s cherry-red BMW already there. Dammit! There goes my idea of arriving before him and having home field advantage.