“Okay, fine. I did want to ask you something.” He chews his lip for a second. “Are you still going to move out?”
Now it’s my turn to blink at him. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to me. I only wanted to move out in the first place because I thought that Hayden had returned to his old asshole ways. When I found out why he left me in Omaha and why Roxy was in his condo so late, I realized that Hayden has always been my friend. He just panicked and acted like an idiot. Not like I’ve never done that before.
With that issue out of the way, though, I’m left with my original problem: how to handle my own feelings for him. On that day when Hayden bared all his scars to me, so open and brave, I let my pussy call the shots. Once again, I fell into his bed without knowing or caring what it meant in the long run. But I have to make our relationship crystal clear—to both of us—before we end up tripping and falling on top of each other again. Does he still think of me as a friend with benefits? And would I be happy in that arrangement?
I shake my head. “No, I’m staying here,” I reply. “I already went to the building manager and told him to forget about my termination request. But I do want to know . . . where we stand.”
He takes a deep, slow breath through his nose. “You mean, are we dating?”
“Yes. And are we exclusive?” I study his face for any trace of expression, any hint about what’s going through his mind right now.
After a minute, Hayden nods thoughtfully. “I can do that,” he says in the same tone he agreed to trying yoga, when we first met in June. Barely two months ago—and yet it feels like we’ve known each other for years.
I raise my eyebrows in an urgent stare. “Are you sure? Don’t say yes just to avoid hurting my feelings. I need to know what you really want, not just what you think I want to hear.”
He reaches over the table to take my hands in his. My heart flutters at what I glimpse in his sea-blue eyes. The honesty, the vulnerability, the pure need . . . the love.
“What I want is you,” he replies, before pulling me into a hot, tender kiss.
Chapter Twenty-One
Emery
Leaning into the mirror, I dab on my last swipes of eye shadow, careful not to let any powder fall onto my red satin cocktail dress. I love that I can dress for a five-star restaurant without freezing to death; my first autumn in Los Angeles feels like a Michigan summer. I guess that’s a fair trade for the hellish weather I endured when I first arrived.
Just as I finish my makeup, there’s a knock at the door. I put down my brush and hurry out of the bathroom to answer.
It’s Hayden, right on time and looking absolutely mouthwatering in a tailored gray suit. He gives me a slow, burning glance from head to toe that tells me he likes what he sees. “On second thought, we don’t have to go out tonight. Want to just stay home?”
“You mean stay in bed,” I retort, matching his crooked grin.
“What? I didn’t say that.” He puts on a faux innocent look, but he can’t stop the corners of his mouth from twitching. “You have a dirty mind, Miss Winters.”
I swat his arm gently. “You forgetting something? I’ve passed the bar and been sworn in. Now I’m Miss Emery Winters, Esquire. And nothing can stop me from going out to celebrate.”
“All right, all right . . . your wish is my command. I’ll wait.” He leans in to kiss me on the neck, knowing to avoid my fresh makeup without being told. It’s barely a brush of lips, so soft, almost chaste, but it still gives me a little shiver. His husky murmur catches me off guard. “But I’ll be counting the seconds until I can peel you out of that dress.”
Patience suddenly doesn’t seem like much of a virtue. But I know from experience that anticipation makes things so much sweeter. “Don’t get too excited, horn-dog,” I say, trying to sound stern instead of turned on. “We wouldn’t want to get thrown out of the restaurant.”
“If I’m a dog, then isn’t it my master’s fault if I don’t behave?” Hayden offers his elbow before I can come up with a snappy retort. “Come on, let’s go. Our reservation is in forty-five minutes, and rush hour isn’t over yet.”
“Are you serious?” I glance at the clock. “It’s after eight.”
“It’s also Friday night in downtown LA.” He escorts me downstairs like I’m a princess and opens the door of his BMW for me.
We make good time and arrive ten minutes early. The restaurant is gorgeous with dark wood paneling, crystal chandeliers, white-draped tables with lilies almost as bright as the candles they’re arranged under. After the hostess seats us at a small table for two, I twist around to admire the view until I notice Hayden smiling at me.
“What?” I ask defensively. “It’s a nice place.”
I expect him to tease me—to say something like I thought your head was going to fall off or Were you looking for the tofu? But he simply replies, “You’re beautiful.”
My cheeks heat up with sudden shyness. Love shines from his eyes, so naked and tender that I swallow hard, fighting back happy tears. Before I can figure out how to reply, the waiter chooses that moment to deliver the menus. Hayden orders his customary Scotch, I order an appletini, and the waiter flits away to let us decide on our entrees.
“You know . . . I actually have something else to celebrate,” I say between sips. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you before.”
“More good news? Jeez, leave some for the rest of us.” His grin is bursting with pride. “So? What is it?”
“I’ve been promoted. Well, technically hired, but same diff. Walker, Price, and Pratt made me a junior associate yesterday.”
Hayden blinks at me. Then he stands up, pushes aside the table’s centerpiece, and leans over the table to press a fiery kiss to my mouth, lipstick be damned. My hands flutter at his shoulders, wanting to pull him closer, but too aware of how many people can see us. I finally muster the willpower to push him away when an old couple at a nearby table start clapping.
“Oh my God, sit down.” I bury my burning face in my hands. “They probably think you just proposed or something.”
“Screw them. Let them think whatever they want . . . this is great news, baby.” But he does sit back down when the waiter reappears.
After we’ve given our orders, Hayden picks up where he left off. “So now that you’re a card-carrying lawyer, is that asshole finally going to give you some respect?”
“You mean Mr. Pratt? I doubt it . . . creepers gonna creep,” I say with a shrug. “But I’ve got things under control. Whenever I need to cool his jets, I just casually mention my boyfriend. That works pretty well.”
“Ah, yes. Your overprotective boyfriend who might just punch him so hard, his bad hair plugs fall out.” Hayden rubs his chin. “I wonder if he lives in a building I own . . .”
I giggle despite myself. “Easy there, Rambo. I handled him just fine before we started dating. And if I perform well enough to get a good letter of recommendation, Trina might be able to hook me up at her new job next year. So I don’t need you stirring shit. Okay?”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “Fair enough. Shit will be shaken, not stirred.”
“Ew, gross.” I make a face. “I’m trying to eat here.”
“No, you’re not. You’re drinking that . . . neon-green thing. Christ, just looking at it makes me feel like less of a man.”
Sticking my tongue out at him, I toe off one high heel under the table. He sucks in his breath when I slide my foot up his thigh. “Does this help? I think I feel your masculinity coming back . . .”
“Oh, you are going to get it later,” he growls with a wicked smirk.
Heat boils in my belly as I flash my own faux-sweet smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”
Our veal marsala and eggplant parmesan land in front of us, and we dig in eagerly. I don’t know about Hayden, but I’m starved. I worked through my usual dinner break so I could come home early and primp for our date. For a few minutes, we just enjoy the gourmet Italian cuisine in blissful silence.