Page 64 of Fire in You

“I didn’t say that.”

“Oh hell yes, yes you did. I was sober. I remember what you said.” Those midnight eyes met mine. “I remember everything you said and did.”

Heat exploded across my cheeks. “Well, congratulations.”

“Where is he taking you?”

“I guess to the steakhouse,” I said dismissively. “He wanted to go somewhere nice.”

Brock’s full lips pursed. “You’re really going out with him on Saturday?”

“Yes.” I glanced at my computer. “So, is there anything else you need?”

His gaze hardened and a look of almost disbelief settled into his face. “You’re really going to do this?”

“Do what?”

“Is this how it’s going to be?”

I held his stare. “I don’t understand what you mean by that question or the one before it.”

Pushing off my desk, he straightened to his full height. “Oh, I think you do.” And then with that, he pivoted around and stalked out of my office.

And I would barely see him over the rest of the week.

* * *

Saturday evening, I stood in front of the mirror attached to the inside of my closet door. I hadn’t ended up buying a new dress. Instead, I dug one out that I’d bought when I’d been with Ben. It was this simple, but pretty black dress I’d planned on wearing to our anniversary dinner.

A dinner he hadn’t showed up for.

He’d claimed that he’d stayed behind at work and lost track of time, but looking back, there’d probably been a good chance he was just having drinks with some other chick.

I’d tried not to linger on that relationship other than using it as a wakeup call—a rather painful and oftentimes embarrassing one. I didn’t think about Ben a lot, but wearing the dress that had been meant for our anniversary, I couldn’t help but wonder what he was up to now.

And then realized I honestly didn’t care.

The dress was a little tighter than I remembered around my breasts, which were showcased in the heart-shaped neckline. The sleeves were quarter-length, and I liked that, because I’d never been a fan of my upper arms. Ever. The dress followed the curve of my hips and ended just above the thighs.

It had been a long time since I’d worn a dress.

It had been an even longer time since I wore atightdress.

But I was doing it tonight and I thought I looked pretty amazing. Maybe even hot. Like h-a-w-t hot. My hair was down, parted to my left, and fell in cascading waves. My eyeliner was on point and the matte red lipstick promised to stay on for the next hundred years.

I felt good. Great, even.

Stepping away from the mirror, I walked into my bedroom. The only problem with tonight was that when I thought about my date . . . I didn’t feelanything. No nervousness. No anxiety. Definitely not even a drop of anticipation. It was like I was getting ready to go to the grocery store while looking like the bomb diggity.

And that was just lame, really lame of me.

But if I thought about those early, dark moments with Brock, my stomach fluttered like a nest of birds taking flight, and that was wrong, really wrong.

Like so wrong I needed to bang my head on the wall.

I wasn’t giving Grady a chance. I knew this as I slipped a plain gold bracelet on. I’d even thought that he hadn’t been interested and was just coming with excuses, but he obviously had been. Tonight would be different, because I would be a hundred percent focused on him, and if he tried to kiss me, I would let him.

And it wouldn’t be a drunken kiss in the middle of the night either.

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