Page 19 of Love You Truly

“I want answers. What happens when word gets out we’re engaged? What if you need my help getting rid of the douche nozzle in the future? Why was he bothering you, anyway?”

I get only a shrug, so I ask the question that suddenly seems most important.

“Why’d you marry such an ass hat in the first place?”

“Long, not-very-interesting story. You’d be better off with the beer.” The plastic smile is back. Does she really think she can dissuade me from getting what I want with that? Now that I’ve glimpsed a peek at a different side of Mallory Rutherford, I’ll be damned if I’m going to settle for what she gives everyone else.

I shake my head. “No way. You asked me for a date. And granted, I’m a bit calendar-challenged and waited a week to respond?—”

“Two weeks,” she corrects.

I hold up a hand, then lower it to where hers are balled into fists. Taking one of them in mine, I straighten out her fingers and see an almost imperceptible drop in her shoulders. “Two weeks. I apologize even more. But this is me saying yes.”

She takes a step backward. “You can’t say yes. The offer isn’t on the table anymore.”

“Mallory, please. I’m sorry. I’m an attention-compromised individual who forgets a text the minute the next new shiny thing beeps on my phone.”

I take a step forward. Now we’re closer than we were a moment ago. She lets out a long exhale. I know I can be frustrating as hell sometimes, but it’s hard to stop when I’m having fun.

“Can you forgive me?”

“No.” Her response is a bit less forceful.

I put a hand over my heart and give her my most earnest, serious expression. “Please?”

She rolls her eyes. “Two weeks, Dash. Two weeks.”

I laugh because I’m enjoying this night far more than I planned and it has everything to do with her. “Fine. Then I’m asking you out instead. Dinner. Tomorrow night or whenever you’re free.”

She shakes her head and takes another step back. I step forward.

She steps back again. I step forward again. “We could do this all the way to the door, and I’ll take you to dinner right now if you want.”

Mallory glares at me. Finally, the fake smile is gone, and I see a glimmer of the woman at the grocery store who’s frustrated as hell. Even though I’m the one frustrating her, I like the look of it. Maybe because I’m the one frustrating her.

“Come on, let me take you to dinner.”

Without asking, she reaches for my beer and takes it from my hand. She drinks several gulps and hands it back. “Thank you. It’s hot in here.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“About dinner.”

“You didn’t ask a question. You just told me to let you take me to dinner. Rude.” But I catch the faintest hint of a smile, a real one this time. It’s barely there, but it’s so much better than the plastic shit she wears for everyone else, and I feel gratified to have earned some honesty.

“Will you have dinner with me Mallory?”

“Will you drop all discussion of my ex and promise that we’re even-Steven if I do?”

“Your odds are infinitely better if you eat food with me.”

Letting out a long, exasperated breath, she shakes her head and mutters, “Needed a fiancé, and I got a debate captain.”

She extends her hand, and we shake. There’s no mistaking it—the zing of electricity at the contact with her skin that tells me this is no ordinary interaction with another person. And even though I just implied we’d be even after one dinner, a big part of me feels certain I won’t stick to my end of the deal.

She’s the most interesting woman I’ve come across in a long time.

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