Page 46 of Wish You Would

“Shut it,” I grumbled, earning a laugh. Shooting a glare her way, I scooted out of the booth and pulled on my own jacket. “Let’s get out of here.”

Outside, we walked side-by-side down the sidewalk toward the bar, where we were both parked. “So,” I said, casting a glance her way. “How’re you feeling? About tomorrow?” Part of me wanted to know that I’d helped, I’d made her feel better. But another part, a bigger part, needed the reminder, the barrier of the date between us.

“Um,” she said, the word coming out in a puff of white air in front of her face. Temps were taking forever to go up this spring. “Better, I think?” She looked over, streetlights catching a flicker of something on her face that I couldn't decipher. “Thank you for doing this. You’re...” She trailed off, facing forward again and looking down, her long hair forming a curtain between us.

I’m what, I wanted to ask. What am I to you?

But instead of voicing the question, of making an ass out of myself, I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets and counted the steps until we got to our cars. I needed to be home. Away from this person who wrung so many feelings from me. This person who made me want to be better. To go back in time and undo all the fucked-up things I did, and come back to this moment reformed. Worthy.

I would never be worthy.

The thought was like a sucker punch to the gut. Forcing breath into my lungs, I forged ahead until we reached the parking lot behind Heathcliff’s.

“Here we are.” I dug my keys out of my bag and juggled them from hand to hand. With a quick glance in Parker’s direction, I backed toward my car. I needed to go. I needed to be alone with these thoughts, these feelings. “Drive safe, okay?”

“Gigi?”

I should have kept walking. I should have opened my car door, gotten in, and driven away. But instead, I turned around. Of course I turned around.

She stood where I left her, beside her car, bathed in moonlight, streetlights, hell, probably heavenly lights, too. Her dark hair blew ever so slightly in the wind, her hands were clasped in front of her. And her eyes. God, her eyes. I could write a million songs about this woman’s eyes and it would not be enough.

“Yeah?” I said, realizing I’d been staring.

Her voice was soft, barely audible when she spoke again. “How does it end?” She searched my face, those eyes begging, beckoning, pulling me in. “The date, I mean. How does it end?”

“Well.” I retraced the steps I’d taken, stopping in front of her. Stupid, I thought. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “That depends.”

“On?”

I gripped my keys tighter, the pain of them digging into my palm cementing me where I stood. I would not step closer. I could not. “On how well it went.”

She nodded, a pensive look on her face. “Okay.” Biting her lip, she frowned. I tried not to stare at that full bottom lip and imagine the soft give of it beneath my teeth. “How will I know if it went well?” She shook her head, a small, self-deprecating sound leaving her. “Guys are easy to read, but a woman? How do I know we’re on the same page and not…a couple of friends hanging out?”

Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to find something in the distance to focus on. “You’ll know,” I said, my voice tight. Because, god, I wanted to show her. I wanted to show her what an interested woman looked like. With my eyes and my hands and my—

I cleared my throat, helplessly looking back at her. “There’ll be signs.”

Slowly, her eyes roamed over my face, as if she was searching for a clearer answer. When she reached my eyes, she inhaled, a shaky little breath that about did me in.

“Show me,” she whispered. “Show me the signs.”

I stopped breathing. “What?”

She stepped closer. “Show me,” she repeated, bolder this time. “The signs.”

“Parker, I—”

“Please.”

My knees about damn buckled. Want, liquid and molten, flowed through me, pushing me forward. Before I could think it through, think myself out of it, I reached out. “This,” I whispered, fingers looping around that damn curl of hers, “is a good sign.”

She swallowed and nodded. “What else?”

I could barely hear her over the pounding of my heart. Leaning in, I dropped my gaze to her lips, those pretty pink lips that had occupied so much of my mind for so long now. Her tongue flitted out and dragged across her pillowy bottom lip. I exhaled a sharp breath, holding my ground. “You’re catching on.”

“You’re a good teacher.” Her whisper dragged across my every nerve ending, bringing my whole body to life. I squeezed my keys tighter, trying to ground myself to reality, to remind myself that this wasn’t real. That this was just a lesson to prepare her to date someone else.

But, fuck, the way she was looking at me said otherwise.

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