Page 35 of Flash

“Maybe.” He shrugs, blatantly not promising a damn thing. “Let’s watch this stupid video again.” He pulls his phone back out. I lean in to join the viewing party, and the screen fills with a shot of the inside of the flower shop, every surface covered in little colored rubber duckies.

My phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. I look away from the video and pull it out of my pocket to see Lewis’s name lighting up the screen. With a grin and a hammering heart, I slip away from the guys to answer the call.

“Hey.” I step into the back room to get away from the chatter and commentary they’re all making about the video again. “Sorry I slipped out last night.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry I fell asleep on you.” His shy laughter conjures up the image of his cheeks turning that light shade of pink I can’t get enough of. “Literally. I hope I didn’t drool or anything.”

My smile tugs even wider and I lean my shoulder against the doorframe.

“Maybe just a little,” I tease.

There’s a beat of silence that gives me just enough time to register how strange it is that Lewis called me instead of texting. My stomach twists and I tighten my grip on the phone. Shit, maybe I really did fuck up last night and he decided to wait until we weren’t face to face to tell me he’s over it.

“How’s your hand?” he asks.

I glance down at it. My knuckles are still swollen, but not as much as they were last night. A dark bruise has bloomed across the back of my hand, but I can still move my fingers, and it doesn’t feel broken, so that’s something at least.

“I’ve had worse,” I answer.

“Good,” Lewis says. “Good.”

“Is that all you called about?” If he’s going to tell me we’re done, I’d rather rip it off like a Band-Aid than tiptoe around it for five minutes.

“Um… no.”

My gut clenches and I curl my injured hand into a fist, focusing on the physical ache of it instead of the emotional one that’s already taking shape in my chest. I’m already getting attached to him, just like everyone else knew I would. Maybe it’s best that he ends things now before I get in even deeper.

“Do you like tacos?” he blurts out.

“Tacos?” I repeat just in case I misheard him. He called to ask if I like tacos?

“Yeah, there’s this taco truck in Belland, and I know food trucks can be kind of iffy, but this one is incredible. It’s not anything fancy, obviously, but if you’ve never been to Belland, it’s kind of nice and quiet with a really pretty park—”

“Lewis, are you asking me on a date?”

He’s quiet on the other end again and my heart sinks. Did I misread things?

“Maybe more like a pre-date,” he says quietly.

“A pre-date?” I know I’m turning into a parrot, but he’s not exactly easy to follow with all of the vagueness.

“Yeah. Or, like, a trial date.”

“Like a working interview?” A laugh rumbles through me.

“Exactly. If tacos in Belland goes well, we might bring you in for another round of interviews.”

“I guess I’d better dust off my suit then,” I joke.

He laughs, the sound dancing through me and making me wish I could reach through the phone and pull him in for a kiss so I can taste the sound fresh on his lips.

“Do you even own a suit? I can’t picture you in one.”

“No, I don’t. But I have excellent credit, so renting one shouldn’t be a problem,” I growl suggestively.

“That’s hot, but I think your regular old jeans and an oldies band t-shirt should do.”

“Oldies?” I yelp, and more laughter comes through the phone.

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