Page 23 of The Girlfriend Zone

But before I can grab my shirt, he slips an arm around my waist and pulls me back to him, forcing me to look at his too handsome face. “Can you hand me my glasses?”

My heart stutters from the simplicity of the request. They’re not the same—glasses and hearing aids—but neither one of us has perfect senses and I know that was a purposeful reminder. I hand them to him, and he slides them on, pushes them up, then says, like it’s a goddamn order, “Let’s have that second date now.”

“Now?” I repeat in case I didn’t hear him right. Because who does this? What man puts himself out there this way? This can’t be real. I’m not sure I feel ready for a man like Miles, who seems so certain of who he is and what he wants. I’ve never dated anyone like him before.

“Yes,” he says. “I want to see you again. I have to go out of town tomorrow, but come over tonight, Leighton. Let me cook dinner for you. Are you hungry?”

This isn’t how dating works. This isn’t how men work. This isn’t howIusually work…but I don’t want tonight to end either.

“I guess we’d better find your watch and get out of here then,” I say, and after we clean up the studio we’re closing the door behind us a few minutes later.

8

YOU COULD SAY I’M A FAN

Miles

I don’t believe in wasting time. I’ve lost enough of it, from an injury that sidelined me for half a season a few years ago, to the dark place I went in my head from all that downtime, to the long hours on the bench when I first started out. Proving myself, earning my spot—none of that came easily. I know how fast time can slip away, especially in this life, where focus and luck matter as much as talent.

When I meet someone I actually like, I’m not about to let that chance slip by—especially with the season starting in a couple weeks, when life will only get busier. Sure, relationships don’t always work out. Hell, they rarely do, something I learned the hard way with Joanne, but something else I’ve been learning since I was a kid? Life is short. You need to grab your chances because they might not come around again.

So why not see her again now? This way, I can explainto her why I can’t go on a second date for the next few days while I’m away with the team. I played along with Birdie’s “rules” for our first date, but this is our second, and it’s time to come clean. As we drive back toward my home in the Marina District, though, there’s something I don’t want to forget. Something that I’ll probably enjoy on the road trip. “I want those pictures,” I say with a half-smile. “Guess that means I’ll need your number.”

She waggles her phone. “What’s yours?”

I rattle off the digits and she enters them on her phone. Mine buzzes on the console seconds later.

“See? I didn’t give you a fake one,” she teases.

I laugh. “Didn’t think you would.”

“I’ll send the pictures tomorrow, after I touch them up,” she says.

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, you think I need photoshopping?”

“Trust me, everyone needs a little.”

I grin, trying to keep it light. “What will you do about Katrina? Any chance she might want another shoot?”

“Why? Are you considering a career change?” she quips, giving me an amused sidelong glance.

This could be a good opening to the what-do-you-do convo, but first, I want to make sure I don’t need to swing by a grocery store. “You know, maybe I am. But more importantly—any food restrictions? Anything you’re in the mood for?”

She taps her chin, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Hmm…do you have artichokes?”

I chuckle, pulling up to my block across from Marina Green where Richardson Bay sparkles under the moonlight. The Golden Gate Bridge stands watch over the water. “That’s a very specific craving.”

“I know what I like,” she says, shooting me that confident look she sent my way when she walked past me in High Kick the other day. The smile that caught my eye. “Lots of veggies. So, do you, Miles?”

There’s that challenge in her tone again. It’s the kind that says she’ll keep me on my toes and she wants me there. Fine by me. “Guess it’s your lucky day. I’ve got artichokes, red peppers, mushrooms…how about mushroom and artichoke pasta with a little olive oil and salt?”

Her smile turns mischievous. “So the chef is going to make me pasta.”

“Chef, huh?” My brow quirks as I pull into the garage.Does she actually believe that, or is this some inside joke I’m missing?

“Well, that sounds gourmet to me,” she says.

Okay, she’s just teasing. Fair enough. “Watch it, Shutterbug. You’ll be begging for my artichoke pasta in no time.”

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