Page 42 of Win Big

I sense Heather’s disappointment and it sticks in my gut.Please, please don’t let her be getting ideas about us.That can’t happen... and yet, I can’t let her down again. I’ve already let her down so, so badly.

This inner conversation I’m having with myself puts a damper on my mood. I don’t want to be like this with Everly, but shit. Sometimes I can’t help the despair that swamps me, pulling me down into dark hopelessness.

At home I change from jeans into dress pants, a shirt and sweater, and slide my feet into loafers. I run a hand over my hair in front of the mirror and take a deep breath. Maybe I should cancel. I don’t want to end up being a dick.

No. Everly already tried once to worm out of this, apparently having second thoughts, but I wasn’t letting her get away with that. I’m definitely not giving her another chance to avoid me. Who knows if I’ll have another opportunity.

I pick her up at her place, ringing the bell at the outside door of her townhouse condo. It’s already dark, but the lush grounds are illuminated with glowing lights among the shrubs. She opens the door.

Just seeing her has my mood ticking up a notch on the scale of one to freakout.

I smile. “Hi.”

“Hi. I’m ready.” She has her purse over her shoulder and is already wearing a jacket—black leather!—over a short, leopard-print dress that shows off her killer legs.

“You look amazing.” I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Mmm. Smell amazing too.”

“Thank you.” She locks her door and tips her head to look up at me. “You look pretty good too.”

Tension I didn’t know I’d been holding in my shoulders eases. “Are we actually complimenting each other?”

“It appears so.” Her eyes dance.

I set my hand on the small of her back to lead her down the dusky sidewalk toward my vehicle on the street. “I don’t know... this doesn’t bode well as foreplay.”

She chokes out a laugh. “Foreplay?”

“I like sparring with you. It turns me on. Maybe if we’re too nice to each other, it’ll be boring.”

“I’ll see what I can do to turn you on.”

I groan. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

She laughs lightly as I open the passenger door for her.

Once I’m in the driver’s seat, she asks, “Where are we going?”

“I made a reservation at Rossignol. That okay?”

“What if it’s not?”

I slant a glance her way. “Okay, here we go.”

She grins, her face shadowy. “Don’t want to disappoint. And Rossignol is fine. Also, I’m impressed you pronounced it correctly.”

“It’s French.” I turn onto Wilshire Boulevard.

“You said your French is terrible.”

“I’m probably not saying it like Théo or JP would.”

“It’s supposed to be a very nice place.”

“You haven’t been there?”

“Nope.”

“Me either.” For some reason, this makes me happy. “We can pop our Rossignol cherry together.”

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