Page 30 of If It Can't Be Us

“Alright, you promise you’ll be safe, yeah?” I raise an eyebrow in question.

“Cross my heart,” she says, drawing an X across her heart with her fingertip.

“Alright, bring it in.” I drag her reluctant self toward me, pressing as much sweat as I can against her while embracing her fully.

“God, this is so gross,” she says, but doesn’t pull away. Instead, she rests her cheek against my wet shirt and wraps her arms around my back.

Her body feels amazing pressed up against mine. I’ve always known she was in shape, but feeling her like this, so close, it’s a different story. She’s fit, curvy, and just… perfect. I shift slightly as I feel myself bulging against her hip, and I curse under my breath. Not now.

“Thanks for caring.” She looks up. “Means a lot to me.”

And goddamn, my stomach does a flip when her eyes lock onto mine.

I clear my throat. “Of course. I care about you. You’re a good friend.” I let go and back up a step. “Have fun tonight, Walker. I’ll see you soon.”

I walk inside, thinking that if I didn’t know myself better, I might actually believe I was jealous of the bloke she’s going on a date with.

Chapter 7

Vivian

“All I’m saying is that when someone has a mom that’s hot as hell, they should come with a disclaimer.”

His name is Nate, and he just finished telling a story from his early twenties about a blind date gone wrong. He had gone to pick her up, but when the door opened, he mistook her mother for his date because she was so attractive and youthful.

I laugh, looking across the dinner table at him. He chose a Mediterranean tapas-style restaurant, which I love, but find challenging for a first date. Deciding on dishes to share without knowing each other’s preferences can be tricky. “I totally get that,” I say, nodding. “My mom is a bombshell. She’s a Pilates instructor, and has a rocking body. All the guys in high school wanted to hang at my house because my mom was a MILF.”

He’s cute,I tell myself. Not in an obvious way, but in a boy-next-door kind of way. His hair is blond with a high fade and a crew cut. He has beautiful blue eyes that light up when he laughs. He has a nice smile and a decent build. I’m not usually attracted to blonde guys, but I find myself drawn to him more and more as the evening goes on. Yes, he is definitely a good-looking human. I am pleasantly surprised to be having a good time. Nate is funny. He tells engaging stories, and I find myself laughing at them. He isn’t as witty as Ben or Leo, or as good-looking, but that isn’t a fair scale to go off for anyone.

Stop.

I’ll never find anyone if I keep comparing men to Ben or Leo. I have to look at people with a fresh set of eyes.

The conversation has flowed easily tonight. Nate works in tech, but honestly, whenever someone mentions a tech job, I half-tune out because I know I won’t understand it anyway. If I were certain there’d be future dates, I might be more inclined to grasp what he does for a living. But that’s third-date material.

I glance at the tip line as he signs for the check. Good. He’s not a shitty tipper. A bad tipper can be improved over time, but I can’t stand a consistently poor tipper. To me, it says a lot about someone’s character.

Everything about Nate looks good on paper so far. I guess I shouldn’t expect less—Kara did set us up after all. She knows me, and she wouldn’t waste my time with someone who isn’t worth getting to know. The physical attraction is there, but I’m not sure if there’s a connection yet.

We exit the restaurant, his hand on the small of my back, which doesn’t bother me. I take that as a good sign.

“Do you live close?” he asks. “If you do, I could walk you home instead of you taking an Uber… unless you think it’s too cold,” he quickly adds.

Smiling, I realize he wants to spend more time with me. It is cold, but my blazer does a good job of keeping me warm.

I was careful with my outfit selection tonight, wanting to feel sexy without turning it on too much. I never want to overdo it on the first date, just in case we don’t vibe.

I chose a black bralette under a fitted, sheer long-sleeve black shirt, tucked into dark fitted jeans, and black thigh-high boots. I polished the look with a black blazer and a black Gucci belt—a perfect outfit for fall.

“Yeah, I’m pretty close. Probably fifteen minutes. I’d love to walk,” I say, feeling self-assured.

I ask him about his family, and he proceeds to explain his very large, very blended family.

“Oh my gosh, five sisters in a six-year span?” I ask, shocked. Two sisters from his dad and three from his stepmom, two of them being twins. “That’s a whole lot of hormones.”

“Let’s just say things were never dull,” he says, chuckling.

We’re halfway to my house when he slows his walk to look at me hesitantly. What is that expression? Worry? Concern?

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