“You’d prefer I take you out somewhere nice?”
“Don’t you live in England?”
“I do. But you can’t expect me to always come here. I think it would be nice if you visited me once in a while. Have you ever been to London?”
“No.”
“Perfect then. I’ll get to show you around.”
“Did you bump your head when you walked to the restaurant?”
Wilder grinned. “Just looking ahead.”
“Or you’re looking at fantasyland.”
“We’ll see.” He shrugged. “Talk to me about this man moratorium. Is it because you’re not engaged anymore?”
I had my fork midway to my mouth and paused. “How do you know I was engaged?”
“Same way I know your favorite food is spaghetti carbonara. Your bio on the magazine’s website.”
I’d forgotten my bio said I was getting married. I needed to change that. Although that didn’t explain everything he knew. “I’m pretty sure my bio only says I’m engaged. How did you know I’m not anymore?”
Wilder looked away. “I guess I assumed you weren’t because of what happened in the coat closet.”
Something told me there was more to it than that. “What was your number when you played rugby?”
“Seventeen. Why?”
Gotcha, NumberSeventeen.I leaned forward, across the table. “Come here.”
“You want me to kiss you?”
“No, just lean close for a minute.”
The table wasn’t that big, so with both of us leaning in, we could’ve kissed. But I made sure there was a little distance between us. I looked straight into his eyes. “You watched my YouTube show the other night, didn’t you?”
Wilder’s eyes widened. “I really want to smash my lips againstyours right now, but I think I got an in with your father and don’t want to ruin it.”
I leaned back in my seat. “I freaking knew it!”
Some men might’ve been embarrassed to admit they’d stalked your company website, memorized your favorite food, and watched you do a wedding-related talk show on YouTube. But not Wilder. His eyes sparkled. “I wasn’t happy when I found out you were engaged.”
“You thought I was still engaged and made out with you anyway?”
“That’s what it looked like, but I hoped I was wrong.”
I laughed. “You’re a stalker.”
“It’s a first, trust me.”
“I bet it is. Apparently you’re a famous rugby player, so I wouldn’t imagine it’s too hard for you to meet women.”
He skirted my comment and redirected to the question that had led us here. “So this man moratorium you’re on… that start after your engagement ended?”
I nodded. “That definitely contributed. But I’m twenty-six, and I feel like I’ve had a boyfriend since I was sixteen.”
“The same boyfriend?”