Page 42 of Can't Always Get What You Want

I snap my gaze back up just in time to see her smirking.

Busted.

“You done?” she asks, one brow arched.

I have two options: lie, or double down.

“Nope,” I say, looking some more.

She snorts. “Clause seven: no ogling the merchandise unless given explicit verbal permission.”

I lean forward, dropping my voice low. “Would you like to go on record? Because that is aterribleclause. That clause is weak. That clause will not hold up in court.”

“Too bad,” she says, standing up, that teasing edge never leaving her voice. “I’m a lawyer now.”

The server returns and we order dinner; a dish to share since neither of us is hungry but also: we’ve already determined we want dessert.

“So,” she says, casually twirling her fork like she’s not wrecking my sanity. “When is date two?”

“Date three, you mean?” I am so amused. “Are you asking because you can’t wait to see me again, or because you’re trying to fast-track to clause five?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she says sweetly.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Next date has to be something stealthy. Nothing public—like a secluded cabin in the woods.”

“A little tooDateline.” She laughs again. “Not that I don’t trust you not to murder me, but I’d rather not take chances…”

Valid.

“Hmm...” I pretend to think. “What about something that sounds innocent on paper but gives us plausible deniability?”

“Like what?”

“Grocery shopping,” I say as if I have it all figured out. “We meet in the produce section. You pretend to teach me how to pick out a ripe avocado. I flirt with you over bananas. Boom—date three.”

Her head is bobbing up and down as if she doesn’t hate the idea. “Not a horrible idea. Also, not the best.”

I shrug. “Just trying to be creative.” I pause.

Her laugh bubbles out, the kind that makes her lean back in her chair and throw her head slightly. It’s completely unguarded, and I feel it punch me right in the chest.

God, I like her.

“Hey, Nova?”

“Hmm?”

“Clause eight: no falling in love with me before date five.”

She freezes for a split second. It’s subtle, but I catch it. Her fingers pause on her glass, the smile faltering for half a beat before she recovers.

“You think highly of yourself,” she says lightly.

I shrug. “I’ve got charm, killer instincts, and a jungle baby cup with giraffe ears. Irresistible combo.”

She snorts. “Let’s not forget your humble nature.”

Humble.

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