Page 4 of I Need You Tonight
Chapter 2
Nicole
With my fork, I pushed the linguine around on my plate, searching for the other succulent, this-date-wasn’t-a-complete-waste-of-time scallop. There had to be another one—just had to be.
I lifted a forkful of pasta, unearthing the desired prize, and speared the tender morsel, vaguely aware of my date droning on. Before I’d tuned him out and focused on my food, he’d been blabbing nonstop about taxes, the excitement in his voice too over-the-top for his topic of choice.
I popped the scallop in my mouth. “Mmm.”
Carl’s eyes widened and his gaze dropped to my lips. It was only then that I figured out why. The scallops should’ve come with a warning: “The restaurant isn’t legally responsible for all erotic noises you might make while ingesting the food.”Oops.
“Heidi said you’re a florist.” Carl took a bite of his steak.
“Not a florist. That’s Heidi.” Whom I was personally going to kill for this dud of a date. Yes, Carl was good-looking and he fit my criteria for a future husband—especially the part about him being a professional with a steady job—but none of that made up for him being boring as hell. Correction: even hell would be more interesting than him.
“I’m part owner of Blooming Love with Heidi, but she’s the florist. I focus on the business side of things.” Thanks to my business degree.
His eyes brightened, and he whipped out a business card from his wallet and handed the nondescript card to me. “Do you have an accountant?”
My business card stayed firmly locked away in my purse. Not that it mattered. He knew where to find me. “I do the bookkeeping.”
“What about at tax time? Do you use an accountant for that?”
I nodded, fighting back a yawn, and shoved a forkful of linguine in my mouth. I had to just endure dinner, then I could go home and drown my bad-date sorrows in a carton of triple-fudge almond ice cream while watching Bruce Willis save his wife from Alan Rickman.Die Hard…the perfect end to a lousy night.
I sighed, the sound too soft to be heard over the restaurant chatter, the laughter, and the clinking of cutlery against ceramic. “Did you go anywhere this summer?” Always a safe question in situations like this.
“Yes. I spent a few days in San Francisco for a tax conference. It was a great write-off.”
“I bet.” In my head, a voice reminded me it didn’t matter if he was boring; maybe he might be interested in moving this date to the bedroom, and the evening wouldn’t be a total bust. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had sex. The drought had been that long. Heidi blamed it on my workaholic personality. It was hard to get laid when you were always working.
Another sigh slipped from between my lips, and I sipped my wine. Ice cream andDie Hardwouldn’t be enough to make up for tonight. I might have to add another glass of wine to the mix.
I finished my pasta while Carl explained something earth-shattering (his words, not mine) that had happened at the conference. “What kind of music do you enjoy?” I blurted out once he paused long enough to take a breath.
“Classical music and classic rock. What about you?”
“Country music.” I also liked some pop music, but mostly listened to country. This further proved that Carl and I were not fated to be together. We didn’t even like the same music.
I finished the final bite of my pasta and willed the waitress to return with our bill. Clearly I didn’t will hard enough. Several painfully long minutes ticked past before she came back to remove our empty plates.
“Would you like to order dessert?” she asked us.
“No, I’m good,” I said, faster than a rabbit being chased by a mountain lion, and counted down the seconds until Bruce Willis, the triple-fudge almond ice cream, and I could hang out together.Please don’t order anything else,I silently pleaded to Carl.
“Maybe you’d like to share something?” he asked.
I patted my flat stomach, hidden under my sexy black dress. The sexy black dress that Heidi had insisted I wear tonight. “I’m full.”
He winced, possibly understanding what I really meant, and asked for the bill. He paid for our food and drove me home, the entire time quizzing me on the store’s accounting strategy.
Forget another glass of wine. I needed a bottle of my finest ten-dollar-a-bottle white.
“I had a great time,” he said, walking me to my front door.
“Me too.” I sneaked a glance at the cloudless dark sky, with stars speckled across it. No lightning bolts appeared. I let out a relieved breath. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”
“You too.” Before I could take a step back, he leaned in to kiss me. I moved my head at the last second, and his lips missed mine and landed on my cheek. “I’ll call you.”
