Page 10 of Attached At Heart
“Since when do you care about what I think of your rambling?” I asked with a frown.
She flicked her eyes up in pretend annoyance and traded her wine for my glass of pinot noir—sinceIhadn’t drained my drink the moment I got it—and took a sip, making a face.
“I don’t know.” She put the glass back down with more force than necessary. “Maybe you moved to Boston to escape my rambling. Otherwise, you would have at least called.”
I sighed and took a drink of the wine myself, hating that hurt look in Delaney’s gaze. “I’m sorry I didn’t.”
She watched me expectantly, no doubt waiting for an explanation. But I didn’t have one that I could give her.
I was trying to get over you.
“You know I’m not really a phone person,” I added because it was the best I could do. “I don’t know, there’s something about not seeing a person’s face when you’re talking to them.”
“Blake.” Delaney put both her hands on the table and leaned forward conspiratorially. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of this or not, but there’s something called Face?—”
“Okay,okay.” I threw my hands up in defeat. “You’re right. I’msorry.”
She sat back again, looking smug as hell.
“Say it again.”
I pursed my lips, trying not to let them curve into a grin at how victorious she looked from hearing me say those two magic words. But it was a losing effort, so I picked my wine back up instead and took a long sip, studying Delaney over the glass’s rim and drawing out the moment.
Her eyes met mine, bright and alive.
“You can’t hide in that wineglass forever, Dr. London.”
I raised a brow, taking another slow gulp of wine. Her eyes flicked down to my throat as I swallowed before lifting back to my gaze again.
If she could chug a hundred-dollar glass of wine, then so could I.
Delaney leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as though watching me down this glass of wine was the most interesting thing she’d seen all day. One of her brows lifted as if to say, “Are you done yet?”
But I was a fucking glutton for her attention, so no, I wasn’t done.
When I’d drained the last drop of wine from the glass, I set it back on the table and licked my lips, feeling a dribble of pinot escape. Delaney’s lips parted as she stared at me in some kind of unspoken disbelief before she abruptly sucked in and repeated herself, her voice lower.
“Say it again, Blake.”
The waiter returned, saving me from repeating the words Delaney desperately wanted to hear. He looked at our drained glasses of wine with surprise but was well trained enough not to say anything.
“Another glass of pinot?” he asked me first, a placid expression on his face.
“I think maybe we’ll just take a bottle of the chardonnay she’s having for the table,” I answered, and Delaney made a face at me. One of thoseyou didn’t have to do thatfaces.
If she was making that face at me now, I couldn’t imagine what kind of face she would be making in the next few minutes.
“What’s your schedule look like tomorrow?” I asked after the waiter left.
“I’m pretty booked withbeing rightall day.”
“Hmm,” I pretended to consider. “No breaks in the day to do something a little bit…wrong?”
Because that was no doubt what this proposition was. Wrong, for so many reasons. And maybe rushed, but I didn’t want to take my chances and let her slip away again.
But Delaney’s brows shot up, and I realized too late what my proposition had sounded like.
“What did you have in mind?” she questioned.
