Page 2 of A Me and Him Thing
The smell of kumquats, hoisin, scallions, and cucumbers teases my senses and takes me away to another time, another place.
Anywhere but here and now.
“Hey, keep it down, people are trying to enjoy a quiet evening. How can they do that when you’re over here having a party?”
I open my eyes at the intrusion. There’s a tall, exquisitely dressed man standing next to my table, interrupting my pity party for one.
He’s not invited.
Even though he’s joking, his voice is as smooth as silk. A soft rumble, every letter pronounced impeccably.
I stare blankly for too many heart-stopping seconds. Every part of him is polished and refined. He clearly makes an effort with his appearance. From his clean, trimmed nails to his straight white teeth to the tailored clothing that fits him like a glove. His dark hair is styled in a modern fashion, every strand held in place by whatever mysterious hair products men use. And he smells divine. Basically, he’s man perfection.
I notice everything about him in just a few short moments. I guess there’s still a little life left inside me, and I’m not heart-dead.
But this girl is not on the market. It’s too soon.
I’m not in the mood for pickup lines either. My blunt nature bites back before I remind myself I’m trying to be a betterperson. “You should rethink that opener. It’s not working for me.”
His full lips pout, and he blinks a few times, overly long lashes covering his dark eyes. “Really? It took me an hour to come up with it. Give a guy a break. Do you know how much courage it takes to approach a beautiful woman who’s confident enough to dine alone?”
How does every sentence from this man’s mouth sound seductive? At first I thought he was kidding around, but it’s really the way he speaks. Like he’s trying to charm me with his deep timbre. The words effortlessly roll out of his mouth, sounding the same way a man would sound when he’s whispering sweet nothings into a woman’s ear.
Yet the words he’s saying are meant to be humorous. The combination makes me pause.
“Sorry.” I dab my mouth with my napkin. “Still not working.”
“There you have it. I’ve lost my touch.”
This man has major touch. I doubt a woman has ever turned him down. I sure don’t want to. That velvety voice of his is my downfall. But I discourage him anyway. “That’s not all you’ve lost.”
“My mom would agree. I was always losing things as a kid.”
I raise my eyebrows at his quick comeback. I don’t seem to be able to shut this man down. Maybe he senses my interest.
Along with his dark hair, he has dark brown eyes, olive skin, and a smoldering gaze, and he can keep up with my inherent sarcasm without being fazed. He has my attention just for that alone. He’s dressed in all black. Black slacks, black button-up dress shirt, and black blazer. Silver cuff links peek out from the ends of his sleeves, and a silver chain encircles his wrist. He’s classy without looking like he’s desperately trying too hard. A slight whiff of his divine cologne meets my nostrils, making my stomach tighten. I love a man who cares about how he smells.
My eyes wander to his face, where I happen upon a sexy half smile, a smile that sort of makes me want to melt.
He knows I just checked him out. Great. His stylish appearance and smooth voice don’t match his quirky comebacks.
Okay, my interest is piqued. But this tree—that would be me—is not barkable. I’m not taking a trip to Rebound City. No thanks.
One year, Bree. You promised yourself.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I can’t notice a man.
“Did I leave you speechless? It’s been known to happen in my dreams, but never in real life. This is a first.”
With that silky voice, I imagine he leaves every woman within hearing distance standing at attention. I sip my water and set my glass down with a slight bang. “I’m never speechless,” I tell him succinctly.
“Touché.”
I grant him a hard stare, then motion to my waiter as he passes. “Check, please.” I planned on lingering at my table with my Kindle dining companion for at least another hour, but if the man in black thinks I’m leaving, maybe he’ll get the hint that I’m not interested. Or at least, I don’t want to be interested.
When the waiter pauses, the man in black tells him, “Dessert on the house for the lady, please.” It’s not a command, it’s a calm request uttered with his unique ability to constantly speak as though he’s professing his love during a heated moment.
“That won’t be necessary,” I tell him, feeling a little angry that a woman dining alone is assumed to be fair game for flirting. As though she’s begging for someone to join her and save her from herself.
