Page 13 of L.O.V.E

On rubbery legs, I made my way through the tables, my confidence flaking away, layer by layer. The hallway leading to the restrooms seemed to expand with every step. When I rounded the corner, I stopped dead, feet cemented, heart racing.

In my path stood a man. Not just any man. Him. The guy.

Wearing dark gray slacks, a dark blue dress shirt rolled at the sleeves, tie loose, he leaned against the wall. His coat was draped over his left arm. He held his phone in his right hand. No ring, thank God. Head down. Attention on his cell.

Beautiful. Painfully handsome.

My pulse spiked, the roar between my ears so loud I feared the entire city would feel the tremors. The ladies’ room was just out of reach, so close, yet a million miles away. If I moved, would he see me? Would he recognize me?

Of course, he would. I was the crazy woman who had kissed him on the street. Who’d barreled into him on the sidewalk. Who had unleashed her insane ex-boyfriend on himtwice.

Why couldn’t I move?

I was on a date, for crying out loud.

Forcing one foot in front of the other, careful not to click my heels, I pressed my palm on the door and braved one more glance. Thank the good Lord, he still stared at the phone. He raised a hand, raking his fingers through his hair and, dear sweet gods of holy, heavenly, lustful bliss, my entire body flushed with heat and prickly tingles.

I paused, only for a breath, but a moment long enough for the man to lift his eyes to mine. All at once, my lungs ceased to expand, my world spun at a nauseating pace, and I wanted so, so much not to be on a date.

On a raspy exhale he said, “You.”

My knees buckled at the thick, raw, sensual tone.

I couldn’t stop my grin. Mesmerized, lost in those eyes, I leaned against the doorjamb and whispered, “You.”

He pushed off the wall, stood straight, and shoved his cell into his pocket, shoulders rolling forward like he bore the weight of the world, indecision flickering behind his heady gaze.

A tortured man if ever I’d seen one.

I wanted to jump into his arms. Talk to him. Touch, breathe, know him. Kiss that face. Make him laugh. Watch him cry. Bring him to his knees.

What was wrong with me? I was on a date.

Mean for mean.

But God, the way he looked at me.

A laugh carried down the hall, making me jump, tearing me from my fantasy, reverie, whatever the hell had me spellbound.

Before doing something foolish, I ducked into the ladies’ room.

I made my way back to the table, determined not to let Victoria or that sexy stranger ruin my evening with the very handsome redhead. Eyes on the prize.

My cheeks heated at the way Martin’s face lit up when I approached. He stood. Pulled out my chair. Waited for me to sit, then pulled his own seat closer. He smelled good, expensive cologne applied in a modest dose.

“Nats, you okay?” Lacey whispered in my ear. “You’re red as a beet.”

“Yeah. Yeah, just hot.” I reached for my water glass and took a dainty sip when I really wanted to chug.

The weight of Victoria’s stare bore through me, a dull knife sinking straight into my temporal lobe.

Martin cleared his throat. “We ordered a bottle of Barolo. Lacey said it was your favorite.”

To which I replied, “We might need two bottles. Lacey and I can empty one in five minutes.”

Everyone laughed. Martin had a nice laugh.

“Where’s Cole?” Lacey asked.

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