Page 64 of A Ticking Time Boss

His eyes dip to my lips. “Well, you overshot it. But I’m not complaining.”

“Aren’t you nervous at all? About us and… dating?”

“I’m terrified inside. Shaking like a leaf, kid.” It’s so obviously an exaggeration, with him sitting there his usual composed self, that it makes me laugh.

The car pulls to stop outside a bar. It takes me a moment to recognize the place. “Wait. Is this…?”

“Where we met, yeah,” Carter says. “I thought it would be poetic to have our first date here.”

Something warms in my chest. “Our first?”

“Yes. Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay.”

He leads me inside, his hand light on my lower back. I lean into his side and breathe in the familiar scent of his cologne and soap and something else, something that’s just him.

We have a seat in the back. It’s far away from where I sat with my obnoxious blind date, and even further from where Carter had lounged at the bar.

“Did you really watch my date?” I ask him. “Last time we were here?”

“Of course. Someone had to make sure you weren’t meeting a serial killer on that blind date of yours."

“I saw who you were meeting, you know. The blonde.”

He gives a half-shrug. “It wasn’t serious.”

“No, that much was clear,” I say, and throw caution to the wind. “Do you ever date seriously?”

“Not if I can help it,” he says with a wink.

I laugh. It’s what I expected, anyway, and having it confirmed feels good. Safer, somehow. Whatever happens, I know we can bow out with a laugh and a smile. “Right. So how long will I keep your interest on this date?” I say. “Until dessert, at least?”

Carter tilts his head, considering. “Yes, but give or take a decade, probably.”

We talk about everything, drifting from one topic to the other with a fluidity that feels preordained. The Globe, journalism, movies we’ve seen, his business trip, his hotel room, and then inevitably, the call.

I ignore the heat in my cheeks. “I didn’t expect it,” I admit.

“No,” he says. “Neither did I. It wasn’t what I called you for, you know.”

“Why did you call? Not that I minded.”

He leans back in his chair and gives me a studying glance.

“Come on,” I say. “Tell me. I can take it. Had you been drinking?”

“I didn’t call you because I was drunk,” he says. “I called you because I was jealous.”

“Oh. Really?”

He runs a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah. Not very chivalrous, perhaps, but that’s the truth. I’d promised to talk to you about dating, to give you a male perspective, but truth be told I stopped enjoying that a while back.”

The world tilts on its axis. Had I misread things from the beginning? Had he always… was this… “Oh,” I say again.

“You look shocked,” he says. “Can’t be the first time a man admits to wanting you?”

No, I think, but it’s the first time in forever I’ve wanted him back.

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