Page 14 of The Boyfriend Material Novellas

When it’s time to see Quinn on Saturday, I say my ex’s name like a talisman as I button my shirt, roll up my cuffs, and check out my reflection. “Don’t forget Lexi,” I tell the guy in the mirror. “And whatever else, don’t forget this isn’t a date.”

* * *

I meet Quinn on a block in Gramercy Park, telling myself I’m not thinking about her pink lips, or her green eyes, or the cute little red skirt and black boots she’s wearing.

Nope. We’re total professionals as we embark on our quest to check out venues for the party.

The first is a trendy lounge with a fireplace and fantastic cocktails. It’s a decent choice with a fun vibe. “This is a good one. I can see us having a party here.”

“Exactly! It’s a great size for the guest list, and it has a cozy holiday feel to it at the same time,” she says, sinking onto a couch and stroking her chin. “I see Yule logs, fruitcake, and eggnog.”

I flop down next to her, narrowing my eyes. “Nope. I imagine a cranberry old-fashioned, a candy cane cocktail, and peppermint martinis.”

“Just teasing. I would never put eggnog on the menu with you.” She lowers her voice. “Eggnog hater.”

“Hey now,” I say, indignant. “I just want to give the underserved cocktails their time in the limelight.”

She lifts one brow. “Question though. What exactly is a candy cane cocktail?”

I laugh, shrugging because I have no clue. “Just made that up. But we should invent one and serve it. Everyone will speak for years about the delicious drinks we mixed up.”

She nods, her brow knit like she’s figuring me out. “I get you. You’re looking to shake things up. I’ve got your number, Vaughn.”

Does she ever.“Yes, you absolutely have my number,” I say, my voice going low and a little raspy.

She tilts her head to meet my gaze, and our faces are inches apart. “Yeah?”

“You do.”

The question and the answer hang in the air like smoke.

We’re both quiet for a few seconds, maybe more. The space between us feels charged, electric, full of things unsaid. I wait for her to respond, but I’m not even sure what I want her to say or do.

Except I am.

I want her to tell me that she feels this too.

And though I should look away, should break the connection, I don’t. I like looking at her far too much.

She clears her throat, runs her hands down her thighs, then glances toward the bar before turning back. “So, we keep this place on the short list. And we add candy cane cocktails.”

“Definitely,” I say, but maybe I read the whole night wrong.

Maybe she has my number, but I don’t have hers.

6

VAUGHN

We leave the lounge, and I vow to shake off the date vibe.

This is not a date.

It’s exactly what it’s supposed to be—a business meeting on a Saturday night, because Saturday night is when you scout party locations.

Besides, Quinn seems focused on keeping everything professional.

As we walk to the next spot, she asks, “What do you like most about your client list?”

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