Page 39 of Dear Pink

Her gray eyes soften, and her other hand reaches for mine. “I better doctor you up.” She shoves the items into my pouch and zips it. Then she retrieves my credit card from the bar and walks to a corner of the restaurant, handing it to Sasha as she passes.

I follow Hannah. I have no idea where she’s headed, but I won’t let her out of my sight. Natasha runs over and crams a Vine & Dine T-shirt into my hand. I mouth, “Thank you.”

Hannah walks inside the unisex bathroom and holds the door open for me. She wasn't kidding. I enter the little room, and she closes the door and locks it. My heart skips a beat.

“Have a seat.” She points at the bench.

I sit obediently. I can’t read her. Does she forgive me? Is she going to murder me?

Hannah unbuttons the top of my shirt. I swallow a gasp when her cool fingers brush my skin. Sheisgoing to murder me.

“Let’s take a peek,” she says, peeling off my shirt, careful of the spot attached by my dried blood.

She’s inches away from my bare chest. The light scent of lavender on her skin tickles my nose. “How terrible is it?” I choke out the words. I struggle to talk and breathe.

“You ruined your shirt.”

I hand her the Vine & Dine shirt balled up in my hand. “I have this.”

She drapes the shirt on a hook and turns on the water to wet a corner of a paper towel. She dabs at the cut on my side. “What happened?” she asks in a low voice, her breath tickling my ear.

“You won’t believe it. I got a flat and carried my bike all the way here.” She laughs, and the sound is music.

“What about your trusty fanny pack?”

“I gave you my spare tube.” She laughs again, resting her hand on my shoulder. I want to turn around and kiss her. Probably too forward for this train wreck of a date.

“So, why didn’t you get an Uber?”

“I left my phone in my apartment when I rushed out.”

She comes around to face me. A broad smile on her lips. “Sounds like an awful rom-com.”

Am I the main character or the side-kick friend? Please, not the friend. “A real comedy of errors,” I say.

She leans toward my crotch. “Let’s get down to business.”

“Here?” I’m flustered. I want to tear off her clothes and kiss her all over, but this isn’t how I imagined taking the date to the next level. We haven’t even kissed. Should I kiss her now?

“Sure. Why not?”

I move closer to her, but she unzips my bike pouch and removes the Neosporin and bandages. I shoot backward. I almost made another dick move. What’s wrong with me? Why am I lousy at this? It was easy with Elise since she made all the moves. With Hannah, I have too much to lose. I almost lost my chance with her tonight.

“All done.” She plucks the fresh shirt off the hook and hands it to me. “You should heal in no time.”

I slide on the shirt, elated I have another shot. I’m not out of the running yet.

Chapter 12 - Hannah

Hey, my kickball team plays tonight. It’s last minute, but I want to see you.

I stare at my phone. Gabe’s name on my screen sends butterflies to my stomach. I remember the sensation of his bare skin when I cleaned his bike wound, his hot breath tickling my neck as I leaned into his personal space. I thought he might kiss me when we were sitting knee to knee. My heart dropped out of my chest when he didn’t make a move. I shake my head, erasing those images, and peek at my phone.

I shouldn’t lust after Gabe. I shouldn’t crave his strong body covering mine, his soft lips, his tight . . . stop it. I fan my face. His deep voice and impressive abs make more than my stomach quiver. I take a slow breath. Nope, not calming. Getting involved with another womanizer will destroy my already shredded heart. It’s a terrible idea.

I zip my parka and tighten the hood. Do they enjoy giving their copy editors frostbite? Our edits matter. I pop my head over my partition and check the office staff. June wears furry earmuffs, and Maude resembles an abominable snowman in her white puffer coat. Their eyes stay glued to their computer screens.

My numb fingers are too cold to type. I rub my hands together, circulating blood to the tips when my phone buzzes.

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