Page 39 of I Can't Help It

“No,” Luke cuts in, his jaw becoming tense, “he didn’t tell me that I couldn’t date you. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Well, I think it is,” I disagree, stepping closer to him, “and I think you should give me a fair chance.”

He swallows, hard. “I can’t.”

“One date!” I blurt out, unable to stop myself. “Go on one date with me, and if you’re still convinced that we shouldn’t be together after the date is over, I’ll never mention any of this ever again.”

I WILL NOT KISS AVA

Luke

Ava is my kryptonite.

Seriously. I know that term is overused, but it’s so true.

Why else would I agree to her “one date plan,” when I know I’m going to regret it? Why else would I agree to have our one date TONIGHT instead of waiting until this work trip is done and we’re back home?

I massage my temples and curse under my breath. I’ve been replaying our earlier conversation in my mind, and I’m still annoyed at myself for saying I want her. That wasn’t supposed to happen. That was never supposed to happen.

I couldn’t help it though.

Hearing Ava make assumptions that she wasn’t the right kind of woman for me was just too much. As if there was even the slightest chance that I’d be interested in any other women besides her.

You know what else is too much?

Sitting on this couch while she’s in the bathroom taking a shower. For the second time today, I force myself not to imagine anything. Instead, I’ve been thinking about every horrible thing I can come up with.

Soggy cereal. Hitting your hip on the corner of a kitchen counter. Blisters. Low-budget movie sequels. Needing to sneeze but nothing happens. Wet socks. Ads that can’t be skipped. Charley horses. Forgetting account passwords.

A few long, agonizing minutes later, the bathroom door slides open. Ava steps out, wearing a burnt-orange tank top tucked into a brown and black plaid skirt, and her hair is twisted up in a clip. Thankfully, the skirt has a little more length than her jean shorts did—but who am I kidding? Ava could wear a complete astronaut suit and I’d still be affected by her.

“Don’t look at my hair!” she exclaims with a wince. “I’m not leaving it like this! I just need it out of the way while I finish getting ready.”

She thinks her hair looks bad like that? With a few loose strands framing her face and her exposed neck taunting me mercilessly?

Impossible.

“Don’t look!” she repeats herself before waving a hand toward the bathroom. “It’s your turn to use the shower or whatever.”

Because I insisted that she could use it first, even though she tried to protest.

I stand to my feet and then grab a change of clothes. A white tank top and a pair of darker blue jeans will work for now until I choose an actual shirt for our…date.

I’m going on a date with Ava.

Don’t even think about grinning.

This. Is. A. Disaster.

But my heart doesn’t seem to agree.

* * *

Once I’m in the bathroom, I notice two things.

Number 1: Ava’s signature scent is everywhere. It’s addicting and irritating at the same time.

Number 2: The bathroom’s wooden sliding door doesn’t have a lock.

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