My life for the last six months pretty much consisted of working eighty hours a week, going to mundane social engagements that my work required, and occasionally fucking Caroline when she was in town. All of which, Jay, messenger boy extraordinaire, could not reveal to Bianca. And so—I dug even deeper.
“My business keeps me pretty busy. I have some employees but the company is only a few years old, and we’re still in the building stages. I try to hit the gym five days a week, and…” I needed to come up with something so it sounded like I had some interests. Unfortunately, when I reached into my bag full of decent lies for another, all I came up with was a handful of lint. So, I said the first thing that popped into my head. “I also whittle.”
“Whittle?”
“Yes, whittle. You know, the ancient form of woodcarving. I carve various things from wood.”
What the fuck? Hiking or distilling couldn’t have popped into my head first? I didn’t know the first thing about wood. Well, not that type of wood anyway.
Bianca looked amused. “That’s not something I hear too often—whittling. What kind of things do you make?”
“Ah. I can’t tell you that on the first date.” I winked. “Just know I’m good with my hands, and you have some impressive wood to look forward to seeing in the future when we go out again.”
“When, not if, we got out again?” She questioned with a raised brow. “You’re rather sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“I like to think of myself more as persistent. I may be just a simple messenger, but that doesn’t mean that I let something stand in my way when I know what I want.”
The afternoon flew by, and I hated that I had to end things, but my four o’clock appointment had flown in from London last night. I couldn’t very well abandon him as I had done with my entire afternoon of responsibilities. Not to mention that my secretary had been blowing up my phone with a string of urgent messages for more than an hour.
I reluctantly pedaled Bianca back to her apartment. Being a woman of her word, she didn’t provide one ounce of assistance in toting her ass halfway up town. Even though I was in tip-top shape, I was sweating and winded by the time we made it to her apartment.
I wiped my brow with my sweatshirt after parking the bike. “You really didn’t lend a hand at all on that ride.”
She smiled. “Nope. A bet’s a bet, and you lost.”
I was starting to think what I’d lost was my goddamn mind. “When can I see you again?”
“Are you going to pick me up on your bicycle?”
“Does that matter?”
“No. I just wanted to know what I should wear.”
“Wear something sexy.” I took a step closer into her personal space, testing the waters. She didn’t back up.
“Where would we go?”
“Wherever you want.” I’d been dying to touch her all day, but mauling her in the park or stopping in traffic to take her mouth wasn’t exactly the vibe the afternoon was giving off. But now that we were standing in front of her building and it was just the two of us, I was done resisting. Her hair was windblown from the ride, so I reached out to smooth it down and let my palm linger on her jaw so my thumb could stroke her cheek. “Name it. I’m game for anything.”
“How about Ethiopian food?”
“Done.” I leaned in closer. “Anything else you want?”
Her eyes drop to my lips.
Right answer.
Just as I was about to bring my mouth down to finally meet hers, something caught her attention behind me. I turned and watched an elderly woman attempting to get out from the cab.
“That’s Mrs. Axinger,” Bianca said. “She lives across the hall from me.”
I wanted to ignore the woman getting out of the car and go back to what I was about to do, but I couldn’t. She looked like she might fall, and the damn cabbie wasn’t about to help. I groaned, but headed to help the woman. Bianca followed right behind me.
“Hi, Mrs. A. This is my friend, Jay.”
I took the woman’s arm and helped her out of the cab and up the tall curb. Once she was steady, I lifted her grocery bag from the seat and carried it behind her and Bianca as they walked to the door.
“Bianca, dear, do you think you can give me a hand getting a box from the top of my closet? I’m afraid to climb up on a chair, and I want to ship some pictures to my son out in California.”
“Sure, of course. I told you to knock anytime you need anything. I’ll help you put these groceries away and get whatever you need down.”
After I opened the door and we were all standing in the lobby, Bianca gave me an apologetic look. “Call me?” she asked.