“I’ll give it some serious consideration.”
She leans forward on the bench and holds up her hand in the universal stop motion, as if it’s important she makes this distinction. “Don’t get me wrong. A hot spy. More James Bond than Austin Powers. It’d be sexy if I enjoyed being spied on.”
Right. Rhys’ Undercover Boss comment rings in my ear and I feel abashed for lying to her. Yet what has she got to hide? Isn’t that really the question? I know she’s lying about something. She’s a hot mess of contradictions and things that don’t add up. If I had any sense at all I’d be doing the exact opposite of what I’m about to do, but bloody feelings are the antonym of sense.
My phone buzzes with an incoming call from London. I glance at it before sending it to voicemail so I can focus on the task at hand.
“Normally I’d ask if you were free tonight, but we both already know that you are, so I’ll cut right to the chase. I’d like to take you on a date tonight.”
“A date?” The skepticism I’ve come to associate with her is back in a blink as a hint of confusion crosses her face.
“Dinner,” I clarify, as it seems she’s not comprehending. “A proper date.”
“Oh.” Her brows rise as her lips form the word and the skepticism on her face morphs into curiosity.
I wait, expecting her to say something. Something like yes, but she’s silent. I’m not sure what the hell she’s thinking about, her head tilted to the side while she stares at me and thinks. Fuck me, she’s cute. She’s stunning, really. But it’s these little moments that charm me. When she drops all pretenses, unworried about impressing me. When she scrunches her nose or rolls her eyes or makes me wait far too long for an answer.
“Eight o’clock, then?” I tell her, because fuck it, she’s going to dinner with me. I’m not taking no for an answer.
“Why?” she asks, without a hint of playing coy.
“Why?” I laugh and shake my head. What does she mean, why? I remind myself she’s a bit younger than me and wonder if dating has completely gone to hell in the decade that separates us or if this kind of a response is simply Daisy. My phone buzzes again. I don’t even look at it as I turn the ringer to silent and wonder how I’ve made it this far without the amusement of a woman requesting I justify why I want to take her on a date.
“Because we like each other and it will be fun. Because we haven’t had a proper first date and you deserve one. Because I enjoy spending time with you.”
“Okay.” She nods her head once in agreement and I think that’s settled. Then she opens her mouth again to provide a list of reasons why I shouldn’t pick her up at the door.
I really, really like her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Violet
A date.
He asked me on a date. After eye-fucking me across the garden and distracting me from my call—which was a total bust—he asked me to go on a date with him.
I stared at him, suspicious about what he was up to, because who asks a sure thing to go on a date? What is the point in that? A sure thing means you eat a quick sandwich by yourself, brush your teeth and then meet up somewhere for sex. At least I think that’s what it means. I’ve never really done this before but dinner seems unnecessary. I was staring at him trying to figure out if he’d meant dinner or if ‘date’ was British slang for sex when he smiled and tossed in the phrase, “A proper date.”
For the love of all that is holy, why is the word ‘proper’ a turn-on? Because it is, at least when spoken by Mr. Sexy Voice. Then I started daydreaming about how I was going to get a voice recording of him saying ‘proper’ before the week was up so I could play it on repeat after he was gone. Which led to the super-genius idea of developing vibrators that speak dirty to you in a British accent, which was interrupted by Jennings saying, “Earth to Daisy,” and snapping me out of contemplating what the overhead costs would be to get something like that in development.
Once he had my attention he asked again to take me to dinner. “A proper date, love. I’ll take you to dinner and walk you to your door. Tonight,” he added while doing that eye-fucking thing again.
So I think he meant both dinner and sex.
I’m free tonight. A fact Jennings pointed out because he’d taken the time to check the itinerary and confirm that there’s no group dinner planned for the tour this evening.
You know what rebounds are good for? Rebounding. They are not meant to make you fall for them before they go home. To a place that you couldn’t even drive to if you hypothetically wanted to see them again because an ocean separates your countries. International flights for booty calls seem really impractical.