"I just…" My eyes fall to his chest and I rub the palm of my free hand against my hip, bunching the material in my fist before releasing it. "I just don't know if I'm ready for you."
"It's just dinner, Lauren," he says and dammit if just his voice doesn't turn me on. "Say yes. You can wash your hair another night," he adds with his dimpled grin.
I tear my eyes from his mouth and wave a finger at him while narrowing my eyes. "I do actually need to wash my hair."
"Sure." He nods.
"And I have a book club meeting tonight."
"A book club meeting? On a Friday night?"
"It's a very progressive book club."
"Good. So they won't mind if I come."
"You want to come to my book club meeting?"
"Sure. Why not?"
"Um, because you haven't read the book?"
"That sounds pretty discriminatory coming from a progressive book club."
"That we'd require you read the book to attend?" I laugh.
"Maybe I'll buy the book after hearing it discussed. Did you ever think of that? You'd be doing the author a disservice by turning me away."
"But there will be spoilers. You'll know how it ends before you begin."
"Is that why you won't have dinner with me? Because you think you know how it ends before it even begins?"
He's right.
"Eight o'clock," I tell him. "We meet at the Book Bar on Seventh and Charles.”
Chapter Five
I washed my hair.
I also shaved my legs… and everywhere else. Just in case. Because there is no possible way I'm sleeping with Max—a guy I met yesterday. If he even shows up, that is. He probably won't. He's probably some nutjob with a fetish for walking around the city making women swoon before he disappears. Trust me, it wouldn't even be the strangest fetish in this city.
But it never hurts to wash your hair. It needed to be done anyway, and it's hard to get extended bathroom time with four girls sharing an apartment so it's best to take advantage when you can. That's what I'm telling myself anyhow.
So it doesn't matter if he shows up or not. I washed my hair for me, not for the hot guy with the dimples and the flat stomach. The guy with the blue eyes, strong arms and dark hair. The one who managed to put a smile on my face during a really craptastic day.
God, I hope he shows up.
I'm wearing a white sundress. I think it’s a funny nod to today’s bridal dress fiasco, so why not? It's a knee-length dress with a bohemian vibe and spaghetti straps. I've paired it with strappy espadrilles and a blush-colored summer-weight cardigan.
As I examine myself in the mirror I wonder if this look is too sweet. I wonder if I should change into jeans and low-cut shirt. Or maybe a long skirt with a tank top. Or—fuck it. I look cute. Besides, I'm going to a book club meeting, not a date.
Right?
I stuff my eReader into my bag and leave my apartment. The elevator was fixed while I was at work, so my exit from the building is smoother than it was this morning. Maybe, just maybe, this day is going to end better than it started.
I hit the sidewalk and marvel in the wonder that is this city while I walk. It's not gotten hot yet and with the sun just about to set for the night, the temperature has dropped into a range for a perfect summer evening. The Book Bar is about a ten-minute walk from my apartment and I enjoy the walk. I'm used to walking most places now, something that would have been unfathomable to me when I lived in Iowa. I used to move my car from one end of the shopping center to the other.
But now I walk. And I love it. I love the people-watching and the noise. The sound of cabs honking has become almost meditative to me now. I pass restaurants with sidewalk seating, conversations spilling out along with the clink of cutlery. Drugstores with automatic doors swishing open and closed as people hurry in and out. There's a fervor of possibility everywhere you look here.
My book club meets at this really cool hybrid shop on Seventh. They sell wine and books—a Manhattan bookworm’s dream. There's an area towards the back reserved for book club meetings. A couple of mismatched sofas and an odd assortment of chairs fill the space. They're covered in colorful pillows and there's a big beat-up coffee table in the middle of it all, the kind you can rest your feet on or spill a drop of red wine on and no one cares.
It's heaven tucked into the middle of the city.
My book club consists of an assortment of women of varying ages and backgrounds. At first glance you might not think we had anything in common, yet we unite once a month over a love of books and any surface differences we have melt away. Our group includes a nurse, a college student, and a real estate agent, just to name a few.
We're the first Friday group—romance novels. The shop hosts book clubs all the time, with different genres meeting on different weeks, different days. It's open to everyone—the store posts a schedule of what each group is reading so anyone can join in anytime.