Wrong Place, Right Time(102)

“Oh, be quiet.” I’m completely and totally busted. My face burns bright red. Thankfully, the lighting is bad in here. Perhaps I’ll get lucky and he won’t notice. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look anywhere but at him.

“Okay. If you say so.” Clearly, he doesn’t believe me. So much for being sneaky and incognito about my feelings. I’m about as incognito as a peacock in heat. Look at me! Over here! Ready to get it on like Donkey Kong and bear your children too!

Melba comes over with the check and a big box wrapped up inside a plastic bag with the handles tied together. “Here you go. One hot fudge brownie with all the toppings and extra cherries on top.”

Dev reaches into his back pocket, but I stop him with my hand out. “No, no, this is my treat. I lost the bet, so I’m paying.”

Dev shakes his head at me as he pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “Sorry, but I have a personal policy of never letting a woman pay for meals. My mother would never forgive me if I made an exception just because you lost a bet with me.”

I frown at him. “That’s not fair. These were your rules.”

He shrugs. “You can get the next one.”

I want to argue that this violates his so-called rules, and that by his reasoning he’d always end up paying, but I don’t want to talk him out of a second non-date that could maybe by some chance turn into a real date. I’m not that stupid. “Fine. But don’t think you can invoke this personal policy on our next . . . meal together.”

Dev gives Melba a pile of cash and tells her to keep the change. She walks away happy.

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod, not sure where we go from here. Will he just drop me off, or will he come into my place for a drink? I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m a complete newbie at this non-dating, maybe-dating thing. The last time I went out with anybody, I was practically a teenager. I’m tempted to text my sister for advice, but I don’t want him to see how clueless I am. I fight the urge to take my phone out and instead busy myself with gathering my things and smoothing imagined wrinkles out of my dress.

Following him out to the car, I decide on my way that I just need to keep doing what I’m doing, namely following his lead and seeing where it takes us. Knowing him as I do now, I trust that he won’t lead me astray. He’s too good a man for that.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

I don’t know if Dev is as nervous as I am on our ride to my house, but it seems like he might be. We share maybe five minutes of small talk all the way back, and then we’re pulling up into my driveway.

Will he keep the car running? Will he assume I’m going to invite him in? Will he ask if he can come inside and take my clothes off? These are the thoughts that are traveling through my crazy, confused, and sexually starved brain as he parks in the driveway. He pauses as the motor idles, staring out the windshield. I wish I could get inside that brain of his and read it.

He puts his hand on the ignition and turns to look at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m going to walk you to the door if that’s okay.”

I nod. “Of course. I appreciate it.” I’ll pretend I live in a scary neighborhood and that I need a big, strong man to walk me to my door. Save me, Spider-Man!

It’s not the sexy invitation I was fantasizing I might get from him, but maybe I’ll be able to steal a kiss good night. I’m feeling a little bold for some reason. Maybe it’s a side effect of eating fried catfish.

He shuts off the ignition and comes around to open my door for me once more. It’s just as charming the third time as it was the first. As we walk up to the front door side by side, the schoolgirl in me is sweating it, big-time. I want him to hold my hand and ask me if I’ll be his girlfriend! I’m fifteen years old again! Wheee!

I wish I could walk up the porch in slow motion and make the moment last longer, but his strides are those of a seven-foot-tall man. We’re at the front door in no time.

I fish around in my purse for the keys and then, when I find them, hold my purse against my chest as I look up at him. “I really enjoyed our evening, even though you cheated.”

His grin comes slowly. “Cheated? Who cheated? I played fair.”

“The deal was that I was supposed to pay. You changed the rules to suit your purposes.”

“And what purposes would those be?”

This doesn’t feel like a conversation between just friends, but I don’t want to ruin it by pushing for something that I can’t have. But will that stop me from flirting? No. Not tonight. Not when he’s using that dimple to make my heart go pitter-patter.