The Single Life with Zola Patterson Part 2 - Danielle Allen Page 0,1

Mine is more than just for show.”

I put my hand on my hip. “Then let me see a picture.”

“I don’t have a picture.”

“Of course you don’t have any proof,” I sighed loudly, rolling my eyes. “Like I said, I don’t even know if you have a bookshelf.”

He gestured to the crowd of people on the dance floor and at surrounding VIP section tables. “If you didn’t have all these people here to celebrate you, I’d be happy to prove you wrong.”

“Mm hmm…”

He grinned. “What?”

“I know an excuse when I hear one.”

His chuckle reverberated through my entire body. I couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

“You look beautiful, by the way,” he stated as he checked me out.

I made a show of turning in a circle, showing off my body in the goddess-like dress. “Thank you, thank you.”

He chuckled. “No, thank you. Especially for that little spin move.”

“You’re welcome.” I reached out and touched the satin lapel of his black suit. “You clean up nice,” I acknowledged, downplaying the fact that I’d been eye-fucking him the whole time.

“You like the suit?” he asked.

I realized I was still running my fingers over his chest. Pulling my hand back, I smiled. “It’s a nice suit.”

He caught my wrist mid-air and brought it back to his chest, over his heart. With his head cocked to the side, he asked, “Just nice?”

I tried not to grin as I smoothed down his lapel. “Yes. It’s the satin. I like the way it feels, that’s all.”

With a smirk, he let go of my wrist. “Oh, is that all? It’s not because I’m aggressively good-looking?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. You’re real flirtatious for someone who didn’t ask me for my number, I thought as I eyed him.

“You look nice,” I told him evenly.

The corners of his mouth pulled upward as he nodded. “Would I be elevated to passively good-looking if I bought you a drink?”

I stepped back and looked him up and down. “Turn around,” I requested, gesturing with my finger.

As he obliged, I licked my lips. That suit is made for him. How is he making the suit look even better? The suit is supposed to be making him look better, not the other way around. He has to know a tailor because—

“Well?” he wondered as he grinned, waiting for my results.

I tapped my chin and nodded thoughtfully. “You’re a solid good-looking in that suit.”

“So, that’s a yes to the drink,” he stated, offering me his arm.

I took it and we headed to the bar.

After he ordered a non-alcoholic drink for himself and a cocktail for me, we launched into a lively debate about current songs that would likely stand the test of time. Conversation had been flowing effortlessly when his phone went off.

“Duty calls,” he announced, sitting down his glass.

My eyebrows flew up. “What?”

He held up his phone. “I’m on call and they just hit me up to let me know I have a case to tend to.”

Disappointment flooded me. “Oh wow,” I reacted.

We were having such a good conversation and there was clearly a vibe between us. I didn’t want to spend the next couple days denying the feelings he brought out of me, but we had been talking for about twenty minutes and he hadn’t asked for my number.

Rule Number One, I reminded myself as the knot in my stomach grew.

Shaking it off, I forced a smile on my face and reached out to shake his hand. “Well it was nice seeing you again, Mr. Anderson.”

His bigger hand enveloped my smaller one. “The pleasure has been all mine, Ms. Patterson.” His thumb brushed my skin as our hands shook slowly. “Maybe we can do this again sometime.”

My heart thumped. “Argue about who has better taste in music?”

“Get to know each other better.”

We stared at one another; our hands still connected.

The music and the crowd seemed to be on mute because all I could hear was my heart pounding in my ears. There was something otherworldly about the way that man looked at me.

I swallowed hard. “I’d like that.”

“What would be the best way for me to reach you?” he wondered.

“By phone.”

He finally released my hand so he could pull his cell phone out of his pocket. “What’s your number?”

I rattled off the digits and he called me.

“Now you have mine, too. Sometime this weekend, when you get a picture of a full bookshelf, you’ll know who and what it is.”

“So, it’ll be you and the results from an internet search,” I joked