Plan B (Best Laid Plans #2) - Jana Aston Page 0,12
on my next tour—a reverse of the same trip, Boston back to D.C. So I opted to stay in the city rather than fly home and back.
One tiny decision that set off a bombshell of life changes. What if I'd just gone home? What if I'd turned and run the opposite direction when I caught sight of him, instead of waiting long enough for his gaze to find mine? It made me dizzy, his eyes, his attention. Him. Have you ever met a man like that?
You know the feeling. The butterflies, the energy. The weird cosmic sense that he must be feeling the same, that the amount of energy swirling in your belly and the quickening of your heart can't be one-sided.
I was on my way to Fenway Park. I didn't have any particular interest in baseball, but it seemed like attending a Red Sox game at Fenway was a life event worth experiencing and I had a summer day free for exploring. He was checking his watch when I caught sight of him, gorgeous and impatient standing on a sidewalk outside the coffee shop I'd just left. He was in a grey T-shirt and cargo shorts, casual. The shirt looked soft and well-worn-in, the kind you'd steal from your boyfriend because the cotton would have the same effect as rubbing a kitten against your bare skin. He filled out the shirt nicely, and the shorts hung just so over a flat stomach and narrow hips.
Just my type.
When he caught me looking at him he smiled and I implored myself to walk away even as I stepped closer. I was a bit turned around and it wouldn't hurt to ask him if he could point me in the right direction to the stadium, would it?
I didn't need a fling in a city that wasn't my own. I didn't need a fling at all. I was doing so well on the dick diet and this guy was the cover model to a novel called The Problem With Men Who Give Mind-Blowing Orgasms.
I stepped closer.
I asked him if he knew how to get to the stadium.
"Mr. Kingston," a voice beside me interrupted, "the car is ready."
"I'll give you a ride," he said, not taking his eyes off mine. "I'm headed there myself."
As if. I'd seen every serial killer special on Netflix and I didn't even know his name. I didn't need a ride in the back of a town car, I needed to be pointed in the right direction. Which was exactly what I told him. He smiled, a look of genuine surprise at my refusal crossing his face.
"Kyle," he said, holding out his hand in formal introduction. A grin still tugged at the corner of his mouth, a dimple flashing in his left cheek.
"Daisy," I replied and slipped my hand into his.
By the time we reached Fenway I reminded myself that even the strictest of diets allow for a cheat day every once in a while.
"We met Daisy," Kerrigan says, pulling away from Kyle and glancing in my direction with an excited smile. Oh, God. Don't say it, don't say—"I can't believe you didn't tell me you were engaged!"
Okay, so that's out. But Kyle doesn't so much as blink, which tells me that he's already heard our happy news. Damn, Margo works fast. If I was planning on sticking around I might find her interest in Kyle upsetting but I'm not, so I don't. Hardly at all.
Just a little. I really hate that troll.
"It's a recent development," Kyle responds, eyes still not leaving mine. He plucks one of the glasses of champagne from my hands, taking a sip before continuing. "So recent, it's almost as if you knew before I did. I promise."
I blush, the weight of my embarrassment nearly enough to crush me. This is really not how I saw this playing out.
"Well, no wonder you let me spend the summer in Europe. You were busy falling in love with Daisy." If Kerrigan were a Disney character she'd be Thumper. Her tiny body is practically vibrating in her excitement, she is hopelessly twitterpated by the very idea of love.
She's going to be so disappointed when this fake engagement ends.
Kyle winds the fingers of his free hand in mine, pulling me to his side in a move that looks romantic, as if he can't have me close enough. I know it's not though, a fact confirmed when he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as if to