Red Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,21

elsewhere. It’s a talent she has.

I leave, but I stop in the middle of the staircase, realizing I didn’t grab Hayes’s coat. Crap. As if I were doing the Walk of Shame, I re-enter the apartment and find Aspen curled up on the couch, crying. I don’t say anything as I reach into my bag beside the couch and pull out the coat, but she looks at me. “Is that the mystery man’s coat?” she asks in a sobbing whisper.

“Why do you even care, Aspen? You just told me to get out. Remember?” I’m trying not to be angry with her for putting me in this situation in the first place. Yet, she’s acting like this is my fault. I’m just the asshole messenger. “I didn’t do this to you. You have to know that.” I tuck the coat under my arm and press back toward the door. “And for your information, I fought for you. I tried to convince Grant to change his mind.”

She sits up, rubbing her sleeve under her nose. “Thank you,” she mumbles. “I just need some time right now. You don’t have to move out or anything. Just—I need to be alone for a bit.”

Great.

I walk out while I have the opportunity at a somewhat civil ending to all of this. Why do I have to add this to my list of worries right now?

My hands are trembling and my pulse is racing by the time I reach the bottom step. I know what my body wants, what it needs right now. But I can’t let myself do it before my date. I have a date. He’d smell it on me if he hasn’t already. Maybe I can consider this a good sign. I’m avoiding my vice for a guy. It could mean I’m not that addicted.

Having ignored the one thing that would have calmed me down, I find my palms are sweating, and my mouth has gone bone dry by the time I reach the Rastafarian coffee shop. I consider leaving before he arrives, debating if this really is a bad idea.

Before I have a chance to decide, I see I’m out of time.

Hayes walks toward me with a small bunch of roses in his hand. I take in the high-end casual clothes he’s wearing—a light blue collared shirt with a taupe blazer, dark blue jeans and brown suede shoes. He knows how to dress.

I watch his eyes scan over me as he approaches. A smile tickles his lips. “You look beautiful,” he says. He reaches toward me, slipping his fingers through a loose curl draped over my shoulder. “I like your hair like that.”

“And you…” I almost tell him he looks beautiful, too. I mean, he does. I hold back, though. “Thank you.”

“I want to take you downtown, but—”

“You’re embarrassed to be seen with me?” I joke.

“Yeah. About that…” He pauses. “Ok, just so it doesn’t seem like I’m still pursuing you for your looks alone, can you please tell me something about yourself? Anything. Then I’ll tell you something about me. And we won’t be so mysterious to one another. Deal?” He hands me the roses, and I press them up to my nose as I hand him his coat.

“My coat. This is great. Thank you. Well, have a great night,” he says, as seriously as he could. He turns, taking a couple of steps away from me before he twists back around. “Kidding.”

“And to think I almost got away without telling you a thing about myself,” I say, struggling to hide my grin.

“No such luck. I want to know everything there is to know about you, Blondie-locks.”

Damn. “Well, what do you want to know?” I ask. How about we start with the latest; my house just burnt down and my brother, who I didn’t know was home, died in the process.

“We have reservations at seven. Let’s walk and talk.” He places a hand on my back and guides me down the street. “What do you do for a living?” he asks.

I can feel his hand melting through my thin coat and into my skin. The sensation sends goose bumps down my arms. “I’m a—”

“Wait, I changed my mind. I want to guess,” he says, appearing to contemplate his answer for a minute. “You’re a chef,” he spits out.

It wasn’t as much of a guess as it was a statement. I’m a bit shocked and taken back, trying to figure how he’d know. I look over at him, at the proud smirk