What If You & Me (Say Everything #2) - Roni Loren Page 0,41

says ‘Hey, we’re just friends’ but also ‘Look how pretty I am’?”

Eliza laughed. “Be comfortable. Look casual. Show some skin.”

“Jeans and my purple Save the Chubby Unicorns tank top it is,” Andi declared.

Her friend snorted. “What’s a chubby unicorn?”

“It has a drawing of a rhino.” Andi grabbed the shirt from her closet.

“Perfect, that will show skin and personality.” Eliza paused. “You gonna be okay? Do you need me to call and check in with you?”

Andi blew out a breath, so thankful for her friends that she could barely contain the gratitude. “I’ll text you by nine to let you know how I’m doing.”

“You’ve got this, girl,” Eliza said, utter confidence in her voice. “Try to relax and have a good time. Listen to your gut. Or you know, parts lower than that if the situation arises.”

Andi rolled her eyes. “Goodbye, Eliza.”

“Love you.”

“Same.”

Andi ended the call, stripped out of the clothes she’d worn to the office, and changed into her outfit. She eyed the result in the mirror. Casual and cute and her boobs really did look great in this top. Winner.

She barely had time to pin her hair into a messy bun before the doorbell rang. A little zing went through her bloodstream, a mix of anxiety and anticipation. She took a breath, nodded at herself in the mirror in a silent he’s-probably-not-a-serial-killer pep talk, and then headed to her front door.

She checked the peephole, typed in the code on the newly installed alarm, and swung the door open. She’d anticipated that she’d feel nervous letting Hill inside. What she hadn’t anticipated was the rush of pleasure she got at the sight of him. Helloooo there. His dark hair was still damp at the ends like he’d just showered, and his black V-neck T-shirt clung enough to remind her what he’d looked like with his shirt off. The impact of all that gorgeous maleness was enough to rock her back on her heels a little.

“Hey,” he said with a small smile.

She wet her lips, feeling nervous energy—part giddy, part anxious—move through her. “Hey, yourself.”

He lifted the plastic container he was holding along with a grocery bag. “Food is fresh out of the pan. And I brought margarita fixings—not a traditional pairing with pad thai but usually a crowd favorite. I hope that matches well with losing my horror V-card.”

“Margaritas go great with everything.” She stepped back to let him in, waving her arm with a flourish. “Welcome, virgin. This will only hurt a little, I promise.”

He chuckled and stepped inside. “I’m officially terrified.”

She closed the door behind him and took a breath.

Me too.

But there was no turning back now.

Chapter Ten

Andi led Hill into her kitchen, and he set the container and bag he’d brought on her counter. The spiced scent of pad thai filled the room, and her stomach growled. “God, I’m starving.”

“Yeah, lunch seems like a long time ago.” Hill pulled out a bottle of good tequila, limes, agave nectar, and something called citrus jalapeño salt, setting it all on her little rollaway kitchen island.

Andi eyed his offerings. “Well, la-di-da, neighbor. Those are fancy fixings. No cheap margarita mix for you?”

His lips hitched up at one corner. “I did a bartending stint at a high-end Mexican restaurant before I became a firefighter. Once I had this kind of margarita, I couldn’t go back to the other stuff. I hope you’re okay with on the rocks.”

“Hey, that’s where my writing is right now, so it’s fitting,” she said with chagrin.

His gaze flicked up to her as he arranged his ingredients. “That bad, huh?”

“Hasn’t been great.” She grabbed glasses and a measuring jigger and set them in front of him. Then she took out some dishes to plate the pad thai. “The word factory is very unreliable. You put in an order and have no idea if and when those words are going to show up and if they’re going to be any good or not. Yet you have to keep showing up at your doorstep every day, hoping for their arrival.”

He opened the bottle of tequila and poured some into the jigger. “What’s your current story about?”

“Slasher genre, meaning some type of crazed killer. Summer-camp setting à la Friday the 13th. I’m trying to take the cliché of that and twist it into something new, but I haven’t found the right direction yet. Honestly, I don’t even know if it’s the right concept to start with.” She watched him measure out the alcohol. “I’m hoping our movie watching will fill