Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
He sits back in his seat. “So . . .”
“So . . .” I smile.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the waitress asks.
Tequila, bitch . . . all of it.
I pick up the drink menu. Quick, pick something.
“What would you like, sir?” she asks him.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” he replies in his deep sexy voice.
“Of course.” The waitress smiles.
Oh . . . the pressure.
“Do you like margaritas?” I ask timidly.
“I love them.” His eyes hold mine, and he bites his bottom lip as if to hide his smile.
“I’ll have a margarita, please,” I tell her.
“How would you like it?”
“Shaken and salted.”
“Make that two,” Henley says.
The waitress disappears, and my eyes meet his. “Do you really like margaritas, or are you being smooth?”
His eyes dance with delight. “I’m trying to be smooth, but I do actually like margaritas. So, good choice.”
“Oh.” I smile goofily.
“How am I doing?”
“With the smooth?”
“Yeah.”
“Like a baby’s bottom.”
He chuckles and I do too.
“I was actually nervous coming here tonight.” He smiles.
“You?” I scoff.
“Yes, me,” he scoffs back. “Why wouldn’t you think I’d be nervous?”
Because you look like that.
“You just don’t seem like a nervous type of person,” I reply casually. “I was nervous coming here tonight, but . . .” My voice trails off as I stop myself from elaborating.
“But what?” He smiles.
“But I don’t go on many dates, so . . .” I shrug.
His brow furrows. “You don’t go on many dates?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Men are dicks.”
He chuckles. “That we are.”
I look around at our surroundings. “I give your date place a ten, though.”
“It is nice, isn’t it?” He looks around too.
“Come here often?”
“First time.”
I nod, feeling suddenly out of my depth.
“I don’t date often either,” he adds.
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know—it’s a lot of hassle.”
“Here you are.” The waitress puts our drinks on the table, interrupting us.
“Thank you.”
She leaves us alone, and we both pick up our drinks, and I hold mine up for a toast. He holds his to mine and waits.
“To smooth hassles,” I say.
He gives me a slow sexy smile. “I never said it was going to be smooth.”
The air between us is electric.
“I like some bumps.” I smile, feeling a little braver.
“Something tells me this date is going to be anything but a hassle.”
“Until I turn into a psychopath tomorrow.”
He throws his head back and laughs out loud, and I smile goofily over at him.
He thinks I’m funny.
A million margaritas and laughs later.
The restaurant has gone quiet. Everyone cleared out. But our conversation is still running hot.
Henley James is funny and charming, not to mention utterly gorgeous. I find myself hanging on his every word.
“So . . .” He sits back in his chair as he acts serious. “How do you rate our date so far?”
“So far?”
He smiles mischievously into his drink.
“So far . . .” I narrow my eyes as I pretend to think hard. “Like a two.”
“A two?” he gasps. “This date is not a two.”
“I know.” I laugh. “It’s a ten.”
He gives me that look, the one he does so well. “Twenty.”
“Twenty?” I raise my eyebrows: it’s like he’s reading my mind. “That’s a high score.”
He twirls his glass on the table. “I think this is my best first date ever.”
Your last first date.
“What’s so good about it?” I smile as I play along.
“Well . . . the scenery.” He gestures to me.
I giggle and lick the salt from my glass.
“That.” He points to me with my tongue hanging out. “That is a definite high point. Every time you do it, I feel it in my loins.”
I burst out laughing, and he does too.
“Loin or groin?” I ask.
“Both.”
We laugh again. I’m sure the waitstaff all hate us by now—nothing is this funny.
“I love that you’re understated,” he says.
I flick my hair around and bat my eyelashes.
“Your wanting-to-renovate-a-house thing is a little concerning, though. Don’t know if I would trust you with a nail gun.”
I giggle. He is so fun.
“I love that you’re a nurse.”
“Have you lost somebody?” I ask.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well.” I shrug. “Most people who appreciate nurses have spent a lot of time in a hospital.”
“My mother.”
We fall serious.
“I’m sorry. Recently?”
“No.” He sips his drink. “When I was fifteen.”
I watch him, unsure what to say next.
He looks out over the restaurant as if miles away. “It was a catastrophic event in my life.”
Oh . . .
I hold my hand out over the table to him, and he places his in mine. I rub my thumb over his fingers. “She would be very proud of you.”
His eyes meet mine, and he rolls his lips as if annoyed. I instantly know that I’ve overstepped.
“But she said you better up your game because this date is definitely slipping down to a two.”
He smirks and picks up his drink. “Really?”
“Yes.” I nod, acting serious. “She said you should walk me out to my car and kiss me good night if you want to raise the score tally.”