Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“Well, you don’t exactly wear garbage bags in your videos,” David says, then holds open the door, like a gentleman.
Like someone else I’ll be seeing soon.
I chide myself. Focus on your friend right now. Tomorrow night is all about Nick. Tonight is David time.
We breeze inside and tell the woman at the hostess stand that we’re looking for a booth. She points us toward a spot in the back.
“Sidebar,” I say as we head to the booth, “My friend Raven once made a super-hot dress from a garbage bag. She’s a fashion designer. We went to business school together, and she’s all about low-impact creation. You’d like her.” Then an idea springs, fully-formed, into my mind. “I could ask her to make some threads for the auction. Like to donate to a winner.”
He whistles in appreciation then bows dramatically. “I’m not worthy of you,” he says. His hair doesn’t flop over this time. He cut it a few weeks ago. Trimmed the beard too. He’s rocking the banker style.
“That is true. So I’ll let you pay tonight,” I say.
“Happily, because I have an expense account now.” He shifts gears once we slide into the booth and points toward the bag by my side. “I see a black satiny thing peeking out of there. Does that mean you’ve got a hot date this weekend?”
Not that I’m trying to hide the corset, but I didn’t mean to advertise my lingerie. I tuck it back into the canvas bag. But the date itself isn’t a secret. That’s one of the nice things about truly being friends with your ex. We don’t need to hide what we’re up to romantically. “Maybe I do.”
“So, ’fess up. Who are you cheating on me with?”
The man in my texts. Is he even in town yet? I’ve no idea when he’s due to arrive, and I like the mystery. “Just this sexy, powerful man I met a few months ago at a conference.”
That felt good to say. Freeing even. I’m not seeing Bryce Fancypants the Third, or Carson Winters of the East Hamptons Winters. I’m seeing a man my mother would lose her mind over. “He’s coming to town for work,” I add. “He wanted to see me while he was here.”
The twinkle in David’s eye says he knows what I’ll be up to in twenty-four hours. He gestures to my clothing bag, but then the waitress swings by with water. Once she takes our orders, David lifts his glass. “I’ll drink to your lingerie being ripped off tomorrow night.”
That seems likely, so I clink back. Then we get to work reviewing the auction plans. “I’ve got tennis lessons on the auction list now. Mama Rose corralled someone at the club to auction those off,” he says.
“And Harlow used her pull at the gallery to convince her favorite artist to donate a sketch drawing. Zara Clementine is a huge animal lover, so it’s great.”
“And I asked my dad if he could help out. He’s well-connected so he might be able to scrounge up some good donations.”
“Ooh, Daddy Bancroft. Work it,” I say, using the nickname David gave his father back in college.
David’s phone buzzes, and he shifts his focus to his text app. “You should meet him. Daddy Bancroft,” he says, but he sounds distracted as he reads his messages.
I don’t know much about his father. I only know a bit about his mom because she’s friends with mine. David’s dad lived in California, last I heard, but we didn’t talk about our parents that much during college, and, frankly, we don’t now.
His phone buzzes again. After a quick glance, he waggles it at me. “It’s Cynthia. She just got off work. Her boss is being a dick. Do you mind if I give her a quick call?”
“Go, go,” I say, shooing him away.
He scurries out of the diner and onto the street. While he’s gone, I open the thread with Nick, then tap out a reply to his cocky you didn’t note.
Lola: I guess you’ll find out tomorrow night.
I hit send, and a few seconds later, the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. The skin on my arms tingles. I catch the scent of falling snow and freshly cut wood and the sound of wingtips on the linoleum floor of the diner coming closer.
Maybe my sense memory is conjuring up Nick because I’m texting him. Maybe I’m so caught up in waiting for tomorrow night that I’m imagining the way he smells, sounds, walks.
But when I look up, my breath catches, right along with my curiosity.
He’s here.
And he’s walking toward me with wild curiosity in his eyes, like he can’t believe his luck either. He’s wearing black slacks and a sky-blue shirt that hugs his pecs and his arms. His purple tie is loosened. His beard is just a touch thicker than it was when we first met. My mouth waters as I remember how that scruff feels against my thighs. Then, our gazes lock, and his hazel eyes are full of delicious thoughts.