Page 157 of Reckless
Twenty
One Real Date
Kelly
The first thing I noticed when I opened my apartment door for Xerses the next evening was that he was carrying nothing.
No flowers not something devastatingly expensive, or thoughtfully selected thing inside it.
He was alone in his dark jeans, black Henley and hair slightly wind-tossed.Hands empty.
And because I was already too far gone to protect myself properly where he was concerned, that alone nearly made me emotional.
He looked at me for one quiet second and said, “Hi.”
I leaned against the doorframe and smiled before I could stop it.“Hi.”
“You look good.”
“You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
I couldn’t look away.“That should not work on me.”
“Does it?”
“Unfortunately.”
No grand speech followed.
I stepped back to let him in and felt, with a little ridiculous bloom of happiness.
He was here under a version of terms that did not feel fake or fragile or arranged.
He crossed the threshold and looked around like he always did seeing things.
The books.The little framed photo of me with the girls.The throw blanket still half-slid off the couch where I’d fallen asleep reading the night before.The tea glasses he’d given me, now washed and sitting near the kettle like I had not placed them there on purpose because I liked the look of them in my kitchen.
His eyes landed on the glasses with a quiet, warm little recognition that made my whole chest loosen.
“That’s new,” he said.
I glanced toward the counter like I had not spent three full minutes deciding whether leaving them visible looked too meaningful.“I use my kitchen.”
His expression shifted faintly.“ Get your shoes.”
I should have made him suffer more for how well he took understatement.
Instead I just asked, “Are we going somewhere?”
“Yes.”
“That is not a clue.”
He took one step closer.Not enough to touch.Enough to make me aware of his body in my space and the volatile amount of pleasure that still gave me.
“It’s a date,” he said.
