Page 82 of Delicate Storm

The drinks keep flowing and we keep talking until I can’t hide my yawns anymore. “I have to call it a night.” I scrunch my nose, because I’ve actually had a great time.

“I can tell.” Ben grins and I frown apologetically. “Am I boring you?”

“No, not at all. This has been fun.”

“I agree. I like drinking with new friends.”

“Me too. I like itwaybetter than drinking with old friends.” Ben raises a brow and I giggle. “Don’t mind me. That’s a long story for another time.”

“Well, you’ve got my number if you want to talk.”

“I do?” I stare at him confused, squinting my eyes as I try to recall that moment, but I don’t remember getting his number.Am I that drunk?

Ben laughs before standing up and offering me his hand for support. Which I happily take. “My number was on the information sheet from today. If you want to do this again. As friends.”

“Oh, that’s right. The sheet. That means you have my number too. And look how easy that was. We talked about numbers without giving it a second thought.”

“Another story for another time?” Ben questions and I replay my words in my head before laughing.

“Yep. Another story for another time.”

How is it possible that Easton and I never exchanged numbers?I’d really like to text him and ask right now. But I can’t. Because I don’t have his number.

“Which way are you headed?” Ben asks, concern etched in his features when I stumble slightly. “Can I help with an Uber?”

“I’m south of here. But I’ve got someone I can call.”

“The guy you’re seeing?”

I picture my ride and giggle hysterically. “No. Not this time. It’s my dad’s driver.”

“Okay, good. Would you like me to wait? I’m going to walk home. I live a few blocks from here.”

“Uphill?” My face scrunches and Ben laughs.

“Yes, most of it’s uphill, but I don’t mind. It keeps me fit.”

“I don’t think I could walk straight right now, let aloneup. But good for you.”

I text my dad’s driver as we walk toward the street, and when he tells me he’s fifteen minutes away, Ben waits, both of us people watching in a comfortable silence.

I wave when my ride arrives, and the second I’m settled in my seat, my eyes drift closed, my mind immediately bombarding me with images of Easton. As though I cheated on him. When it’s not even close to the truth. Because my night was innocent, and even if I’d kissed him good night, it wouldn’t be cheating because we’re not together. We’re barely even talking at the moment. In fact, I think I’ve had more conversations with his son recently. Like Easton, we keep running into each other, and he’s so freaking cute.UnlikeEaston who’s ridiculously hot and so deliciously tempting.

I hate to admit that this mess with Easton is driving me crazy. He’s driving me crazy, and I’m not sure I like this feeling.

It’s after midnight by the time I get home, and as I enter the lobby, I find myself holding my breath, hoping I’ll run into himagain. That he’ll be in the elevator when I get there. Waiting for me. Desperate to see me. Feral for it. Like he was in the gym.

But he’s a dad. And it’s late. I may as well be dreaming because it’s the only way I’m going to see him.

The doors to the elevator open and my jaw drops until an old man exits, walking his giant dog as he sleepily rubs his eyes.

I laugh to myself as I get in, and I’m so lost in thought that I press Easton’s floor number instead of my own, feigning shock when it opens on his level.

I hold the doors ajar and search the space for any sign of Easton, but of course there's nothing. Even if I was crazy enough to forget all our reasons and knock on his door in the middle of the night, I don’t know his apartment number and I can’t freaking call him. Nope, we relied on the fact that we kept running into each other and never worried about a time when that may not happen. Like now. But it’s probably good that it doesn’t.

Laughing again, I stumble back inside and press twelve, closing my eyes as the elevator starts to move. My head falls forward, snapping me out of my microsleep when the doors open and my dad steps in, his expression filled with relief.

“You’re here.”

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