Page 49 of Not the Plan

She fidgeted, holding her breath a moment. “Okay, fine,” she sighed. “We were at your place. Well, it wasn’t mine.”

He changed his grip on the wheel and nodded.

“We were in your bedroom. My dress from last night was on the floor.”

He switched the radio off.

“I was in your bed, you were stalking toward me, undoing—” She froze. “No, this is wrong…it’s embarrassing.”

“You aren’t gonna stop now?”

“Well, it’s…I don’tdo this,Karim. Flings, or even relationships. I don’t know how. This is why you are a conundrum. This is something I don’t do, but all of a sudden, I really, really want to.”

The hum of the car on the freeway filled the empty space. Mortified at what she’d let slip, she was also nauseated from the attraction. The violent pull, the running away, the release from the previous night. She was a pinball again and even the machine was shaking.

“You’re right,” he said. “It is a conundrum. I’m sorry, I…I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Her reply lodged in her throat. She’d messed everything up and now there were hours of awkward ahead of them. He tapped the radio, turning a podcast on. And then the smallest movement registered in the corner of her eye. He swiped the pad of his thumb at the base of his left ring finger.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Karim

A second podcast ended, and he suggested lunch.

“Have you tried Roy’s? The burger joint up ahead?” he asked.

“Nope. Seen it a few times, but I haven’t tried it.” She gave him a tight smile. “Guess you heard my stomach growling?”

“No. Just felt mine. Does it sound good to you?”

“Perfect,” she said.

—

After picking up their order, they went outside to eat in the fresh air. The large trees protecting the picnic benches didn’t block out the freeway noise, but the patrons were spared the view. It had gotten much warmer, allowing Karim to enjoy the graceful slope of Isadora’s shoulders in her tank top.

Their first meal together gave him a lot of details to study about the alluring woman across the table from him. She half rolled her French fries in her ketchup—only one or two at a time. After each bite, she centered her hamburger on its paper and in the basket on her tray. Both her lips and her fingers remained pristine, despite the messy meal. She did it all with grace and femininity.

Who knew it was possible to eat a hamburger with femininity?Then he realized she’d asked him a question.

“I’m sorry?”

“You seem tense,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”

About a billion things,he wanted to say.

He vacillated long enough that he sensed her sliding into uncomfortable. He caught himself bouncing his leg, the desire to be honest with her pushing hard against the fear.

“It’s about earlier, isn’t it?” she asked. “That was too much. I’m sorry.” She squinted, avoiding eye contact.

“Sorry? For what?”

“Maybe I went too far. Shouldn’t have said anything about my dream.” She shrugged and looked away, rubbing the outside of one arm.

“Please don’t apologize,” he said. “This has been one of the best Sundays I can remember.” Heat crept into his face, he rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “And all I want is more. But I’m afraid.”

If he hadn’t been so nervous, the scrunch of her brow would have been adorable.

---