Page 22 of More Than Pen Pals

“What?” I say, suddenly self-conscious.

“I’m amazed we’re here. Together. Friends. Ten hours ago, I thought you were a man. Nine hours ago, I wanted to wring your neck.”

“You did, didn’t you?” I twirl my wineglass by the stem, trying not to be disappointed by his “friends” label.

His gaze drops to my neck, and I feel it heat. “I’m glad I didn’t.”

My heart pounds. “Me, too.”

The waiter brings the check. Ash reaches for it, but I snatch it up.

“No,” he says and grabs for it. “I’m getting it.”

“Nuh-uh.” I hold it out of his reach. “It’s my fault we’re here.”

“It’sWendy’sfault we’re here.”

“True, but I doubt they’ll take an IOU from us on her behalf.”

I bring the little black folder down in front of me, flip it open, and while I’m distracted by the astronomical number flashing before my eyes, Ash plucks it out of my hand.

“I’m not letting you argue with me on this. I’ve got it.”

Since I’m not sure how I’ll cover my rent next month if I pay, I easily give in. “You don’t have to, but thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure. If you feel the need to owe me—which you don’t, by the way—you can pitch in next time.”

I appreciate him allowing me to keep my pride, and then I realize the other part of what he’s saying. “There’s going to be a next time?”

He stills while pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and pins me with a serious look. “Only if you want there to be.”

“I do.” I do, I do, I do.

A smile slowly spreads across his face, and my heart skips a beat. “Excellent.”

He finishes taking care of the bill, and then he stands and holds out a hand to me. I take it and sparks shoot all the way up my arm. I wobble on my feet as I stand, and he puts both hands on my waist to steady me. I gaze up into his eyes, and we stare at each other for I don’t know how long until he turns me so his fingertips lightly graze the small of my back—sending goosebumps from head to toe—and guides us to the door.

As we step out into the cool night air, his palm flattens against my lower back, and I shiver in response. Before I realize it, I’m wrapped in his suit jacket. I shiver again—this time from the sensation of his body heat warming me by proxy through the material. Suddenly, I’m glad I left my pashmina on the bus on the way here.

“How did you get here?”

“Hmm?” I look up at Ash.

“Did you walk? Drive? Take a cab?”

“Oh. I took the bus.”

“The bus?” he says incredulously.

“Yeah, the stop is right down here.” I walk in the direction I’m pointing, but I only make it a few steps before he wraps his hand around my arm and pulls me back.

“You arenottaking the bus,” he practically growls at me.

“No?”

“I’m taking you home.”

My eyebrows shoot skyward.

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