Page 24 of More Than Pen Pals

She stares at me.

“What?”

“You called me Les. The other times you said my name tonight it was Leslie.”

She’s right. I’ve even thought of her as Leslie. I didn’t do it on purpose, but maybe I didn’t want to fully accept her connection to my past until now.

I can’t tell if she likes that I used her nickname. “What do you want me to call you?”

“Whatever feels right.”

“Okay. I don’t know if I’m sure yet.”

“That’s fine. Can I call you Ashley?”

I whip my head toward her. She’s grinning almost as goofily as Wendy did in the restaurant at lunch.

“Kidding,” she says. “I have one more thing to confess, though.”

My heart drops as my grip tightens on the steering wheel. I should have known there was more—that our night couldn’t possibly end this well.

“I had to tell Wendy your full name.”

“That’s your confession?” I steal a glance at her.

She nods. “Is that okay?”

Though I’m not excited about it, it’s not a huge deal. “It’s fine. I don’t advertise my name, but it’s not difficult for people to find out. In fact, I’m shocked Wendy didn’t already know. When I sign legal documents, I use my full name.”

“I’m not surprised,” she says. “The woman can’t think straight in your presence.”

I groan. “I wish she’d set her sights elsewhere. I like her, but I don’t want to date her.”

“She doesn’t want to date you, either.”

I pull over in front of a fire hydrant by Leslie’s apartment building, shift into park, turn on the hazard lights, and finally turn to give her an incredulous look. “You said—and I quote—‘The woman can’t think straight in your presence.’”

“Let me amend my statement. That’s true of the extremely recent past, but not the present.”

“I sincerely doubt it. You saw her at lunch.”

“I did. And then she saw a picture of my brother.”

My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me? She discarded me for Shannon?”

She smirks at me. “Are you sad about that?”

“Not in the least. It’s simply weird.” But it explains why Wendy acted differently toward me in my office this afternoon.

“I think you should thank me.”

“For what?”

“Providing her a reason to leave you alone.”

Leslie leans forward and slips my jacket off her shoulders. I almost tell her to keep it, but thankfully I realize how strange that would be. Instead, I take it from her and reach back to place it on the backseat. I hope it now smells like her perfume, but I resist sniffing it. That would be even stranger. The last thing I want to do is run Leslie off. When I return my focus to her, she’s watching me again.

“Thank you,” she says softly.

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