Page 36 of Careless Whisper

“It means thatyouare engaged,” I thundered.

He grinned. “You think I’d fuck you if I was engaged?”

“Are you?”

“Engaged?”

“Yes.” The man exasperated me.

“No.”

“No?”

This time, his smile was sweet. “No, Gigi, I’m not engaged. I’ve never been engaged. Currently, I’m in no relationship, not even a fuck buddy or a one-night stand. Haven’t been with anyone since I moved to Seattle.”

I gave him a dry look, not bothering to hide myirritation. “Well, at least I won’t have to get on antibiotics for a raging STI on top of all my other problems.”

“What other problems do you have, Gigi?”

I groaned. “Stop calling me that, Elias. If someone hears, then…please.”

“What other problems do you have… Reggie?”

I threw my hands up in exasperation. “Goodbye.”

If I thought that was the end of it, I was sadly (and grudgingly happily) mistaken.

For the next few weeks, Elias smiled a lot when he saw me.

He brought me coffee if we were meeting in his office to discuss a case.

He snuck Vosges chocolates onto my desk.

He asked me out on a date.

I drank the coffee, ate the chocolates, and said, “No, thank you” to the date.

He looked disappointed, but he didn’t push. Instead, he cheekily said, “We’ll get to it when you’re ready. But in the meantime, if you want to come by the on-call room, I’d be?—”

“Not happening ever again,” I cut him off.

This Elias was charming and sexy, and I was shit scared of him. I’d fall for him, and then I’d get hurtagain. Last time, he broke me in every way a woman could be broken, and a few smiles, a cup of coffee, and some Vosges weren’t going to put me together again.

But since God had a fucked-up sense of humorwhere I was concerned, I eventually did end up on a date with him without even knowing we were on one.

It was one of those rare Seattle days when the sun was actually shining, the sky wide and blue like it belonged in California,andI was not on call.

Tourists swarmed the cobblestones, cameras out, and the smell of salt, strawberries, and street food tangled in the breeze.

I was standing in front of a flower stall in Pike Place Market, debating between dahlias and sunflowers, whenhespoke from behind me, so close I could feel the heat of his body. “Sunflowers. You used to love those.”

I stepped away and then turned.

He looked adorably at home in a gray t-shirt, jeans, sunglasses, coffee in one hand, and a paper bag in the other.

“You stalking me now?” I demanded.

He smirked. “Nope. Just have a thing for fresh jam and public markets.”

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