Page 44 of A Little Crush
“Yeah, busy sending you mixed signals?—”
My buzzing phone cuts her off.
Jaxon
I’d love to discuss a game plan for this arrangement. Thoughts?
Her lips press into a thin line as she reads the message over my shoulder.
“See?” I offer. “Completely platonic.”
“And boring,” she decides before kissing my cheek. “You two are perfect for each other.”
“I thought I was supposed to run in the opposite direction if I catch feelings,” I argue.
“Semantics.” She waves her hand around and climbs off the bed, reaching for my already packed bag and unzipping it. “The question is, what will you wear?”
I ignore her, turning back to my phone.
Me
Sounds great! Just tell me when and where.
16
JAXON
What the hell was I thinking? Seabird? Really? I debated whether to invite Rory to dinner at Butter and Grace or even Rowdy’s but decided buying her food felt a little too much like a date. However, now that I’m inside the infamous bar, I’m second guessing myself. The low lights, the live band on the raised stage, the flowing alcohol.
Yeah, I fucked up.
Rory isn’t someone who shows up late to anything, which is why I’m fifteen minutes early to make sure I have a spot for us to sit, well aware she’ll show up any minute now. Finding a booth as far from the stage and dance floor as possible, I set my beer on the table and glance at the heavy door, waiting for a glimpse of my new nanny. Instead, all I see is a pretty blonde with the sweetest eyes and poutiest mouth I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Rory.
I check the time on my watch, confirming my assumption. My mouth lifts. She’s five minutes early.
Of course, she is.
Standing, I wave my arm over my head to get her attention as she hikes her purse strap a little higher onto her shoulder. She looks nervous. Small. Beautiful. Nervous. When she sees me, her mouth curves in an anxious smile before her gaze falls to the ground, and she weaves her way toward me.
“Hey, Rore.” I motion to the opposite side of the booth. “Wanna sit?”
“Yes, thank you.”
As she slides into the seat, I do the same and reach for my beer. “I didn’t know what to order for you, but I warned the waitress to keep an eye out for when you got here, and”—movement in my periphery steals my attention, so I toss the approaching waitress a smile—“here she is.”
“Hi,” the waitress greets Rory. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“Lemon drop martini, please.”
“Perfect.” The waitress turns her attention to me. “You still good here?”
“Yeah,” I return. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
It isn’t long before a lemon drop martini is set in front of a fidgeting Rory, and she takes a long sip. Her expression puckers at the taste. “Mmm.” She smacks her lips together. “It’s good.”
