Page 19 of Phishing for Love
I feel completely ambushed.
The extremely attractive woman at his side snags my attention. Tall, blonde, leggy. A beautiful, glossy cliché in a tight black cocktail dress.
“Hey, isn’t that what’s-his-face from your work?” Nathan asks.
“Aaron.” I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, it is.”
He turns and spots us. Of course, he does, because the universe is having so much fun throwing the two of us together in the ring and sitting back to enjoy the match.
The pleasurable flush I’ve been feeling since Nathan showed up at my house vanishes. In its place, a low-level tension hums through my blood.
At the sight of Nathan and me, Aaron’s mouth tightens, as though a certain four-letter word wants to slip out and he’s trying to contain it.
Yeah, I know exactly how you feel.
I watch him say something to the maître d’ and then brace himself as he glances over at us again.
I stiffen in my chair and mentally transmit a message to him:It’s okay, you don’t have to do the right thing here. Go ahead, be rude and ignore us. I won’t hold it against you. In fact, I command you to be rude!
My body practically vibrates with the urgency of my message.
But no, he and his blonde companion are heading straight for our table. Nathan mumbles something I can’t make out, but he doesn’t sound pleased. I take a large gulp of my wine as dread rises inside me. I contemplate a second gulp, but refrain. I don’t want Aaron addingpossible alcoholicto his list of grievances against me.
As I watch him approach, I realize his presence has unlocked the door to that dark room holding the memory of me falling asleep in his workshop. I’m straining and straining to keep the door closed, but that memory wants out and with every step Aaron takes toward me, it grows stronger and stronger. When Aaron finally stops in front of our table, the door is open wide enough for the memory to slip out and victory twerk through my head.
“Tess,” Aaron says stiffly.
“Aaron,” I respond, equally stiff.
His eyes sweep over me, taking in my changed appearance. There’s a flash of a second where surprise—and something that could possibly be admiration—cross his face before he catches himself and composes his features.
I experience a strange lurching sensation in my chest. Was I imagining what I’d glimpsed there?
Into the awkward silence, I tighten my grip on my wineglass and ask, “You remember Nathan?”
“I do.”
Nathan looks Aaron up and down. I cringe inwardly when he says, almost dismissively, “You’re the cybersecurity consultant.”
“Yes.”
And you must be the idiot, Aaron’s expression seems to say.
I don’t know what it is, but in Aaron’s presence, Nathan seems somehow diminished. It could be because Aaron is standing and Nathan is seated or because Aaron is broader and slightly taller, but it feels deeper than that. Perhaps it’s the quiet confidence Aaron possesses that ensures he’s immediately noticed when he enters a room.
I can’t explain it, but I know it leaves me weirdly flustered.
Reluctantly, almost as though the words are dragged out of him, Aaron gestures to the bored-looking woman at his side. Herhair is scraped back into a ponytail so tight I feel my own scalp ache in sympathy. “This is Ashley.”
Since Aaron’s resting face is irritated with a side of bored, they make the ideal matchy-matchy couple.
“Hi!” I say, extra friendly and with my fakest smile.
I can’t help it. I flick the quickest of glances at her ring finger. It’s bare.
Interesting.
She tips her head in greeting.
