Page 3 of The One You Chose

“When you say it like that.” Scratching a spot on his jaw with his thumbnail, he looked sheepish. “My Ma is on a girl’s trip to Tulum for the weekend. After Pops passed, we don’t really make a big fuss about Thanksgiving. Christmas is where she goes all out.”

I opened my mouth, about to invite him to my parent’s house the next day, then closed it. That was not a one-night stand conversation. That was a three-month dating conversation. Six months of dating? In truth, I had no idea. What I knew was, I couldn’t ask this guy I just met to meet my family. My terrible Uncle Chester, who would spend the entire afternoon asking people their thoughts on the latest diet craze. Or cousin Josie, who liked to practice her new Judo moves out on unsuspecting males. If there was a one-night stand handbook, that had to be on the first page.

Changing the subject, I walked further into his hotel room, glancing around. “I love this time of year. There’s something special about the holidays. But I think my favorite is New Year's Eve. The changing into a new year, another chance to make something of yourself, a chance to create more, to fall in love, to learn about the world. The idea of a fresh start.”

As Fitz stared at me, I felt as if his warm eyes were seeing right into the very center of me. I hoped he liked what he saw. He stepped closer to me, his eyes darting down to my lips. I could sense how his lips would taste on mine. Taking a step back, I looked away. Not quite ready yet.

“Um, can I get you a drink?” Fitz asked, opening the mini fridge under the counter. Inside was a pizza box, beer, and a small bottle of a popular hot sauce.

“That’s quite a stash you have there.” I motioned to the fridge. “Very balanced diet.”

Fitz pulled out the hot sauce, shaking it in his hand. “I don’t go anywhere without this. It goes good on everything.”

Shaking my head, I pulled the hot sauce out of his hand to examine it. “That stuff is trash. You need some sriracha. That’s the good stuff.”

“False. Incorrect. I won’t hear it.” Fitz swiped the small bottle out of my hand and clutched it to his chest. “Mine is way hotter.”

I shook my head. “No way. I bet they’re the same on the Scoville scale. But mine had better flavor.”

“Look at you pulling out the pepper verbiage.”

“And look at you getting defensive about your hot sauce.” I teased.

Narrowing his eyes, he looked me up and down. “Do you want a drink, or are you going to keep giving me a hard time about my superior choice in hot sauce?”

Laughing, I sat on the edge of the bed. “I’ll take a drink.”

“Alright.” He set the hot sauce back in its place and scanned the contents of the fridge. “I have water and an orange juice that I opened a few days and should probably have tossed out and um... a rhubarb beer someone gave me when I started my job.”

I wrinkled my nose. “A water would be fine. I know that rhubarb beer. The local brewery always makes it in the springtime. No one likes it, so it’s always discounted. They keep bringing it back every year, though.”

Fitz handed me the glass of water. As I took a small sip, I looked around the room for a place to set the glass. Fitz reached out to take the glass from me. His fingers brushed mine and sparks tingled up my arm at the contact. Raising my eyes to him. His whiskey-brown gaze warmed me the same as if I was sipping a single malt. I pulled my hands away, folding them in my lap.

I glanced down at my hands, still tingling from his contact. “I know this sounds cliche, but I’ve never done this before. Going home with a guy I just met. It’s not just talk, I swear. I’ve lived here my whole life and I know all the guys my age.”

Fitz placed the glass down on the bedside table and sat beside me. “I know it’s not talk. I can tell.” He reached between us and took my hand. I marveled at how our fingers laced together, the softness of his palm. “We don’t have to do anything. I can call you a ride if you don’t feel comfortable.”

I shook my head. “No. I don’t want that. I’m comfortable and want this. It’s like...” I bit off the last of my statement. How could I tell him that when he emerged from the shadows, something passed over me, telling me to trust where the night with this man would take me? I’d sound crazy. I felt crazy. Watching his hand, I marveled at how our fingers fit together. He flipped my hand over, palm up, and drew a circle with his finger. “You’re going to think I’m insane.”

“Try me.” He assured me.

“Do you believe in signs?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it.”

“Well, I don’t. Or I didn’t. But earlier today I was going to go on a date with a guy who ended up canceling at the last minute. I wanted to stay home, but my friend Zoya said I shouldn’t waste my fancy hair and make-up. So, I go out and I see you then I...”

As he reached forward to tuck a wisp of hair that had fallen out of my ponytail behind my ear, a zing of energy coursed through me at his contact. “You don’t have to explain it. I understand.”

Blinking, I stared at him. “You do?”

Nodding he, leaned forward, cupping my cheek in his hand. “You know what I thought when I first saw you?”

Shaking my head, I kept my eyes on him. His thumb brushed against my cheekbone, his fingers resting just behind my ear and in my hair. “I need to know her.”

My voice a whisper, I stared up at him. “I wanted to know you, too.”

“Not want. Need. I needed to know you.”

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