Page 3 of Then Came You

Just shoot me now.

I know I have places to be, but I can't for the life of me remember where those places are as I feel her hand in mine get clammy.

She's nervous. I make her nervous. But I can tell it's in a good jittery way.

There's just something about Row that's utterly captivating.

Christ, I can't ever remember being this eager to talk to a woman.

I'm having trouble trying not to salivate. She's petite but has these delectable curves.

The colour of her hair reminds me of the stick of bubble-gum Haven is always wanting me to buy her, and her eyes remind me of that perfect shade of milk chocolate - the one that coats Tim Tams and Caramel Egos. They are instantly inviting and make me feel all warm and gooey inside.

Despite it being the middle of January, in a heatwave nonetheless, her skin doesn't have a shade of tan or burn on it, and her lips are leading my mind down a very dangerous path. They're utterly sinful.

"So, you have a meeting? What do you do?" she asks timidly, pulling me toward the side to wait for our order. I like. No. Scratch that. I love that she hasn't let go of my hand. Instead of the fake manicure I've grown accustomed to over the years, Row's nails are all different lengths, as if she's chewed a couple of them, and each one is a different colour. Chipped, but still a different colour.

"I work for the Leukaemia Foundation." I'm technically not lying. I do work for the Leukaemia Foundation; I just run it as their CEO. Her eyes widen momentarily before she blinks and masks her surprise.

I don't think for a second that Row is the money-hungry type, but usually when I drop my CEO status, women tend to try and make me their next husband. It's a ludicrous notion, considering I've only been officially divorced from my wife of 22 years for six months. "What do you do?" I ask, needing to know if this attraction goes beyond the surface.

She waves her hands around. "Oh, nothing as important as you, I'm sure." She says it in a self-deprecating way, diminishing whatever job she does.

"I don't believe that for a second. Tell me," I encourage.

"I'm just a hairdresser." She jokingly points to her hair, but it's more like she's putting herself down again.

"So that explains the Bratz doll look."

Fuck me dead.

Did I really just say that out loud?

I don't know who's more embarrassed - her or me.

I've clearly been out of the game for way too long. Someone needs to give me a crash course on flirting because I'm pretty sure I just crashed and burned any chance in hell of asking her out.

What is wrong with me?

A Bratz doll. Not a Barbie. Not a celebrity. A fucking Bratz doll. That's what I just compared her to.

Good one, fuckwit.

I basically called her a bobble head. Oh God, the more I think about the words that just came out of my mouth, the more I cringe at how utterly childish they were.

I knew what I'd said was horrifying, but it's confirmed when the dickwad of a waiter barks out laughing. I want to rip his stupid 90s eyebrow ring right out of his pimply face.

"Well, I can't say I've ever been called a Bratz doll before," Row giggles, touching her hair. Pink blush stains her cheeks, and it's clear she's embarrassed but trying to palm it off to make me feel better.

"I'm sorry. My daughter. She's turning five. She's obsessed with Bratz dolls at the moment."

Better to just be honest because quite frankly I can't sink much lower than this.

I don't miss Row peeking at my left hand to see if there's a wedding band on my fourth finger. There's not. I removed it a year and a half ago when Avalon and I separated. There was no cheating, or fighting, we simply outgrew each other.

I'm not proud to admit this, but we thought Haven would be the band aid to patch up our failing marriage. Obviously, she wasn't because we still ended up divorced. Despite my failed marriage, I could never regret the little princess that has filled my life with so much joy, tenderness, and laughter. My kids are my whole world.

When Row glances back up at me, I see she's satisfied to see the lack of a ring adorning my finger, which sends a little jolt to my cock.

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