He took a step forward, definitely into her personal space. “Like this much closer?”
She tilted her head back and there was a long moment of eye contact before she ducked her chin and took a step back. The keys in her hand jingled as she grasped the key to the entrance door and shook the others free of it.
“You’re better at this dating thing than you think, Max,” she said, and even he could tell by the breathless quality of her voice that she’d been affected by the moment as strongly as he had. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Thank you for...pretending to be a date.” He said it that way deliberately, knowing it would make her smile and pop the tension that seemed to be hovering between them.
And it worked. “It was a very lovely pretend date, but I have plans for another one before you...ask out Nola. Or whoever.”
That sounded intriguing. “A second date?”
“A second pretend date. Casual this time. With flash cards.”
“Flash cards?” That wasn’t his idea of a second date. “That sounds...adorable.”
“Trust me.” She unlocked the door and pulled it open. “Text me sometime in the next few days and we’ll set up a time.”
“Will I be graded on this activity?”
“Not a letter grade, but if you ace them and they help you have a great date, you might get lucky.”
She was gone before he could respond to that, not that he had any idea what he would have said. But as he walked back to his car, he couldn’t help feeling like he’d gotten lucky earlier, when she smiled at him across the table in the soft candlelight.
Now, looking up to see the light flick on in her apartment window before opening his door, he didn’t feel lucky at all.
Chapter Seven
Tori stared at her computer monitor, idly wondering how to make the horror author’s request for a cover featuring a haunted antebellum home and creepy kudzu on a dark, foggy night look even remotely original.
It was a challenge she was usually particularly good at overcoming, which was why she was in a position to turn away work now. But she was having a little trouble concentrating.
It seemed like every single time she’d closed her eyes last night, she’d seen Max’s face as he’d stared down at her, asking about good-night kisses.
She’d wanted one. And so had he.
That was such a bad idea. She couldn’t even count the reasons she shouldn’t kiss Max.
She had no doubt if she kissed him once, she’d want to kiss him again. Then she’d want to nip at his jawline and unbutton his shirt so she could run her hands over his chest. Then she’d want to get naked.
What she had to remember was that they were wired differently. She could feel a sexual attraction, act on it and then move on with her life when the itch was scratched. Max was on a mission and she suspected he didn’t do detours. If she encouraged whatever it was she’d seen in his eyes last night, he might decide he wanted to date her—and not just in the casual, having sex way—and that wasn’t going to happen.
No more candlelight and wine. No more dresses and makeup. And no more of him walking her to her door.
Her cell phone rang and she picked it up. She’d been waiting all day for Hailey to call, because Tori had no doubt somebody had seen Max pick her up in his car yesterday afternoon, or drop her off, and she would want details. “Hello?”
“So you do know how to answer your phone.”
Tori sighed and dropped her forehead to her hand. Stupid. She should never answer without checking the Caller ID. “Yes, Mom. I know how to use my phone.”
“You never answer when I call.”
“I have it automatically send all of my calls straight to voice mail when I’m working,” she said. It was a small lie, and one she told often.
“Then you work too much. Anyway, I’m calling about Thanksgiving.”
Tori knew where this was headed and wanted no part of it. “It’s the middle of October.”
“You know I like to plan ahead. Things fall apart when you leave them to the last minute.”
No, she was calling over a month in advance in the hope of beating Tori’s dad to the punch, which she hadn’t. “I’m going to Uncle Mike and Aunt Jilly’s.”
“Your father said he was going to call you soon to invite you to spend the day with him. Has he called yet?”
One of the many side effects of the divorce was her mother’s seeming inability to say dad anymore, or use the man’s given name. He was always your father, said in a tight voice, as if her mom had a mouthful of dirt and wanted desperately to spit.
“He did invite me,” she said, “and I told him I’m going to Aunt Jilly’s, the same as I’m telling you.”
“You haven’t been home in months, Victoria. This is getting ridiculous.”
“The last time I went home, you complained that I went to Dad’s apartment first and Dad complained I was going to have dinner with you, but only lunch with him. That was ridiculous.”