“Or three,” I tease.
Since Emme and I started talking late last year, we’ve gone out regularly, at least a couple of times a month. I’ve even hung out with her and Dane once or twice, though I admit, watching the two of them together is hard. The way he looks at her, like she’s the one he’s been longing for for so long…it makes me ache for that love I’ve never had.
It’s also kinda awkward being a third wheel when I can see the desire building between them as the night progresses. The small touches, the heated stares. Their attraction is potent, to say the least.
The last time Emme and I went out, after we had a few margaritas at what we’ve come to think of as “our girls’ night out place,” she confessed to me how she and Dane had started their relationship. That she’d written about him in a secret journal and he’d accidentally seen it. I would have died if I’d been her, probably would have quit my job on the spot, but it looks like it all worked out for them in the end.
“Okay, I’ll see you tonight at One Tequila,” she says, then spins on her heel and heads to her desk, right by my small office.
I close my door behind me and sink into my plush chair, stare down at the specs I’ve drawn with care. This isn’t my first project, but it’s personal for me. Cole’s family has been good to me, has always made me feel loved and welcomed, and the fact that they trust me enough to design and manage the renovation of their pride and joy humbles me, fills me with pride. I won’t fail them.
I scan the docs and email them to Dane and then Bart, our architect, and lean back in my chair for a moment, close my eyes, rub the back of my neck. I’ve been putting in a lot of late nights to get this done on schedule. I’m so looking forward to relaxing tonight.
I grab my phone and bring up the texting app, firing off a message to Cole. Hey, jerk. Where the hell have you been? You’re not answering my texts. Have you fallen in a well? Should I send help? Beer? Answer me when you get a sec, or suffer the consequences. With a chuckle, I hit send.
Cole isn’t normally this unresponsive to my messages. He must be busy at work or something. Now that spring is here, his job down in Charlotte, North Carolina at the construction site—where he started working after retiring from the army—is likely kicking into full gear. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, way too long. Maybe I can plan a road trip down there. I make a mental note to ask him when he’s free later this spring, or if he’s going to be coming home soon. I miss him so much.
You’d think after all this time that I’d be used to him being gone, but there’s still this hole in my life that nothing else can fill but my best friend. I love Emme, but she doesn’t understand me the way Cole does. Our history has tied us together in a way nothing can compare to.
Shoving aside my sad thoughts, I draft an email to Xander and Mickey, letting them know the specs are getting a final review. I ask them when they’re available to meet with me to go over my ideas. Then I lean back in my chair once again and try to swallow down the nervous flutters in my belly.
“Cheers!” Emme says, clinking her margarita against mine. She takes a sip and sighs in pleasure. “This is divine.”
I do the same, closing my eyes and savoring the drink’s delicate peach flavor. “I swear, One Tequila has the best margaritas on the planet.”
Every month they feature a special margarita, plus a different dinner special every Tuesday that complements that drink. I should suggest to Xander and his father that they try something like that. Mickey’s Pub has a couple of good bartenders who could come up with unique drink offerings. Having a special dinner menu once a week might not be as overwhelming as offering a unique meal every day.
Something brushes against my bare left arm, and I turn to see a dark-haired guy in a gray business suit settling into the bar stool beside me. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his eyes raking down to my chest then back up to my face, a grin spreading across his mouth. “These seats are packed so tightly beside each other. Hard to maneuver.” He doesn’t look the least bit sorry, though. Definitely a player.
“It’s fine,” I say, giving him a smile back and then turning to face Emme again. Hopefully he’ll get the hint.
She and I continue talking for a minute, deciding what appetizer we want to share, when there’s a deliberate tap on my shoulder. Emme’s brow arches and a smirk crooks on her lips.
I glance over my shoulder to see the guy leaning toward me. An expensive cologne wafts to my nostrils.
“Let me buy you a drink,” he says. His brown eyes are fixed on me, and without looking away he raises his hand to flag down the bartender.