“Ah. Good girl. Safety first,” says the former cop. “Although it would have been brilliant to ride in one of his flash cars. I’m already disappointed in this vicarious experience.”
“I knew you would be! Would you like me to hook you up with him?”
“Hmm… I haven’t had a good bromance in yonks.” He stares into the distance, then snaps his focus back to my face. “But no. I couldn’t possibly dream of stealing a man from you. Remember, you desperately need to get laid. Or has that already been taken care of?”
I roll my eyes at him.
“I’m asking, because I’m concerned about your sudden onset of sex-deprivation-induced Tourette ’s syndrome.” I kick him as he stretches his legs under the table and leans back with his hands behind his head, his elbows akimbo. “Ow. So, you met him at Chez Hookup, and then what?”
“Nothing. We talked. Well, he talked. A lot.”
Colin sneers. “Oh, one of those? Enthralled with his favorite subject? Himself?”
“No, not like that. He seemed nervous, for one thing, which is hilarious.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m me, and he’s Jet Knox.”
“He takes a bloody crap like you and me.”
The corners of my mouth pull downward. “Ew. Speak for yourself, pal. You might want to get that checked out.”
With a playful scowl, he clarifies, “He’s a man, and you’re an intelligent, vivacious woman. End of.”
“Oooh! ‘Vivacious’! Thanks! But he talked about hopes and dreams and aspirations. Lots of aspirations.”
“Ahhh… That’s a dirty word.”
“I know! So you can imagine, I wasn’t too engaged in the conversation.”
“Blimey. Sounds like a miserable evening.”
I think back on it and surprise myself by saying, “Actually…”
“No!” He sits forward and, resting his elbows on the table, taps his paper coffee cup with his fingertips. “How could that have been enjoyable, listening to an egomaniac drone on and on about his ambitions?”
“First off, he’s not an egomaniac,” I find myself defending Jet for the second time today.
He arches a skeptical eyebrow but doesn’t say a word.
“And second, he wasn’t droning. He’s passionate about his future. At the time, I was on the verge of a panic attack, but looking back on it now, it was kind of… cute.” My face warms.
Colin groans, but it morphs into a chuckle. With a twinkle in his eyes, he says, “Bloody hell. You’re falling for this bloke.”
Blush deepening, I say a tad too forcefully, “No, I’m not!” then tone it down. “But it wasn’t the worst date I’ve ever been on, and he’s not what you’d imagine a guy like him to be. He’s driven in a way that, while sometimes scary, is also contagious. I could see how others might get caught up in his enthusiasm. He makes anything seem possible. Like he can make it happen by saying it. He’s obviously a natural leader.”
He points to my face. “And when you talk about him, your whole face lights up, and that little dimple in your left cheek pops.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m merely observing and stating my findings.”
I follow the progress of a drop of coffee in the bottom of my cup as I tilt it back and forth. “Anyway, it’s not going to lead to anything else, so…” I’m shocked when I realize I’m more disappointed than relieved by that statement, so I rush on. “Can we please talk about something else?”
His shoulders slump. “I suppose.” After a brief pause, during which it seems he’s giving me time to change my mind, he mentions, “My first day at the salon is Monday. I have to admit, I’m a bit nervous.”
“Why? I’d figure by now you’re an old pro at being the new guy.”
One corner of his mouth rises as he says wryly, “True. But I worry I’ll stick out rather a lot.”
I hate to break it to him, but he sticks out anywhere in this town every time he opens his mouth. Instead of voicing this, though, I merely smile encouragingly. “They’re going to love you. If it doesn’t work out, you always know where to go to find another job. Right?” I look up and search his gray eyes.
“Right,” he says. “Absolutely.”
“And you seem like you’re feeling better today than you did yesterday.”
“I’m completely hopped up on over-the-counter remedies,” he reveals, “but yes, fortunately, I sound a bit less like your mobile’s ringtone and— Hang on. Was that Jet Knox calling you during my appointment yesterday?”
“Maybe,” I answer coyly.
“Bloomin’ ’ell… I was in the presence of greatness and had no idea.”
“Please.”
“And you tossed him in your desk drawer, like you couldn’t care less.”
“I didn’t know it was him.”
“If you had?”
“I may have answered the phone,” I admit, quickly adding, “which is dumb. I’m glad I didn’t know. Because I don’t take personal calls during appointments with clients.”
“I would have insisted. The better for me to listen in.”
“Someone has a man-crush.”
He looks down, then up at me through his lashes. “Who wouldn’t? The way he grips that ball…”
Laughing, I shake my head at him. “You’re hopeless.”
He raises his head. “There’s just so much material there.”
Yeah, there is. For everyone.
What I don’t tell him is that I immediately went online after I hung up with Rae and Googled the pictures of my date with Jet. Only a complete newb would care, right? But I wanted to see how I looked, and what people were saying.
Mistake.
Fortunately, nobody posting the pics has a clue who I am, so I was called “Knox’s New Flame” (lame!) in most of the captions. The nicer ones, that is. The not-so-nice ones wondered if I was a distraction and went further to say I wasn’t worth it. The meanest ones… Well, I refuse to repeat those. I’m trying not to think about them at all.
Now, suddenly feeling as if those labels are following me around, and any minute I’ll be recognized as Jet’s “Pre-Playoffs Poke” (yes, that was one of them!), I stand and dig my gloves and knit hat from my coat pocket.
