Then the dryer beeps behind me, breaking the spell.
Of course we’re only talking about sight-seeing. I’m a delusional moron with a bad habit of slipping into romantic daydreams in the presence of delicious men. Well, this one, anyway.
With a sigh, I turn and pull out his towel. It’s warm in my hands and as I pass it to him, our fingers brush. This sends a zap of electricity right through me. If he feels it too, he doesn’t show it.
“Well, I’ll text you and we’ll organize it. I’m looking forward to it.” He gazes at me for a moment longer, then drags his eyes from mine. “Goodnight.”
And even though I know I shouldn’t, I watch his butt as he walks out of the laundry room.
17
We’re almost a week into December now and it’s cold. I’m having to get used to dressing in layers. Back home winter was pretty uneventful, so it’s a bit of a shock to the system. And I’m sure it’s only going to get colder.
I inspect my outfit in the mirror: a violet-colored long-sleeved dress that hugs my curves and sits mid-thigh, over black wool tights and leather knee-high boots I found in a thrift store back home. I know this day out with Michael doesn’t mean anything, but I still made an effort. It’s cute, if not exactly sexy. But honestly? It’s too damn cold to be sexy.
There’s a knock on the front door at 9 o’clock sharp. I’m trying to play it cool, but my mouth has a mind of its own, pushing into a grin when I turn the handle and see Michael on the other side.
Fuck, he looks good.
He’s in dark jeans over brown boots, a navy-blue knitted sweater under a black cashmere coat. But the best thing of all is his smile. His mouth is tilted into the sexiest grin and his brown eyes are sparkling. With that expression, you’d think he was picking up Scarlett Johansson for a night of torrid sex rather than just plain old me for a tour of the city.
But hell, I’ll take it.
“Hey.” He links his hands and leans against the door frame. “You ready?”
I nod, trying to ignore the little flip in my belly as I pull on my coat and follow him out onto the street. I’m kind of nervous, which is absurd. This isn’t a date. And I know that. But my body is getting all ahead of itself, like it knows something I don’t.
Just bloody rein it in, I mentally chastise myself. I should know better than to turn this into some fantasy day out in town together.
There’s a cab waiting for us on the street and Michael opens my door. I lower myself onto the seat, then slide all the way over, expecting him to climb in after me. But he closes the door like a gentleman and wanders around to the other side, so I hastily slide back, hoping he didn’t see.
God, I’ve already embarrassed myself and it’s only been five seconds.
He climbs into the cab and leans forward to say something to the driver I don’t quite catch, then turns back to me with a grin. “I’ve planned just a few places. I hope that’s okay? We can do the rest another time.”
Another time? Cue another belly flip.
“Sure,” I say casually, attempting to flatten the smile pulling at my mouth. “So where are we going?”
“I thought we could do Grand Central Terminal, then Times Square, then head over to Rockefeller Plaza. What do you think?”
“Oh. No Empire State Building?” I try not to sound disappointed, but I guess I assumed that one would be a no-brainer.
He shakes his head with a mischievous smile. “No. We could do that another time if you like, but Top of the Rock in Rockefeller Plaza is better. Trust me.”
Anticipation ripples through me. Because I do trust Michael, and I think this is going to be fun—beyond hanging out with him, that is. I spent the past week thinking about the fact that I was going to be spending the day with Michael, and I didn’t actually stop to think about the sight-seeing part. But we are going out to see the city, and that’s exciting.
I turn and watch the streets around us change as we leave the Village and head uptown. Slowly, the low, residential buildings give way to more skyscrapers and office blocks, more glass and steel, until eventually, we pull up outside the beautiful facade of Grand Central Terminal.
I rummage in my bag for money to pay the driver, but Michael just hands over his credit card with a smile.
“I’ve got it,” he says, and my stupid brain adds a point to the mental “date” column it seems to be running.
Stop it, now.
We step out onto the sidewalk and have to cross the road and walk back to take in the facade, it’s so huge. It’s like something out of ancient Rome, with its massive stone columns and arched windows, completely at odds with the modern buildings surrounding it. Above the main entrance is the clock and winged statue; beautiful and iconic.
“Will you think I’m a total dork if I take pictures?”
Michael laughs, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. “Not at all.”
I pull my phone out and snap some photos of the facade. Then I turn around to take a selfie in front of the building and Michael reaches for my phone.
“Here, I’ll take it.”
“Oh,” I say, feeling a blush spread over my cheeks despite the cold air. “Okay.” I pose in front of the building, trying not to feel like a total fool with him watching me.
He hands the phone back with a smile. “You want to go in? It’s really cool.”
I nod and follow him back across the road and in through the glass doors onto the concourse. It takes me a second to adjust to everything—the echo of footsteps and voices, the cavernous ceiling above us,
