Page 20 of Date With Danger
“That’s true,” Maddie says. “You’re pretty fearless.”
“Right. Please remember this discussion if it takes me an hour and five minutes to respond to you.”
I hang up the phone, but not before I hear Connor ask, “Why does she need to respond in an hour?” I’ll let Maddie deal with that. But if both of them show up here, in normal clothes or in costume, I will murder them.
I slam the door and walk across the parking lot, the rhythmic clicking of my heels calming my nerves.
I’m going to be fine.
This time, Chad gave me a much better description. A white dress shirt, and a photo of his actual face. Which is how I know the very attractive man in the corner is my date. For sure this time. Also maybe, unfortunately?
Why do I keep hoping to run into the man who shoved me out of an emergency exit and tied me to a freaking pole? (It took me way longer to get out of that than I’ll ever admit.) Because he made my heart race, that’s why. Call it ridiculous, but I’ve never experienced chemistry like that, not even with Justin. Maybe it was the rush though, the excitement of the moment. And that he’s a police detective. There are so many things I want to know about that man. Starting with a little thing called his name.
Chad looks up and grins when he sees me. I can tell with that one little look this guy is dangerous in a different way. He’s going to be perfectly charming and break my heart if I give him a chance to take it. Good thing I’ve already decided this is a one-and-done kind of date.
At least until I’ve put things to rest with the obnoxious detective I’m still looking for.
“Amelia?” He stands, pulling out the chair for me.
What a gentleman.
He takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “H-hi,” I stutter.
“Wow,” he breathes. “You’re stunning.”
Hold the freaking phone. He’s British.
My cheeks heat up and that little part of my brain telling me this isn’t going to work out is screaming, why not die trying?
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say. It’s utterly stupid. The man knows he looks like a freaking model.
He ducks his head, scratching the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed by my ogling eyes. I can’t help it. He deserves to be appreciated. Now that I’ve seen both men, I don’t know how I confused the detective for him. They are both brunette, and perfectly tanned, but very different. Chad is more lean muscles and is slightly taller than the police officer who looks like he eats lead weights for breakfast.
Enough thinking about the detective.
“So.” Chad seats himself and picks up a menu. “Shall we order before we dive into the twenty questions?”
“You’re a real thinker. I like you already.”
He shoots me a wink over the top of his menu. “The feeling is mutual.”
Every word coming out of his mouth sounds seductive and beautiful. All men should come with an accent.
I have no idea what I order. I pretty much point and pick because I’m happy to finally be at the correct table. With the correct date. So whatever I get will be a mystery to me. I’ve always loved a good mystery.
“Amelia, tell me about you.”
I blame his bewildering accent for losing all control over my mouth. Whatever comes to mind, I speak it. I might have even told him about my UTI last month. But the whole time he sits there grinning at me like he’s won the lottery.
I am not dominating the dating game. I am crashing and burning. Which is how I know his smile can’t be real, but for now I allow myself to pretend I’m exactly what this kind and attractive specimen of a man would want. What someone might want.
“Now tell me about you,” I say after finishing a story involving Gus and a dead bird.
Somehow, Chad is still eating his medium-rare steak after all the gruesome details I went into.
“Ah.” He leans back in his chair, interlocking his hands over his stomach. “I was hoping you might tell me about me.”
“What?” I cough, choking on an ice cube.