There were several ways to ensure that you wouldn’t bring a man back to your apartment for sex. Don’t shave your legs for weeks was one of them and the other was to not have a clue what to wear and leave your room looking like a tornado had whirled through.

I had already shaved my legs. So, it would definitely have to be the closet tornado.

With a huff, I snatched my phone and started typing.

Me: What should I wear?

Kayson: Anything or . . .

Me: Be honest.

Kayson: I am.

Me: Where are we going?

Kayson: Restaurant.

Me: Ugh, no help. Dressy?

Kayson: Sure, you can wear a dress.

Me: NO! I’m asking if it’s dressy. Or are jeans okay?

Kayson: I’m wearing jeans.

Me: And . . .

Kayson: And what?

Me: What kind of shirt?

Kayson: Long sleeve button-down.

Me: Perfect. See you soon.

I didn’t do dresses, so I wore jeans, killer shoes, and a sexy blouse. I had tried on six pairs of jeans before I settled on the perfect pair. The top was a bit more difficult. I continued adding to the pile of clothes stacked next to my closet doors, and then built a stack of shirts that were worth trying on. It had to be a blouse that didn’t make me feel fat, because sometimes fat wasn’t a look, it was a feeling. I chose my black tailored cropped top with fringe that hung from the hem to the floor, and my black leather ankle boots, with some chunky silver jewelry.

The subtle knock came a few minutes later, and I took several deep breaths, reminding myself not to put too much thought into the date. I wasn’t looking for a boyfriend or husband, which was something I reminded myself of as I swung the door open. I didn’t want a relationship, but I wouldn’t mind a night of inappropriate thoughts and actions, okay maybe two nights.

Kayson was there, smiling back at me, and he was every bit as handsome as he was the other night. The breeze brought a rush of scent—a hint of Earl Grey tea and leather. I wanted to bury my nose against him and inhale, but I was afraid that I might get labeled as a whacko or lunatic. I didn’t have to worry about that, though, because Kayson wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me into him. I closed my eyes and took a whiff, allowing his scent to settle my nerves.

“I’ve been sitting outside your window waiting until I could come up and not appear too anxious,” he said into my hair. “I’ve been dying to see you.”

“Mmmmm.” I let out a soft noise at his sweet words.

“Ready to go?” Kayson asked. “We can get a drink at the bar first.”

I grabbed my handbag off the side table and locked my apartment. Kayson watched as I pressed the thin piece of tape in the corner, and when I turned, his eyebrows rose in question.

“It’s my security, so I know if anyone’s been in my apartment.”

He nodded. “Have you always done this or just since . . .”

“Just since the attack.” I answered for him.

He squeezed my hand, his fingers had calluses, but they soothed and comforted me. Kayson had the hands of a hardworking man. He only let go long enough to use his key fob and remotely start his engine and open my door for me. Leaning across, he pointed the air conditioning vents toward me, closed my door, and then walked around to his side. We drove the whole way with our fingers folded together, and I found I didn’t want to let go when he pulled into a parking spot at Charlie’s Steakhouse.

I had been there a few times with Brandon, but he came for their top-shelf scotch, which was more than a hundred dollars a glass. The last time we visited, Brandon returned from the restroom with his hair disheveled, the woman who walked out thirty seconds behind him was still fixing her top and her lipstick was smudged. I got a pit in my stomach over that memory.

Turning to face Kayson, I raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t a restaurant friends go to.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s a date-date place to go. We aren’t on a real date, this is just dinner.”

“So, that means we should eat crappy food? Relax, Ariel. Let me take you to a nice dinner. It doesn’t change anything,” Kayson said, giving me a wink as he opened his door and came around to open mine.

It was strange, but his retort had the opposite effect on me. I thought I’d be relieved that he understood how I felt. He was giving me exactly what I asked for, but something inside me was throwing a tantrum. That tiny little part wanted him to insist this was a real date. I was not sure whether it was to provoke him or prove something to myself, but I pulled down on the hem of my blouse and revealed a little more cleavage.

Charlie’s was one of those restaurants that if it were in a movie, there’d be a dress code. With its dark wood bar, brass finials, and high-back chairs, the place reeked of old money. I felt completely underdressed, and ended up shifting uncomfortably as Kayson spoke to the hostess.

“They have a table, but we can still go to the bar for a drink first if you want?” His smile was sweet as he slipped his hand to the small of my back and pulled me a bit closer to him.

“No, a table would be good.”

The hostess, who had been watching our exchange, gestured for us to follow her to our seats.

“Do you drink wine?” Kayson asked once we were alone again.

“I’m more of a Jack and diet girl.”

Kayson nodded and ordered our drinks as well as calamari as an appetizer.

“Before moving here, I never tasted calamari, just the thought of eating fried squid gave me the heebie-jeebies, but now I love it.” I was nervous and rambling. “Have you had it here before?”

“No, I haven’t. I think this is only the second time I’ve eaten here. My parents like it. I eat at Sixes a lot.”

“Sixes?”

“It’s a bar slash restaurant. You know about the sergeant we lost earlier this year, the one we had the fundraiser for?”

“Yeah.”

“He and his wife owned it. So, his widow is trying to keep it going. A bunch of us hang out there when we’re off duty.”

“Oh.” I had no clue where it was and hadn’t ever heard of it.

“You’ll have to come with me sometime, it’s a great place if you don’t mind hanging out with a bunch of cops.”

I laughed. I had no problem with having an overabundance of safety around me.

Just then, the server delivering our drinks, informed us that our appetizer would be up any moment, and Kayson reached for his phone, which was vibrating on the table.

“Sorry, sweet, this is work. I have to get it.”

He stood and moved to take his call outside.

I sat there, waiting and wondering what was up with calling me “sweet.” Not that I minded, but it seemed a bit presumptuous for him to give me a pet name. And while I waited even longer, I stared at him through the window and the way his fingers rested on his hip and strained the muscles in his forearms. He looked stressed, and I shifted in my seat, feeling more awkward the longer I sat. I decided that I didn’t care what he called me or how he looked, he was taking an awful long time on the phone while we were supposed to be having a date, fuck, I mean dinner.

The calamari arrived, not wanting to start without him, I sipped my Jack and diet instead. After another few minutes, he strode back inside.

“I can’t believe this,” he said, slipping into his seat across from me. “I need you to understand something for me. In Florida, as law enforcement, we’re technically always on duty. We’re expected to have our badge and gun on us at all times and that also means we can get called in anytime.” I rolled my eyes, I knew where this was headed even before he said the next line. “That was my captain on the phone. I have to go into the station.”

“Now?” I asked, hoping that he would surprise me and say after dinner but who was I kidding?

“Yes. Apparently, the prosecutor on the Sello murder case, the man accused of killing the three deputies, is throwing a fit because he can’t find the paperwork I filled out a month ago.”

“And he needs it tonight? Right now?”

“My captain needs it to their office before nine p.m. I’m hoping it won’t take long, but I still feel terrible. Let me get the bill, and I can take you home,” Kayson offered.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll just grab a cab.”

“Please?” Kayson’s words were soft and full of regret. But my mind was already racing off into another direction. How many times had Brandon canceled plans with me because he had to “work”? How many times had my father told my mother some lame excuse as to why he was late or didn’t call not to mention come home? Too many to count. Sure, Kayson could have been called into work. He might really have paperwork that needed to be filled out again. There was nothing about him that screamed liar and cheater, but I’d yet to see a liar and cheater with the words tattooed on their forehead, they were more cunning. I needed to remember my motto: the only way to protect my heart was to pretend I didn’t have one.

“May I stay? I can eat alone. Text me when you’re finished.”

He paused, seemingly torn between staying and going. After a beat, he said, “I will, promise. I’ll hurry and try to make it back before you leave.” Kayson waved down our waiter. “Can you run this, please? Whatever she orders is on this card and add twenty-five percent for a tip.” The waiter took his card, and when he returned with the leather check presenter, Kayson signed the slip before setting two twenties on the table, “For the cab, just in case I’m not back in time.” He gave me a questioning look. “You sure I can’t take you home and get a do-over?”

“I’m fine. Really. I’m not mad. Not shocked. Not anything,” I told him with all seriousness.

Our eyes locked, I tried to read something in them, something that would tell me that he was different. All I saw was the time Brandon came to my apartment smelling of perfume. When I had asked him why, he said it was because he had been at the mall trying to figure out which perfume I wore so he could buy me some. I didn’t point out that he’d apparently been trying to find my shade of lipstick as well since there was a smudge behind his ear. That was the last time I went out with him.

Kayson leaned in to kiss me, but I wasn't in the mood for a kiss, so I turned and offered him my cheek.

“Ouch,” he whispered as he walked off, releasing a low whistle.

Kayson was barely out the door when a shadow fell over the table.

“Ariel. What a lovely surprise.”

“Brandon. Why am I not surprised?” I was disappointed that it was him standing there and not Kayson returning.

Brandon leaned in and kissed my cheek. “You alone?”

I wasn’t in the mood to be kissed on the lips by a gorgeous Greek man, and I certainly wasn’t in the mood to be kissed on the cheek by Brandon.

Looking at the empty chair across from me, I was sure he already knew the answer. Something in the back of my head told me that Brandon had witnessed the whole embarrassing thing.

“Yes.”

He didn’t wait for me to offer him a seat. He just took it—such a Brandon move. At some point in my head “Brandon move” and “dick move” had become synonymous.

“Was trying to enjoy my night out.” I brought my hand up near my face and gave him a subtle go-the-fuck-away flick of the wrist, but he didn’t get my hint.

“Let me help. I’ve wanted to see you. I’ve missed you.” His words sounded genuine, which I knew wasn’t the truth. Brandon was a master of manipulation, and I never knew whether he was telling the truth or spinning a lie.

“I’m shocked you’ve had time. You were always busy with so many ‘just friends’ dinners when we dated for those few months.”

I was bitchy, but I was justified in my mind. My night had just gone from good to bad to crushingly disappointing in less than a handful of minutes.

He reached for my hand, but I pulled it back before he could grab it.

“Ariel, no reason to be jealous.”

“Jealous? Not jealous, Brandon. Tired. Don’t want to deal with you tonight. Just want to eat and go home.”

He picked up the beer and my Jack and diet, “How are you getting home?”

“Cab.”

“Let me take you.”

“No, thank you.”

“I’m staying until I know you get home safely. Ariel, please. I care about you. I’ve let too much time pass. I was wrong. I thought you just needed some space to realize how great we were together, but you haven’t called. Do I need to prove it to you?”

“Brandon, there’s no need. We aren't getting back together.” Wow, that was a Taylor Swift song if ever there was one.

“Whose beer is that? You don’t usually order beer.”

“My date got called away,” I replied.

“Were you here with Deputy Christakos? I saw him leaving.”

I nodded.

“I know him, Ariel. Believe me, Christakos isn’t someone who deserves your trust and faith. I know that you have trust issues and insecurities. Christakos is a cop. Cops are famous for sleeping around.”

“Pot meet kettle,” I retorted.

Brandon slammed his hands down on the table, causing me to jump. Snatching my purse, I stood and walked to the hostess and asked her to call me a taxi. Much to my annoyance, Brandon followed me.

“Ariel. Please. I’m sorry.” I ignored him.

When she informed me that it would be about ten minutes, the thought of standing there with Brandon harassing me dropped heavy into my stomach.

“Fuck the taxi. I’ll walk.”