I’m the only person on the planet that would let themselves be talked into a blind date on Valentine’s Day. Sane, rational people would say no. Say another night, perhaps. But not me.

What was I thinking?

Well, I know what I was thinking. I was thinking I didn’t want to spend the night alone. I was thinking that I was the only woman in my group of friends not paired up, and I was tired of their pity. I was thinking I couldn’t spend one more second listening to my best friend, Ashley, go on and on about how awesome her surgeon boyfriend Christopher was. Or listen to the details of their extravagant, romantic weekend getaway, when Ashley and I always spent Valentine’s together, mocking those happy couples.

I’m thrilled for Ashley, really I am. She deserves all the happiness in the world after what that shit, Trevor, did to her, but selfishly I’m missing her as my safety net on the worst single night of the year.

And I can’t lie; I’m lonely and feeling left out. So, when my girlfriend, Ginger, put me on the spot in front of everyone at a party and insisted I play the blind date Valentine’s game, I’d agreed.

The second I’d said yes, I regretted my impulsiveness. But I’d made a commitment; and I don’t back out of promises. So I’d go to dinner, have a good time, and make the best of things, because that’s what I do. At bare minimum I wouldn’t be home alone watching the Gilmore Girls on Netflix.

That was something. Right?

Shoulders back, I walk into the small Italian restaurant recently named a hidden gem in Chicago magazine, hoping for the best. I would ignore how pathetic it was. Ever an optimist, I put on a bright smile and stride toward the hostess stand.

Maybe my date will surprise me. Maybe he’ll be a prince, and he’ll sweep me off my feet, whisking me away for my happily ever after. Maybe sixty years from now we’ll tell our grandchildren about how we met on a lonely Valentine’s night, and spin tales about how you never know when you’ll find true love.

So yeah, I’m a bit of a… romantic. An unpopular trait these days, but I can’t help it. It’s my guilty little secret.

I give my name to a pretty girl dressed in black, standing over an iPad with a seating chart in various colors. She grabs two menus and smiles. “The rest of your party isn’t here yet, but I can go ahead and seat you.”

I glance at my watch. I’d been purposefully ten minutes late, and Matt Peterson, actuary extraordinaire, still wasn’t here. I sigh. Oh well. Maybe he’s fabulously good looking and interesting, and the second I see him his tardiness will be erased from my memory.

A girl can dream. Whatever the folly.

Following behind the hostess, I walk through the crowded dining room. The tables are packed; so close they might as well be pushed together. I’m a bit on the curvy side, falling just barely on the right side of plump. What my grandmother used to call healthy, and I have to turn sideways a few times to get through the narrow walkways. Squeezing past cramped tables, hoping my too full ass doesn’t knock over someone’s wine, isn’t exactly reassuring, in fact, a sense of foreboding shivers across my skin.

All I need to do is make it to the table, and pray I don’t have to go to the bathroom, then everything will be all right. The hostess starts to slow, signaling we must be close to our destination. I look up from the maze designed by a sadist, and my heart slams against my chest wall.

Oh no. Oh dear god, please no.

This cannot be happening to me. It’s a mirage. I blink. He’s still there. This isn’t some horrible nightmare. Not twenty feet away from me is Xavier Knight. Sitting at a table for two, alone, obviously waiting for someone.

Out of all the men I’d be forced to be in the same restaurant with, he’s last on the list.

Xavier, is one of Ashley’s boyfriend’s best friends, and has to be one of the most gorgeous men on the planet. After being introduced to him at a party a few months ago, I have the worst crush on him. It’s so bad, so embarrassing, I haven’t told a single soul. Not even Ashley, who knows terrible, uncomfortable things about me. It’s that humiliating.

I’ve tried to talk myself out of the crush numerous times, but I can’t help it. He’s the most beautiful male I’ve ever laid eyes on. At six-four, he has ridiculously broad shoulders, a face made to be carved and immortalized in stone, dark hair and even darker eyes. A trauma surgical resident with the ego to match, he’s a complete player. He’s ultimate fantasy material.

Evidenced by the women who trip all over themselves for a chance to be with him.

Needless to say, he’s completely out of my league. I’m romantic and optimistic, but I’m no fool.

While he stops traffic, and probably has women leaving panties on his car, I’m merely cute. Not pretty. Not stunning. Cute. With ordinary brown curly hair, and blue eyes, and a pleasing face. There’s nothing remarkable about me. I’m also quiet and don’t stand out in a crowd. The word most of my former boyfriends have used to describe me is nice.

Xavier treats me equally nice, with none of the prowling intent I’ve seen him turn on other women that catch his attention. I totally get it, like attracts like, which is why my huge crush on him is so frustrating.

Every time I see him my heart pounds, my cheeks flush and my palms go damp. What’s worse is I grow tongue tied, even though he’s always super sweet to me.

I watch in utter horror as the hostess walks straight toward the empty table right next to him. I want to scream, but grit my teeth instead.

This can’t be happening to me. Why, fate, why?

Not only is he having dinner at the same place I am, I have to sit right next to him! What kind of cruel twist is this? How can I make conversation with some guy I don’t know with Xavier flustering me?

The hostess lays the menus on a table so close to his we might as well be eating together.

No, no, no! I frantically scan the room, looking for anywhere else she could put me, but all the tables are full.

I’m forced to sit down across from him.

The universe has the most twisted sense of humor.

He’s looking at the list of specials so he doesn’t notice me. Slinking into the chair, I pick up the menu, half covering my face as I pray he somehow doesn’t recognize me. After all, he’s only met me a few times and I’m completely forgettable. It happens all the time.

Hope is dashed when he glances up and his gaze lights with surprise.

He smiles and my treacherous heart gives a flutter. “Tessa! This is a surprise.”

Why hasn’t he forgotten me? Of all the bad luck. I tighten my grasp on the menu and nod. “Hey, Xavier.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” He winks. Ugh. His lashes are so thick and dark and long. It’s a crime.

“You too. Waiting for a date?” God I feel awkward. Like the words are tumbling out of my mouth too fast.

He flashes me a killer grin that makes my pulse pound in my throat. “Something like that. You too?”

Ever so nonchalant, I shrug.

Just shoot me. I can’t wait to sit next to one of his supermodel girlfriends all night while staring at the actuary, Matt. All my romantic notions for the evening die a sudden, painful death. I wrinkle my nose. “I’d ask to sit somewhere else, but there are no other tables.”

“No worries,” he says, picking up a glass of wine and taking a sip. “Can I buy you a drink while you’re waiting?”

To my dismay, my cheeks flush. Why does he have to make me so nervous? I’m a grown-up, he’s not supposed to make me nervous. I shake my head. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Nonsense.” He raises his hand and a waitress comes scurrying over. Is there a woman alive that doesn’t fall to his feet the second he snaps? He shifts his attention to me. “What can I get you, Tessa?”

I debate. Why not let him buy me a glass of wine? At least it will relax me, and with every muscle in my body tense, I need to relax. I clear my throat. “A glass of Chianti would be nice, thanks.”

The waitress nods and when she leaves, Xavier turns back to me. “Are you early? Or is your date late?”

“He’s late.” I tilt my chin. “What about yours?”

He laughs. “She’s late, but she called and told me she would be. So we can keep each other company.”

“Great.” Not great. Not great at all. I don’t want to spend, god knows how long, being tongue tied and struggling for something to say. My mind is always an uninteresting blank around him. See, this is why I’m a second-grade teacher. Talking to kids is so much easier than adults.

The waitress delivers my wine and sets it in front of me. When she retreats, he raises his glass. “Cheers.”

We clink glasses across the minuscule space that separates us. “Cheers.”

I hope I don’t have to go to the bathroom over dinner, because they’ll have to move the tables and that will just be further humiliation I really don’t need right now. I take a sip, letting the rich liquid slide down my throat. I glance around the crowded room. “This place is packed.”

He surveys the patrons, nodding. “It is.”

An awkward silence settles between us.

I bite my lower lip. “Save any lives today?”

He smiles and shrugs one shoulder. “Only one.”

“Only?” I raise a brow.

“It was a slow day.” He scrubs a hand over his chiseled jaw, studying me. “What do you do again?”

“I’m a second-grade teacher.”

He nods. “That’s right.”

Again, silence falls between us, and again I can’t think of anything to say, but in fairness, he’s not exactly carrying the conversation either.

His head tilts as his fingers run the length of the wineglass stem. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

I can’t help picturing what those long fingers would feel like stroking over my skin. I shake off the impossible thought. I debate lying, saying this late douchebag is my boyfriend, but it seems pointless. The second Xavier sees us together he’ll see there’s no intimacy between us. I scrunch up my face. “It’s a first date, actually.” Then I laugh a little. “Pretty sad, huh?”

He shakes his head. “No, but it’s a risky move on the most pressured day of the year.”

“So true.” I lean forward and put my elbows on the table before rubbing my temples. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Or wasn’t thinking, to be more accurate.”

“Who knows, maybe it will be the guy of your dreams and this will be a story you tell your great grandkids.” His tone is light and amused.

The exact fantasy I’d concocted as I walked in here, but his reiteration is like a kick in the stomach. Highlighting to me that he doesn’t view me romantically. Which is ridiculous to care about, because of course he doesn’t. I’ve never seen him with a woman that wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous. I don’t have low self-esteem, but I’m realistic. Tens play with tens. Sevens play with sevens. And so on. Everybody knows that.

I scoff, waving my hand in the air. “My dream guy is punctual.”

He chuckles. “Good point.”

Before we can say anything else, the lovely hostess arrives with an older woman, maybe in her late seventies Her hair is gray, her face lined, but she’s still beautiful. In her peaceful expression you can see she must have been a stunner back in the day. In truth, she still is. The way Helen Mirren can still turn heads and make others notice her.

Her gaze flickers over me with what looks like pleasure, and she touches his shoulder. “Xavier, I see you can’t help yourself from picking up pretty girls wherever you go.”

He rolls his eyes and rises from his seat to greet her. “I’m not picking her up. I’m keeping her company. There’s a difference.” He grips the older woman’s elbow, leaning down to kiss her on her weathered cheek. “Nana, this is Tessa Jordan, a friend of a friend.” He turns to me. “Tessa, this is my grandmother.”

I blink, trying to hide my shock. So, he’s not with a supermodel? This is a…surprise. Could this disaster possibly be salvaged? It’s too early to tell, but at least some of my agitation eases. I stand and hold out my hand to the older woman. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs…” I trail off, uncertain how to address her.

Expression alight with what appears to be inner radiance, she slips her fine-boned hand into my sturdy one. “Mrs. Knight, but please, call me Virginia.”

We settle back down in our chairs, and Xavier says, “Tessa is waiting for her date.” He glances at me, his dark eyes shining. “Unlike me, she’s willing to brave it on Valentine’s Day.”

A smile flirts over my lips. “In truth I was coerced into it.” I look at my watch again. He’s twenty-five minutes late now. “I’m starting to think I’ve been stood up.”

“What man would be foolish enough to stand up someone as lovely as you?” Xavier’s nana waves her hand over me.

She’s so sweet. I love her instantly. And, looking on the bright side, if I am stood up, at bare minimum I won’t be humiliated in front of a date. It will just be Xavier and his grandmother, still bad, but also not horrible.

It’s the worst thing that could possibly happen, but I’ll survive.

And then I see the hostess walking toward me with a man and my heart sinks a little.

He’s everything I thought he would be. Bland, nondescript, slightly balding with a paunch. And he’s short.

I want to kill Ginger. Matt works with her boyfriend, and she’d never met him, but still, if she loved me at all, she’d have scoped him out first.

I understand I should be better than this, less shallow, and maybe if he wasn’t about to be seated next to Xavier and all his beauty, I’d be able to see past it if he has a good enough personality. But that seems impossible when the man across from me makes my palms slick with sweat and so nervous my stomach does flips in his presence.

Poor Matt pales in comparison.

Which makes me sad. Xavier is not an option for me. He will never be an option for me. I need to stop crushing on him.

I straighten in my chair. No. I’m not doing this to myself. I’m going to have a lovely time and give this date my best shot and full attention. Maybe he’s super nice. I’m super nice. Super-nice people go together.

Matt plops down in his chair and leans back, taking the menu from the hostess. “Hey. Tessa, right?”

I nod, hyperaware of Xavier sitting in my line of vision, watching me. “Yes. Matt?”

“Yeah.” He rubs a hand over his receding hair. “You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”

My brows slam together and my face flushes with anger. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, Well, you’re worse, but I bite back that response and smooth my expression over into something pleasant. Like when I have to talk to an aggressive parent about their monster child.

I divert attention away from his insensitive comment, and back onto his insensitive actions. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

He shrugs, glancing down at the menu. “The downtown traffic was shit.”

I wait for an apology that doesn’t come. So I smile and pick up my menu. “Well, you’re here now.”

All right then, there will be no personality to save me from this disaster. The only option left for me is to eat as fast as possible and get the hell out of here.

* * *

Tessa Jordan’s date is such an ass; he’s almost a caricature.

I’m trying my best to focus on dinner with my nana, but every time I catch a snippet of their conversation my hatred for the guy grows.

Tessa is the quintessential nice girl. She might be the nicest girl I’ve ever met. And while she’s not my type, she deserves a hell of a lot better than this guy. She deserves someone who will bring her flowers, and tell her she’s pretty. Not look her up and down like she’s cattle before telling her it could be worse.

I’ll be honest, since I met her, I’ve had an unexpected soft spot for her. Why? I have no idea. Maybe because she looks so soft. Or maybe it’s the way she gazes at me with those big, pooling blue eyes. All I know is the sensation is strange, but not unpleasant.

It’s not attraction, but more like she’s my best friend’s little sister and I don’t want this guy to mess with her. I suppose this makes an odd kind of sense, because she’s the best friend of one of my best friend’s girlfriend. So I’m connected to her, albeit loosely.

It’s only right I’d look out for her. My desire to take this guy out isn’t about jealousy, or wanting to date her myself, it’s about wanting what’s best for her and this guy isn’t it.

See, Tessa is the cute, commitment, nice-girl type, and even if I was attracted to her, I don’t do any of those things. I’ve got too much on my plate to give her the kind of attention she deserves. As a trauma surgeon resident I have no time to tend to a proper girlfriend. I keep my relationships—if that’s what you can call them—loose, and emotion free.

“Teachers don’t get paid that great, do they?” Matt asks, as though it’s totally appropriate to ask about someone’s salary.

Tessa cringes, and shrugs a shoulder.

Matt puts his elbows on the table. “Just asking because I’m not interested in supporting some chick. Been there, done that.”

Tessa blows out a breath. “Never crossed my mind.”

My fingers tighten on my wineglass. This guy should be treating her like a queen. She’s way better than he is, and this dickhead is making my blood boil at his dismissive treatment of her.

I know my nana feels the same way. She keeps giving me her thin-lipped displeased look from across the table.

Every minute that passes, where we all eat our separate dinners and pretend we’re not paying attention to each other, Tessa shrinks a little more.

I don’t like it. It bothers me. It shouldn’t, because she’s a big girl and can take care of herself, but I can’t help it. There’s something about her that makes me want to punch the guy.

It’s in the way her blue eyes keep fluttering to me, half in horror and half in plea.

I want to…protect her. To rescue Tessa and take her away from this guy so her shoulders can relax and her spine can lose all that steel. I find myself wanting to pull her onto my lap, tuck her against me, and stroke her wild curly hair. I want to comfort her. Tell her everything is going to be all right. That all men aren’t assholes.

I don’t even know what to do with the desire.

It’s not something I’ve ever thought before. Truth is, I’m kind of a prick about women. It’s fact. Ask anyone who knows me. I stick to women like me, and I’m always honest, but still, I’m hardly a saint. I’m a player. I can admit it. But I’m not an asshole, so I don’t fuck with nice girls.

Nana shoots Tessa’s date daggers, before she turns to me, and says in a low voice, “Are you going to do something about that?”

Maybe it’s weird I take my grandmother out to dinner on Valentine’s Day, but as far as I’m concerned it’s the best day to take her out. First, she’s my favorite person in the entire world and second, guys like me learn pretty quickly that tonight is full of female expectation I have no intention of cashing in on.

I shrug. “What do you want me to do? It’s not my business.”

She sighs. “It’s called chivalry, my dear boy.”

I flash her a smile. “The women of my generation don’t appreciate that knight-in-shining-armor shit.”

She purses her lips at my language before saying, “Women always appreciate that shit.”

I laugh. See, this is why she’s my favorite person. She raised me from the time I was ten, when my dad died from cancer and my mom took off for parts unknown. Supposedly, my mom suffered from acute depression even under the best of circumstances, so when my dad died she couldn’t take it, or me. She left me with my grandma and hasn’t been seen since. I barely remember her, or my dad. I only recall snippets of drama.

Nana and my small group of friends are my constants and that’s the way I like it. I have no intention of expanding my inner circle.

Kitty-corner to me, Tessa’s gaze finds mine, and she bites her lower lip. Even devoid of lipstick or gloss, she’s got a great mouth. It’s full and lush; a perfect bee-stung Cupid’s bow. Women pay good money for a mouth like that, but no surgeon, regardless of skill, can ever match nature. I might be a surgeon myself, I might play god every day, but nature deserves our respect, because it almost always beats man made. Especially when it comes to women, and Tessa’s mouth matches the lushness of her body, which is full and curvy. A figure I think they used to call voluptuous in the old days.

I think of the last girl I took to bed, with her long, long limbs and sharp angles. She ate a salad.

I look at Tessa’s plate. She’s eating pasta with a blush sauce and chunks of sausage. I can’t remember the last time I saw a girl eat pasta on a date. Cause of carbs.

Tessa’s date speaks and her eyes rip away from me and land on him, wide and full of trepidation.

The guy picks up his phone and holds it out. “Hey, can you do me a favor and take a selfie with me, I want my bitch of an ex-wife to see I’m on a date while she’s sitting alone?”

Tessa practically jolts out of her seat and I can’t stand it one more second. I stand, straighten to my full six-four, filling up all the space between the tables, and grip her elbow. “That’s it, you’re coming with me.”

Her expression flashes with surprise. “I’m—”

I don’t let her finish. I yank her from her seat and turn toward her date. “You’re paying, asshole.”

“Hang on a second,” he sputters, pointing at me. “Who in the hell are you?”

I tower over the guy that’s probably only five-nine and purposefully loom over him, because I’m fully aware that guys like him have Napoleon complexes. I snarl, my voice deep and menacing, “Your worst fucking nightmare.”

“Xavier, it’s okay,” Tessa says in a soft voice.

“No, it’s not okay.” I shake my head for emphasis. I don’t know where all this is coming from, but I’m past thinking, I’m just acting, and this guy does not deserve one more second of Tessa’s time. I squeeze her. “You’re coming with me.”

The guy looks me up and down before sneering. “Go ahead and take her, she’s a little heavy for my taste.”

Tessa’s face drains of color, and what appears to be mortification crumples her features.

Some sort of primal rage fills my vision and all I can think about is making this guy pay. I need to wipe that wounded look from her eyes. As far as I can determine, I have two choices: punch him in the face, or option B.

I look down at the woman trembling under my grip, and there’s no question.

I haul her close, wrap my arms around her and lay my mouth on her.

I mean the kiss to be for show, to make the guy feel like shit. Because the truth is, I know exactly how good-looking I am. Women have compared me to a god. I’m tall and dark and genetically blessed. Tessa’s date isn’t even in the same stratosphere as me, but he’s got an ego the size of Texas, so I’m positive this will eat at him. If I had to guess, his bitch of an ex-wife cheated on him. So this is going to rub extra hard.

That’s what I’m thinking when my lips meet hers.

Her mouth stiffens under mine, and she jerks, all startled and rigid.

I take my focus off her date and put it where it belongs. On Tessa.

I soften my hold, the kiss, and lose all my aggression. Concentrating, not on the guy that’s not good enough for her, but on coaxing her response. I slide one hand around her waist and the other around her neck, letting my fingers tangle in her silky curls.

My tongue sweeps across her lower lip, seeking entry, and when her lips part, I slip into her wet heat.

She turns into me, melds her body against mine, and lets out a little needy moan.

And just like that, I get hard.

Her mouth is sweet. I should pull back, but instead, increase my grip on her neck as I lick into her mouth. Her tongue, tentative, moves against mine. A sudden desire sweeps through me, an urge to invade her, consume her. Make her forget anyone and anything but this kiss. I slant my head and deepen the contact.

Her body melts into mine.

There’s a tap on my shoulder, and the madness fades as the room, and my surroundings, rush back. I rip away from the heat of Tessa’s mouth to find my nana smiling at me.

She tilts her head. “Maybe this isn’t the time.”

In my embrace, Tessa stiffens, stepping away from me.

I let her go.

“Oh… Um…” Tessa’s cheeks flush as she stumbles over her words. “I… Um…need to be going.”

I frown. “No, you’re coming with us.” My mouth still tingles from her lips and I turn to her date and point at him. “Don’t ever come near her again. Got it.”

Before he can answer, before I can think about my actions, I grip Tessa and I’m gone.