The last ten minutes are a blur and I’ve somehow found myself in the front seat of Xavier’s car, my fingertips pressed to my lips, still tingling from his mouth. The events of the night are one big jumbled mess but all I can think is: Xavier kissed me. He kissed me. His lips touched mine. His tongue invaded my mouth, tangled with mine.

He kissed me.

You know what’s sad, I know it didn’t mean anything but I couldn’t help the unbelievable thrill it gave me. I understand he did it because my date from hell called me fat. Because under that playboy image he carries around with him like a shield, he’s a guy that takes his grandma to dinner for Valentine’s Day, and he wanted to teach Matt the asshole a lesson.

I’m not dumb. I know it means nothing, but it was still the best kiss I ever had.

Later I’ll think about how pathetic that is, but for now, I’m going to let myself revel in it. My secret dream boy kissed me. I deserve the pleasure of the memory after what I’d been put through this evening.

As we drive through the Chicago streets all I’m capable of is replaying the moment his tongue slid against mine, like a looping gif. You know that sizzle and flash when you light a sparkler before it flares bright? That’s exactly how his kiss felt.

With a dreamy sigh, I glance out the window. It’s starting to snow. Big, fat white flakes fall from the sky. It’s pretty. So pretty.

Reality comes rushing back. I frown. Where are we going? It occurs to me to ask the question. I shift in my seat. “Where are you taking me?”

Xavier doesn’t take his eyes from the road. “We’re taking nana home.”

I look over my shoulder and see her in the back seat. I flush with embarrassment and my natural politeness takes over. I clear my throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin your dinner.”

She waves a hand. “Nonsense, you didn’t ruin anything, but I must say, dear, your taste in men is abysmal.”

I can’t help darting a glance at her grandson, my secret crush, who just kissed me. The imprint of his mouth is still hot on my flesh. I bite my lip. “It was a blind date my friend set up.”

Xavier’s hand tightens on the wheel. “Ashley?”

I shake my head. “No, another friend, her name is Ginger. I don’t think you’ve met her.”

Virginia huffs. “Are you sure she’s a friend? Because I wouldn’t sic that man on my worst enemy.”

A smile flirts over my lips. “He was a coworker of her boyfriend’s, I don’t know if she ever met him, and I hadn’t asked too many questions. A mistake on my part, obviously.”

Xavier’s grandma tsks, “You know, I met Xavier’s grandfather on a blind date. It was love at first sight.”

I twist in my seat to face her more fully. “Someone set you up?”

“Yes, but not with each other.” She laughs, the sound rich and full. “It was a double date. Back in those days, we were picked up at our house, and my date seemed nice enough. I remember standing there, thinking, he’ll do, he was my husband, Winston’s friend. He’d been dating my girlfriend, but I hadn’t met him yet. It was arranged, thinking it would be convenient, because it’s always nice when you have another couple to do things with.”

I shift farther in my seat, listening to her story. She’s a captivating woman, and there’s something about her that commands complete attention.

Her lips curve into a soft, wistful smile. “I wasn’t paying much attention as we sat down at the table, but I situated myself, put my napkin on my lap, and when I looked up our eyes met. My entire world came alive.”

Out of the corner of my vision I see Xavier give a little eye roll, as though he’s heard this story a thousand times.

I don’t care though, because the story speaks to that hidden romantic girl that lives inside me, and I want to hear more. I put my hand on the seat and say, “What happened next?”

She chuckles softly. “We were polite, attentive to our respective dates, but we couldn’t stop glancing at each other. I remember that dinner like it was yesterday. I’d never felt so aware of another person. His knee bumped mine under the table and I thought I’d expire on the spot. We talked, and laughed with our dates, but the two of us had a love affair in the spaces in between.”

I sigh, the sound coming from my lips so full of longing it embarrasses me. I love stories like this. Real-life fairytales.

She winks at me. “Xavier looks just like his grandfather.”

I giggled. Ah, well, that makes some sense.

Xavier shakes his head at me, full of grinning exasperation.

Virginia continues. “All night, we barely spoke directly to each other. After dinner was over, we shook hands without a word, and left in separate cars. My date dropped me off and I went inside. When his car drove off, I went outside on my front porch. I don’t know if I was waiting for him, as much as longing and hoping. Fifteen minutes later I got my wish. Winston showed up at my house. In silence, he came over to me, took me by the hand. We got in his car, and drove to Oak Street beach. We stayed up all night talking, and watched the sun come up. It was the best night of my young life. We were married six months later.”

“That’s beautiful.” I smile at her. “You had a real love story.”

“We did, dear. I miss him every day.”

“I’m sorry. How long ago did he die?” I ask.

“Ten years ago.”

I wonder what that would be like, a love so deep you missed the person acutely even ten years later. I think of my own parents, who’ve always seemed more like companions to me than passionate lovers. Not unhappy, just…pleasant and content.

There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s better than what most people get. But it wasn’t what people fantasized about. I remember back in college, sitting in my English lit classes, falling in love with Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters. Back then I’d sworn I’d never settle for anything less than grand passion, an all-consuming love affair.

Except, time’s passed and it seems I’m not cut out for that. I don’t inspire drunken, lust-filled passion. Or declarations of love on a dawn-kissed beach. I’m the type of woman that inspires comfort.

Unable to help myself, I cast a sidelong glance at Xavier. Beautiful, captivating Xavier.

I run my tongue over my bottom lip, still able to feel the slide of his, seeking entry. As though sensing my stare, he shifts his attention off the road and onto me, focusing on my mouth.

He frowns and shifts in his seat.

I flush, and quickly put my tongue to the back of my teeth, where it belongs.

Before I can contemplate what his frown means, Virginia speaks up, “This is me. Thank you for a lovely dinner, dear boy.” She pats him on the shoulder before turning to me. “And you, are a sheer pleasure, I hope to see you again very soon.”

Grandmas always love me. I smile and offer a polite. “Me too.” As much as I’d love to spend more time with her, it will never happen. We are paths crossing on a starry night. Never to cross again.

She climbs out and we wait until she enters her building before I say to Xavier, “You’re very lucky to have her as a grandmother.”

“Yeah, I am.” His voice is soft, thoughtful.

I tuck a wild curl behind my ear and give him a furtive glance. “You don’t have to drive me home, I can get out and catch an Uber.”

His brows draw together. “Do I seem like the kind of guy that would kick you out of the car on a snowy Chicago night to let you fend for yourself?”

Maybe. It’s my first thought, but I manage not to let the word fall from my lips. While I’ve had a mad crush on Xavier since the second I laid eyes on him, I’ve actually not thought much about him as a person. Based on everything Ashley has told me, and his player status, I’ve always assumed him smart, because he is a surgeon, but shallow. The kind of guy that talks about orgies and how to get buff in his spare time. I’m not sure what that says about me, or my attraction. I’d chalked it up to being swayed by his pretty face, killer body, and the longing for a man I could never have.

I shake my head, clasping my purse tighter. “No, it’s not that. I just don’t want you to be inconvenienced, I don’t want to burden you.”

He shifts in his seat, leans against the door and peers at me for what seems like an eternity before he says, “Do you want to grab a drink before I take you home? You deserve it.”

Surprise lights a path down my spine and my eyes widen. This is the last thing I expect. I blurt out, “Why?”

He shrugs. “I’d like a drink. I’m assuming after that disaster, you’d like a drink. I thought maybe we could drink together.”

I should say no, because all that will do is feed my infatuation. It’s unhealthy for me to fixate on a guy I have no shot with. On the other hand, this is a one-time deal. It’s not like I’ll ever see him alone again. This one night I could have him to myself. To indulge a little.

This one night would feed my romantic soul for months.

I bite my lip, debating.

He raises a brow. “Is it that difficult to say, ‘Yes, let’s go for a drink, Xavier’?” Then he smiles at me and my heart drops into my stomach.

It’s probably not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind. I nod. “Sure.” I don’t know where the next words come from, but they pop out of my mouth before I can think them through. “But do you really want to go sit in some crowded bar filled with lonely single people? There’s a liquor store on the same block as my apartment. How about we head to my house and drink there?”

The suggestion hangs in the air, suspended between us, and I hold my breath.

This…boldness is not like me. But if I want a night with him, I might as well shoot for the stars. Yes, it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like he’ll kiss me again. No matter how much I liked it, or how bad I wanted it, it won’t happen again. That was for show.

Spending time, locked away in my apartment is enough.

He stares at me, but his expression is unreadable.

He’s going to say no.

Lips parting, I ready myself for his rejection.

But instead, he nods. “I like that plan.”

* * *

Do I like this plan?

Is this a good plan?

I don’t really know, but here I am, standing over Tessa as she opens the locks on her apartment to let us in.

I’m not sure why I asked her for a drink, but I’m certain it has nothing to do with that kiss. The kiss was good, and her needy little moans made me hard, but she’s not remotely my type. Yes, I admit I’m a little distracted by her mouth, but it’s not like I’m attracted to her.

So I don’t know why I asked her for a drink, or why I agreed to come back to her place, but here I am. I experience a stirring of unease as I step over the threshold into her small apartment. This might not be the smartest thing I’ve ever done.

The unease vanishes when I get a look inside. A huge smile spreads over my face. It’s a surprise, yet not a surprise at all.

It’s like a fairy princess lives here. It’s cute. Romantic. Girly and sweet. Her entire house is nothing but whites, pinks, and faded reds. The walls are the palest of blush pink. Her white furniture is a flat white and full of intricate, scroll designs, accented with vintage lamps and large blooms of flowers, and ornate knickknacks. She even has a candelabra complete with red drippy candles.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before, yet looks exactly right for Tessa.

I chuckle. “I feel like I’ve entered an alternate universe and singing birds and squirrels will pop out from behind the drapes.”

She flushes a shade of scarlet. “I know, I know.”

It’s…adorable. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a girl blush. The women I date would be naked already. Not that this is a date.

Tessa shrugs out of her coat and hangs it on an iron coat rack. “I get it. It’s a little much.” She holds out her hand and I give her my jacket, which she daintily hangs up next to hers.

She glances around her tiny apartment and I look with her, trying to soak it all in. It’s the most romantic, most girly apartment I’ve ever seen in my life. It belongs tucked into a woodland forest. I can only imagine what her bedroom must look like.

She’s taking it all in too, as though trying to see it through my eyes. I catch a glimpse of her face and get tangled in her expression. The slight giddy awe. Nothing about her features have changed, but they are bright, alive and glowing, like she’s been lit from within.

It hits me that her apartment gives her pleasure. It’s a reflection of her. This is who Tessa Jordan is. She’s girly and romantic.

I think of my own apartment, a mishmash of things I’d thrown together because I didn’t really care. I slept in my apartment. I occasionally ate meals there. Sometimes I watch television. It was shelter. Not a haven.

I clear my throat. “It’s pretty.”

She laughs, and her blue eyes sparkle. “No need to be nice. I know it’s over the top.”

“You love it.”

“I do. I like pretty things.” She shrugs her shoulder. “My parents are absent-minded professors and growing up my house was dark, shabby and filled with books. I loved the book part, but hated the rest. It was like living in a cave. So when I moved out, I decided that since this was my place, and I had no one to worry about but me, I was going to decorate it exactly how I wanted.”

I laugh. “Is your bed a mountain of stuffed animals?”

“No!” She wrinkles her nose and sticks out her tongue at me.

A tongue that had danced against mine. I pull my thoughts from her mouth, that kiss, which seems best to forget. I narrow my eyes at her. “Are you sure? Because I think you’re lying.”

“I most certainly am not.” She tilts her chin with defiance. “Okay, there’s one stuffed animal. My teddy bear from when I was a kid, but he’s on the shelf, not my bed.”

My gaze dips, settling on her lips. “I think I need to see for myself.”

Her shoulders jerk back and she gasps a little.

Christ. Why I did I say that? A subtle tension fills the space between us and she’s flushing again, a bright pink that spills over her chest and climbs up her neck.

To ease the tension, I wink and eye her with suspicion. “You don’t have a…”

Her face widens with anticipation. “A what?”

“A…”

“A what?”

I twist my expression into a grimace. “A doll collection.”

She clucks her tongue and shakes her head at the ceiling. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I don’t have a doll collection, I’m not eight or eighty.” She opens her arms and waves toward the small living room, with a white couch covered in pink roses I’m afraid to sit on. “I just like pretty things.”

“It fits you.” It does. I can’t quite explain how. Before tonight I would have assumed her practical and sensible. But tonight has shown me what she hides.

I place the large paper bag on her counter and she bites her lip before walking into her kitchen and pulling down glasses from the cupboard.

I pull out the wine and the bottle of lemon-flavored vodka she’d picked out.

She puts two goblets on the counter. “Wine?”

“That’s a good place to start.” The glasses are cut crystal. “You’re so fancy.”

She laughs. “They were my grandparents.”

She returns to the cabinet and pulls out a shaker and two rocks glasses. She peers over her shoulder. “For later, if we’re in the mood.”

“Cool. Do you have a corkscrew?” I ask.

She pulls one from the drawer and I go through the process of opening and pouring the wine before handing one of the glasses to her. We take sips and an awkward—now what—takes hold.

She gestures toward the sofa. “Let’s have a seat.”

I nod, take my glass and the bottle and go sit on the couch. She slips out of shoes and sits down, folding her legs beneath her.

For the first time I notice what she’s wearing.

A simple white blouse and black skirt. She doesn’t look comfortable. Her outfit is sensible. Too practical for her apartment. I tilt my head and ask, “Do you want to change? You look uncomfortable.”

She laughs. “I am. Yeah, are you sure you don’t mind?”

I shake my head. “Not at all, I’d kill for some sweatpants, so I figure one of us should be comfortable.”

“Great.” She jumps up, flies to her bedroom, I see the flash of lavender, and then her door slams shut.

I stare at the white door she disappeared behind, frowning.

What exactly am I doing?

I should leave. Even though I’m not hitting on her. Sure, she’s cute and sweet, but I don’t lust after her. But I still can’t get over the feeling I should get out of here before I do something stupid. Which doesn’t make any sense at all. I hadn’t kissed her to feel her mouth on mine. I’d kissed her to teach that asshole a lesson. There was no risk of me kissing her again.

None at all.

I take a sip of my wine. The door to her bedroom opens and she walks out.

She’s wearing a white, scooped-neck top and a pair of gray lounging pants that look so soft they practically beg to be touched. My heart does a strange little rapid tap as the wineglass stalls halfway to my lips.

What she’s wearing shouldn’t be sexy. Shouldn’t cause a reaction in me. It’s obvious she didn’t change into something meant to seduce me.

But I’ve only seen her in loose, blousy things. Clothes that don’t cling. This clings.

Everywhere.

I lower my glass, taking her in. I knew she was curvy, soft and rounded, not plump exactly, but close. I’d thought her pleasingly full figured, if you liked that kind of thing. Until she walked out of her bedroom I had no idea she was so…so…defined.

Her breasts are full, curving down to a narrow waist before her hips flare back out. She’s the very definition of hourglass. A fact hidden because everything I’ve ever seen her in is too damn big.

My throat goes dry. This fits.

She gives me a furtive glance, tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, and plops down on the couch. She leans over, picking up her wineglass. With a tentative smile asks, “Now what?”

I have no fucking idea. I’m distracted by her cleavage.

I’ve always dated leggy thin girls who are either flat chested or had boob jobs.

Nothing like the soft, inviting swell of Tessa’s breasts.

“Is everything okay?” Her voice rips my gaze away.

I shake my head. “Everything’s great. Sorry.”

She clears her throat. “If you don’t want to stay, don’t feel obligated. I totally understand if you’re tired and want to go to bed.”

She’s giving me an out. One I should take. I put my glass down, ready to agree that I’m tired and need to get to bed, but then I spy the bottle of vodka on the counter and point to it. “Wanna do some shots?”

“Sure. I’ll get it.” She pops up, and turns her back on me, walking to the counter.

I blink. Her ass is lush. The kind of ass you can sink your fingers into while you take her from behind.

She grabs the bottle and glasses and whips around.

I smile at her, and I hope it’s not lecherous.

I mean, okay, so she’s got a nice body. But she’s still not my type.

She sits on the couch and pours two fingers into the glasses before handing one to me. She holds up the glass in a toast. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Xavier.”

Then she smiles at me with her full mouth.

I down the drink, shuddering a bit at the bite.

Not my type at all.