The second Magnus comes into view, an eruption of butterflies takes over my stomach. He wasn’t lying. The fact that he wasn’t playing me provides nowhere near as much relief as it should. Instead my mind is running at one hundred miles per hour, wondering why the hell someone that looks like him wants to have dinner with someone like me.

He unabashedly stares at me, his gray-blue eyes more expressive and honest than I would’ve ever expected. Needing to break the connection, my gaze travels down his face, taking in the way his beard accentuates his high and prominent cheekbones. His jaw is clenched with tension, adding to the fierce and virile aura radiating off him.

Continuing my perusal, I’m in awe at how perfect one man can look. There’s no denying he takes pride in his appearance, and the price tag that’s attached to him is written all over his choice of clothing.

His dress shirt fits him like a second skin. The buttons lining his torso pull the material across his chest; stretching it perfectly. With every pronounced line and dip, my body churns with interest and excitement. I stop myself from venturing further, into dangerous territory and raise my eyes back to his expectantly.

A faltered greeting comes out of his mouth surprising us both. His eyes squeeze shut in embarrassment as I process what just happened. Magnus Andersen has a stutter, and a smile ghosts my face at his nervousness. It shouldn’t put me at ease that he’s uncomfortable, but the reminder that everyone has imperfections, positively strokes at my insecurities.

Holding my hand out, I try to rectify the awkwardness. He eagerly grabs hold of me, engulfing my small hand with his, and once again I’m reminded of how intimidating his presence can be. As new words struggle to get past his lips, he drops my hand like it’s on fire.

The nurturer within me wants to reach out and comfort him. Tell him that the stutter isn’t something he should worry about. Surprisingly, the vulnerability makes him that much sexier.

The hostess comes, interrupting the moment, and ushers us to our table. Walking closely behind me, Magnus’ hand hovers over the small of my back protectively. The patrons stare at us as we walk through and I wonder if they’re gawking at him or at the laughable sight of him and I together.

Even though I usually pay no mind to others, with Magnus the differences between us doesn’t go unnoticed. While he dressed to impress, I purposefully made sure to appear uninterested. The only thing I took pride in tonight was my clean and matching underwear.

Arriving at the table, Magnus pulls out my chair. “Thank you.”

Sitting across from me, I have unfettered access to his facial expression and body language. It’s obvious what happened earlier has set him off balance, his hands are curled into fists on the table, and his back and shoulders are rigid with tension. Instinctively I cover both his hands with mine, “it’s okay.”

Immediately his body loosens up, and his clenched fists release their tension. I rush to place my hands back on my side, but he catches them mid air.

Lowering them to the table, his eyes find mine. “Thank you,” he says. The words unhurried and clear as day, “that hasn’t happened in a really long time.”

I shy away from his honesty, slipping my hands out to the side of the table. It’s unnerving and unexpected; two things I didn’t anticipate tonight would be.

The waiter returns with menus. Grateful, I snatch one out of his grasp, and sigh in relief that for the next five minutes I have something else to focus on. My eyes scan the elaborately described items and their matching prices.

“Have you been here before?” He interrupts.

“No. I can’t remember when the last time I went out for dinner was.”

“You like cooking for yourself then?”

“Not at all,” I laugh. Deciding this is the perfect time to regain the upper hand, I tell him about Jeremiah. It’s usually a turnoff for most and the best way to remind him that this can only physical. “Actually, I have a son.”

“You do? How old is he?”

“He’s five.”

“He must keep you busy.”

“Busy is an understatement, but we make it work.” His interest surprises me, and I can’t help but get swept away by mother’s pride when talking about Jeremiah.

“So, it’s just you holding down the fort then?” I don’t miss the hidden meaning behind his question.

“Yep. It’s just me.”

“Are you guys ready to order?” The waiter steps up to the side of the table interrupting the mild interrogation.

“Can we get another-?”

“Lucy.” My body tingles at the way he says my name, holding my attention in more ways than one. “Can I order for us?”

Closing the menu, I hold his gaze and nod. “Sure. Surprise me.”

Looking up at the waiter, he rattles off what seems like an exuberant amount of food for two people. “You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

I chuckle in disbelief. “No, I’m not.” It seems like an innocent question, but to me it sticks out like a sore thumb. He’s polite, he’s considerate, and he’s very much interested. Add on the fact that he looks like a Greek God, and it’s a lethal combination. One that I’m not in any way, prepared for.

* * *

“No, I couldn’t possibly have another.” I place my hand over the top of the wine glass in protest, “I have to drive home.”

“Do you have to go home soon?” he asks with concern. “Do you have a curfew? Wait, not a curfew. Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

“To answer your cryptic question, my sister and her boyfriend are watching my son. But I don’t need them asking me a hundred questions, so I do need to get home at a decent hour.”

He leans back and cocks his head to the side.“Why can’t you just tell them?”

“Tell them what?”

“You’re out on a date?”

“I am?”

“Well, what’s this?” he questions.

“I thought it was just you easing your conscience about sleeping with me, so you felt the need to feed me first.”

“Ease my conscience?” He runs his hands down his face in exasperation. “You mean to say you don’t think I can do a one night stand?”

“I don’t really know what to think?” I have a bad habit of spilling out every single thought that comes to mind when I’m in defense mode, and this seems to be no different. “But when you reached out to me, which was odd by the way, I told you sex only.”

“Wait, why was it odd?”

I lean over trying to avoid anyone hearing what I’m about to say next and I whisper yell across the table. “You’re Magnus fucking Andersen. You’re sex on a stick, and for the life of me, I’m trying to work out why the hell you’re using Timber, when I know there are women everywhere throwing themselves at you.”

“It was a mistake,” he blurts out.

I hold my head up high and remain stoic even though a subtle pang sits in my chest. “A mistake?”

“F-f-fuck.” He closes his eyes and regulates his breathing. I look away, not wanting to be swayed by that damn adorable stutter.

“Lucy. Look at me.” I turn my head with more animosity than needed. “You are not the mistake. What I’m trying to say is, there was a software glitch, and my real email got flooded with Timber profiles.” Stopping again to focus on his words, I realize this is how he works through his anxiety. And for that reason alone I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I had no intention of using Timber. It was only ever a business deal, but I saw your profile, and here I am.”

The waiter interrupts us, bringing our food to the table. And my taste buds are torn between both the meal and the man in front of me. Poking at the salad, I feel him stare at me intently. Pretending to ignore the way his eyes bore into me, I sit and process everything he’s said and everything I feel. I can’t concentrate around him. I had a plan, and no matter what, I need to stick to it.

I finish up eating and rest my elbows on the table, I place my clenched hands between us, “I haven’t changed my mind, Magnus. I don’t want more. I don’t need all this. Dinner and the sweet talking, it’s not necessary.”

“So, what? You expect me to meet you at a seedy hotel, have sex with you, kiss your cheek and bid you farewell till next time?”

I laugh at the image, “I hadn’t really thought of the details, yet.” I admit. “I was more curious to see if it was really you.”

“And now you know it is.” He smirks, and I shrug. He signals the waiter over, confusing me at the sudden change of topic. “Can we get the check, please?”

Reaching for my bag, I pull my wallet out and hand Magnus some cash. “Here you go, that should cover my share.” Suspended, mid air, he glares at my hand and then me.

“Put it away,” he demands; his voice rough and forceful. The silence stretches as he finalizes the payment, and my knee nervously bounces at this different side of Magnus.

Standing, he holds his hand out for me to take. Placing my palm in his I rise, and let him silently guide me out of the restaurant.

“Walk me to your car.” His breath tickles the back of my neck, as I eagerly lead the way.

“This is me.” I point to the red Toyota Camry. Together we close the distance to my vehicle. Grasping the cool metal, I feel his hand on mine. He turns me around and nudges me gently till my back touches the door.

“Listen.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, and his fingers skim down the length of my neck. A shiver runs through me, anticipating what he’s going to say next.

“We’re going to do this your way. Sex only.”

Nodding, I lose the ability to use any words. Inside the restaurant Magnus was sweet and endearing, but right now he’s sexy as sin, and the thought of being with him, when he’s like this is frightening and exhilarating all at once.

“But not tonight.” He steps back, breaking the spell. I sigh audibly revealing just how much his presence unnerves me. “I told you dinner first, and I’m a man of my word. But next time,” he leans in, his mouth at my ear, “it will be all about the sex.”