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One night was all it was supposed to be…so why is he sitting in my office right now?Agreeing to do the floral arrangements for a high profile wedding has opened the doors wide open for Whoopsie Daisy. My friends and I have more than we can handle, and hiring people to help is at the top of our list.
What I didn’t expect is for a job to be given to my one night stand, who happens to be younger than me. I knew he wanted to go out again, but I didn’t think he’d apply for a job at my flower shop. Though, I don’t remember telling him where I worked.
I can handle this. We’re both adults. Working together won’t be a problem. Too bad fighting my attraction to Xander is turning out to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Grabbing the fresh margarita, I take a drink. The sides of the glass are wet from the condensation, and I pick up the small napkin to wipe it off. The chair Eric vacated a few minutes ago moves. I swear he thinks he has to take care of everyone. “Eric, I wasn’t play—”
My eyes move from the glass in my hand to the person who isn’t Eric sitting in the chair. What the hell? This is so random. Who comes and just plops themselves into a seat at a stranger’s table? Well, I guess I can’t really fault them. I’ve done the same thing on numerous occasions. And it was usually some guy I ended up going home with. It’s just weird having the same thing happen to me. This is new.
“Um, who are you?” Hopefully that wasn’t rude, but like who is this guy.
“Xander.” He holds his hand out. His dark brown eyes twinkle in the dim lighting as he smirks. “You looked lonely.”
Oh. My. God. “Does that pickup line usually work?” I grasp his hand and shake it lightly before pulling back.
He shrugs and leans back in his chair. “Sometimes. I mean, it’s got about an eighty percent chance of it, anyway.”
At least he’s being honest. Not many people would be, especially when they are trying to pick someone up from the bar. “Let me guess, you were standing over there, and you saw me sitting alone minding my own business. You decided to come over and really thought those words were the ones that would endear me to you.”
That may have been a tad bit bitchy, but it’s really hard to be in the mood to play games. As much as I try to shake off the worries I have about the shop, it’s just not working.
“Actually,” he leans forward, elbows on the table, “I noticed you when you walked in. I was going to come over sooner, but then that guy sat down,” he pauses to take a sip of his beer. “For a second, I thought he was your boyfriend or something. Then I saw him walk behind the bar and tell one of the waiters to bring you a drink. After that, I spent a few moments talking myself into coming over here.”
“How does him going behind the bar equate to him not being my boyfriend? For all you know he is.” I’m interested in what he has to say about this revelation.
He studies the margarita in my hand for a few seconds, and glances toward the bar. No doubt to the guy in question. “Well, mostly because he watches you like an overprotective brother, and he’s staring at me like he wants to break my jaw. If he was your boyfriend, I probably wouldn’t be in this fine establishment much longer.”
“Oh.” It’s so weird being on this side of the conversation. It’s usually me approaching men. Confidence isn’t something I’ve ever had a problem with. But this…it’s knocking me back a few steps. I have no idea what to do from here. At this point I’ve usually talked them into buying me a drink before we head off to be alone.
“Am I right?”
“Well, you’re not wrong.” Seriously, Kate, pull yourself together. I take a long pull from my drink. It feels like half of the drink is gone when I’m done. It takes everything in me not to throw my hands to my head from the rush of the drink. Something else that isn’t typical of something I do. Slamming drinks ended in my early twenties.
“Want to dance?” He scoots the chair back and stands. His hand held out to me, waiting for me to take the leap.
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