Meet Me in the Middle by Witt L.A

Author:Witt, L.A. [Witt, L.A.]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2013-08-20T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Tuesday showed up fucking quick. I was still shaking off a little fatigue from Vegas—what was it about that city that made us think we could stay up until all hours of the night?—as I stood in my bedroom getting ready for my date with Owen.

Fatigue aside, why did I feel so weird about this? About going on a date when I was still catching my breath from a weekend with Adam? That weekend hadn’t just been with him, anyway. And even if it was, it wasn’t like I was cheating on him tonight.

As I changed my shirt for the eleventh time, I glanced at my phone, which sat on the bed next to my wallet. Maybe it was the fact that I hadn’t told him what was bothering me. The feeling that even though I didn’t need to, I was hiding this from him.

So I picked up the phone.

Won’t be on tonight, I wrote in a text. Got a date. There. At least now I was being upfront. I didn’t owe him the truth, and I didn’t need his permission, but telling him took some weight off my shoulders.

A few minutes later, as I was double-checking that I looked like a man who had any business being on a date with a Wilde’s bartender, my phone buzzed. A queasy feeling lurched in my gut. What if he was upset? Jealous? Hurt?

So what if he was?

I shook my head and then opened the new message.

Do you? That’s great. Good luck. ;)

I smiled to myself, if a little halfheartedly, and sent back, Thanks. We’ll see how it goes.

Indeed, we would.

I finally settled on something to wear. That was unusual in and of itself; I didn’t own a piece of clothing I’d be reluctant to wear, but I was nervous, and worrying about wearing “the wrong thing” was as good a thing as any to channel that nervousness. But I refused to be late on a first date, so I finally got it together and left.

The restaurant wasn’t far from where I lived. Such was one of the advantages of living so close to Broadway: anything worth going to was only a few blocks away. The night was warm, if a little damp from some rain this afternoon, so the walk was pleasant.

I was early and didn’t see anyone resembling Owen, so I figured he wasn’t here yet. I took a seat at the bar and kept an eye on the door.

And right on time—ooh, that’s a plus for you, darling—he came strolling in through the front door, and I nearly choked on my drink. His pictures hadn’t begun to do him justice. The man was six scoops of gorgeous covered with perfect and smothered in “fuck me.”

Something told me this date was going to end very, very well.

He walked right up to me and smiled. “Dale?”

“Owen?”

The smile broadened. “That’s me.” Oh Lord, he really did have a Southern accent.

I stood, and we shook hands. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too.

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