Love Me: The Complete Series (3 page)

She hovered a finger over the send button, hesitant to deceive the poor guy.

Caroline pressed a finger over hers and the message was gone, sent over the airwaves to a poor schmuck that needed to make good with his girl.

Badeep deep
.

Caroline peered over Abby’s shoulder then yanked the phone away and tapped in a response before handing it back.

Abby punched Caroline on the arm and grabbed her purse. “You’re shameless.” She dropped the phone into it and pushed Caroline toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got a big day ahead tomorrow, and I really need a shower.”

Caroline pinched her nose. “You
are
a little ripe. Have you told your family about the store opening? Are they coming?”

“I sent them one of the flyers we mailed out. They know, but they don’t usually have time for these shindigs.”

Abby had managed to hide the disappointment all day, but if they stayed much longer, she was sure to break down. The pain in her leg from her encounter with Ruckus served to muffle the more intense pain in her ego. None of her family had called with well wishes. Not one out of the six. Her new business—her new world—meant nothing to them. They were probably all still mad at her for quitting.

Her purse beeped several times on the drive home, but she ignored it. She should stop pretending with this guy. It was cruel. Whoever he thought she was, she needed to set him straight when she got out of the car.

But there were three more messages. Reading through them, her stomach clenched.

First message:

Second message:

Third message:

Uh-oh. Now what? Abby wiped her thumb across the screen, as if to clear the message, or perhaps clarify it. Should she answer? He was going to expect someone to show up. It would be unconscionable not to set the poor guy straight. He’d sit there alone at that nice, expensive restaurant, the restaurant she’d never been to and probably never would because she couldn’t afford it.
She
had no boyfriend to buy her tickets and take her there.

She’d regret her next step … but she took it anyway.

She had lost her mind.

“Now what?” Carter growled as his phone started ringing. He glanced at the display on his new phone and cursed himself for not backing up his contacts the past several months. Not only was he now
sans girlfriend
but he had lost every phone number he’d accumulated. Business
and
personal. He’d managed to copy the numbers for Jackson and a few others from his buddy Roger while at the office, but the number displayed matched none of those. “Thanks, Amanda.”

He might not have a clue who was calling, but at least the phone was cool.

He let it go to voice mail; he’d deal with recovering everything tomorrow. He was going to dinner at Sotby’s and, by God, he’d have a good time. It had taken three weeks to get the reservation and he wasn’t about to let it go to waste. Besides, he needed to eat.

An hour later, he lounged at the bar of Sotby’s, awaiting his table. He was a few minutes early and his reservation wouldn’t be ready for at least thirty. A good thing because Jackson hadn’t shown yet. Garlic, cilantro, and, oddly, lavender overpowered him. The deep mahogany finishes in the restaurant and the bright cheerful colors of the upholstery were elegant. It had been finished off with neon lighting tucked into various portions of the woodwork. The lighting cast a warm yet subtle glow in the room that enhanced the romantic atmosphere. Add the jazz music to the background that promised a night to remember and it would have been the perfect place for a celebration.
Would have been
being the key phrase. Now it was just an expensive place to eat and bullshit with Jackson.

“Got any Band-Aids? I lost a battle with a small horse today and have a hellacious scrape and bruise on my leg.” From nowhere a leg was pushed into his line of view, shoved against his thigh. It wasn’t the tiny bruise that caught his attention.

Her.
Running Chick. Was she one of those lucky rich people who managed to eat here frequently? He couldn’t contain the grin that swelled. If there was a God up there watching, Jackson would be delayed—indefinitely.

“Would a napkin work?” He held up the black cloth. “I’m really sorry about that. I had no idea he’d bolt after you. He’s not mine—”

She waved off the napkin. “I know. I know. He’s your neighbor’s. Maddie told me she was going to have someone walk him while she recovered from the surgery. I expected some old miserly woman. Not you.”

“She described me like that?”

Man, he really liked her laugh. Listening to it was like eating candy. You didn’t want to stop. She must be meeting someone; she glanced around the room and then leveled on him. “No, not at all. I just, I don’t know, jumped to conclusions, I guess. You’re eating here tonight?”

“Yeah, meeting a friend. He hasn’t shown yet.”

“Me too. Although, I don’t really know what he looks like.” The door blasted open and she glanced nervously at the person entering until he was followed by a lady who seemed permanently attached to his hand. “How is Maddie, by the way? That foot thing sure turned into a big deal. Who would have thought? It’s nice of you to help out.”

Carter hadn’t quite understood what the surgery on Maddie’s foot had been, or why it handicapped her so extensively. A broken bone would be easily mended and less painful. Perhaps Maddie had low pain tolerance? “She’s irritated as hell about being cooped up, but who can blame her. You’re on a blind date?” He threw that last part in to make it sound casual. Would she notice?

She pulled off her jacket and threw it over her arm. “Um, sort of. You eat here a lot?”

He shook his head.
I wish.
“My first time. You?”

“Same here.”

He had never seen her with her hair down. Nice. Black-ish, straight, and hugging her cheekbones like it loved being there. Normally, it was in a ponytail. The bartender moved nearer and rather than miss the chance, Carter held up a couple of fingers.

“What can I get you?” he asked Running Chick. “Wine? Daiquiri? Beer?” He wanted to text Jackson and tell him to take his time, but that would be rude. Rude to her—he didn’t really care about Jackson. Only a loser texted someone when they were with a woman.

The fact he thought so brought a small amount of clarity to his breakup. He’d thought he was giving his all with Amanda and learning to trust. But he hadn’t exactly followed his no-texting-while-with-a-woman rule … Had he simply been a loser, after all?

“Wine, any red is fine. Or maybe white. Wait, what’s that?” She pointed to a glass in front of a lady at the other end of the bar. Frothy clear bubbles with green leaves and limes floating within.

“Mojito, I think.”

“I’ll take that.” She pointed at the drink and held out a card to the bartender.

Carter pushed her hand down, surprised by the warmth of it. “Oh, no, you don’t. It’s the least I can do since I nearly put you in the hospital.”

The noise in the bar was a gentle rumble; it would be bad form to be rowdy in a place like this. Or at least he assumed as much. He didn’t know. He fit the place about as well as a glove on a foot. Overhead, jazz music, soft and sexy in a sleepy sort of way, wafted by. Perfect for elegant dining, good discussion—or great sex. Not that he was anywhere close to that, at the moment. In fact, he was probably in for a dry spell.

“Tell me about this blind date. Where’d you find him?” Was she doing the internet dating thing?

“Um, I didn’t really. He’s sort of a friend of a friend and just went through a breakup, I think.”

He grunted. “Welcome to the club.”

“You too?”

“Yeah, but it actually worked out pretty well. I got a new phone out of it. I’ve wanted one for a few months but couldn’t trade up until my contract was due.” He waved the phone back and forth. One of the new models with a larger screen, more memory, voice activation, and a high-resolution camera.

Her eyes lit up. “Oh, I’ve wanted one of those too! How does breaking up equate to a new phone? You weren’t on her plan, were you?”

Uh-oh. No, that would mean it was long term and he was some sort of boy-toy jerk—the kind that had women pay his bills.

“Of course not. We only dated a few months. She threw my phone on the floor when she told me she’d met someone else. Not sure why
that
was my fault but, oh well.” Okay, maybe the fact that he’d spent as much time texting as talking in Amanda’s presence should have been a clue to his level of commitment. Was his social media usage why she’d looked elsewhere for attention?

“Good riddance.” She held up the mojito the bartender had slipped in front of them and clinked his glass.

“Good riddance.”

She wore pink polish on her nails.

“So, what does this guy look like? I’ll help you find him.” Carter surveyed the room, searching for singles, of which there were none.

“I don’t know.”

“Seriously? You have a blind date with someone and don’t know what he looks like? Do you have his name?”

“Not exactly. I guess this wasn’t very well thought out. To be honest, it was a last minute thing. I just kind of—caved. I thought he’d need cheering up. I know. Stupid, right?”

He wasn’t going to say that, but he wondered if she really intended to meet the guy. Not that he cared.

“Not really. His loss, my gain.” Okay, that was a cheesy thing to say.

“What about you? Where’s your date?”

“Not a date. A buddy. He’s supposed to meet me here. I’m a little early.” He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes late. Odd for Jackson. Not that he’d complain. He’d rather talk to Running Chick
.
He held out a hand. “I’m Carter, Carter Coben.”

She clasped his fingers in hers and he held tight. “Abigail Jeffries.”

He ordered more drinks and took a sip, then searched the room for Jackson. If he didn’t show pretty soon …

The maître d’ tapped him lightly on the arm. “Your table is ready, Mr. Coben.”

Carter whirled around, glass in hand.
Okay, make a move. Here’s my chance. The one I waited four months to get it … and it took a dog to make it this far. If I wimp out now, I really am a dumbass.
He smiled at the serious face before him.

“Abigail, I really don’t feel like sitting alone at a table for two.” He took a sip of courage. “Why don’t you join me? At least until one of the people we came here to meet shows up.”

Seconds ticked. She could sit at the bar in this fancy place, talking to no one, and waiting—or she could be at a table with him. He doubted either option was what she’d planned, but option two was better than nothing, right?

“Okay, who wants to sit alone when everyone else is with someone?”

“Agreed.”

“What a couple of losers we are.” She stood and grabbed her bag and drink.

He shook his head. “Depends on how you look at it.
I
just traded up from an old friend that probably has forgotten all about this to one
really
gorgeous woman. Not exactly loser in my book.” He touched a hand to her back to guide her after their host. The slinky fabric against his fingers tingled. The citrusy scent on her skin did other things to him.

What is it about me that makes him feel comfortable telling me his girlfriend woes?
Does that put me in the nice-to- talk-to-but-not-interested category?
And why do all the good ones just see a buddy in me?
Look at him, sitting there sipping his drink in his fancy clothes.
He could model for
GQ
. Except for the fact most models were seriously lacking in personality and he had it in spades.

The waiter approached the table and asked for their order. She wasn’t sure what to do.

Carter grinned and pointed at the parchment in front of her. “Go ahead.”

She leaned forward and whispered, “But your friend will be here soon. Then what?”

He mirrored the move and lowered his voice. “Who cares? You snooze, you lose, right? Besides if—no,
when
—your date shows, you’ll at least have your food on the way in case he turns out to be a real dork. Blind dates are awkward. This will just make it easier. And faster.”

“Good point, but what if he’s not a dork? What if he’s awesome?”

“What if he has black teeth and hasn’t taken a bath in days?”

Abby swallowed a giggle. “What if he has a six-pack to die for?”

“What if he looks like death, as in
The
Night Stalker
or some other serial killer?”

“What if he has seriously killer bedroom eyes?”

“What if he has an STD?”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe he’s a male model … and he just says that to get rid of his annoying fans so we can be alone.”

“Bedroom eyes. Male model. You like that kind of guy?”

“Hey, a successful model can make seriously big money and eat at places like this all the time.”

“You’re right—and give you fashion advice and shoe discounts. Maybe he’ll date me instead.”

She laughed, handed over the menu, and ordered. She knew she shouldn’t say it, but—

“I get the impression this breakup hasn’t really torn you up much, has it?”

The drink he’d gulped spewed from his mouth. “Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know, you just don’t seem all that sad, I guess.”

His hair had a tendency to fall into his eyes and she squelched the urge to reach out and move the bangs so she could see them better. Only she was fairly sure direct contact with those eyes would be—yep, devastating. Damn. Whoever this girl was that ditched him, she was an idiot.