thing is, it’s not only you. What good is having forever if you just have to watch your friends and family die? That would be hell, not heaven.” She shrugged. “Personally, I think it’s better to just focus on the here and now. Immortality is not going to happen, so why not learn how to live the best life we can in this moment?”
When G.B. fell silent, she winced. “I sound like Oprah, right? I don’t mean to get preachy—”
“You are a deep thinker. And I like that—a lot.”
Flushing, Cait looked away. She didn’t know what to do with comments like that, and the fact that Teresa was with them made her feel even more awkward.
When another couple of women came by to chat with him, she checked her watch. As much as she was enjoying this—
“So, you look like you’re getting ready to head off.” As she glanced over, G.B. smiled at her—and wow, his dark eyes were pretty. Were they brown? Blue? “Do you have anyone waiting at home for you?”
Cait’s brows rose. He wasn’t suggesting that—
“She doesn’t even have a cat,” Teresa interjected. “Or a goldfish.”
“Oh?” G.B. smiled again. “So no one, huh.”
Cait started to feel truly antsy. “Well, I’m allergic to cats.”
“Me, too.” G.B. took a long drink of his tea and then resettled with the base of the mug balanced on his knee. “Is it okay for me to ask for your number?”
As G.B. waited for Cait as in C-A-I-T to respond, he was more than happy to pass the time looking over at her.
The blond hair was hella ’tractive, and that smooth skin—his hands just wanted to touch her again. That shake of theirs had been way too short, and he’d been racking his brain ever since to find another socially acceptable reason to make some sustainable contact. Not that this was Regency England, but come on—he didn’t want her to think he was a letch.
He really wanted to go out with her.
The second he’d gotten on the stage, he’d seen her in the crowd, sure as if she had been sitting under a spotlight: long and tall, simply dressed, really good hair. Nothing bar harlot about her, and she was listening to him like she was interested—but not with that rapt thing that most of the women sported.
This one was going to be different. He could feel it.
“I promise to be a perfect gentleman,” he tacked on, since she seemed to be on the fence about the whole phone call thing.
“I—ah …” Cait jerked upright in her seat and then shot a hard look at her friend.
“Of course you can call her,” the dark-haired woman said. “Here’s her number.”
As the buddy took out a pen and scribbled on a napkin, he was more than happy to take what was offered. But he looked first to Cait—he wasn’t touching those digits unless she was okay with it.
“You sure about this?” he asked her.
The fact that she seemed shocked that he’d call her made him want to get on his knees and beg her—just so she would feel like a queen.
Abruptly, she straightened her shoulders like she’d given herself a pep talk, and met him right in the eye. “I’d love to hear from you.”
Yes
, he thought with triumph. The day hadn’t started off all that well—what with someone messing with his guitar while he’d been voicing a commercial for Petco, and then him fighting a northbound traffic jam coming out of Manhattan. But this blond woman with her even-toned voice and her expressive hands and that delicious reserve had turned it all around.
“Well, I think I’d better get going,” she said as she bent to the side and picked up her purse.
“It’s Friday night,” her friend pointed out.
“I’m under deadline.”
“What are you working on?” G.B. asked, hoping to keep her around a little longer.
“It’s a book for five- to eight-year-olds—about a chocolate Lab who worries about things. I have to admit, it’s been one of my favorite projects. The puppy’s adorable, if I do say so myself.”
“I’d love to see your work
When G.B. fell silent, she winced. “I sound like Oprah, right? I don’t mean to get preachy—”
“You are a deep thinker. And I like that—a lot.”
Flushing, Cait looked away. She didn’t know what to do with comments like that, and the fact that Teresa was with them made her feel even more awkward.
When another couple of women came by to chat with him, she checked her watch. As much as she was enjoying this—
“So, you look like you’re getting ready to head off.” As she glanced over, G.B. smiled at her—and wow, his dark eyes were pretty. Were they brown? Blue? “Do you have anyone waiting at home for you?”
Cait’s brows rose. He wasn’t suggesting that—
“She doesn’t even have a cat,” Teresa interjected. “Or a goldfish.”
“Oh?” G.B. smiled again. “So no one, huh.”
Cait started to feel truly antsy. “Well, I’m allergic to cats.”
“Me, too.” G.B. took a long drink of his tea and then resettled with the base of the mug balanced on his knee. “Is it okay for me to ask for your number?”
As G.B. waited for Cait as in C-A-I-T to respond, he was more than happy to pass the time looking over at her.
The blond hair was hella ’tractive, and that smooth skin—his hands just wanted to touch her again. That shake of theirs had been way too short, and he’d been racking his brain ever since to find another socially acceptable reason to make some sustainable contact. Not that this was Regency England, but come on—he didn’t want her to think he was a letch.
He really wanted to go out with her.
The second he’d gotten on the stage, he’d seen her in the crowd, sure as if she had been sitting under a spotlight: long and tall, simply dressed, really good hair. Nothing bar harlot about her, and she was listening to him like she was interested—but not with that rapt thing that most of the women sported.
This one was going to be different. He could feel it.
“I promise to be a perfect gentleman,” he tacked on, since she seemed to be on the fence about the whole phone call thing.
“I—ah …” Cait jerked upright in her seat and then shot a hard look at her friend.
“Of course you can call her,” the dark-haired woman said. “Here’s her number.”
As the buddy took out a pen and scribbled on a napkin, he was more than happy to take what was offered. But he looked first to Cait—he wasn’t touching those digits unless she was okay with it.
“You sure about this?” he asked her.
The fact that she seemed shocked that he’d call her made him want to get on his knees and beg her—just so she would feel like a queen.
Abruptly, she straightened her shoulders like she’d given herself a pep talk, and met him right in the eye. “I’d love to hear from you.”
Yes
, he thought with triumph. The day hadn’t started off all that well—what with someone messing with his guitar while he’d been voicing a commercial for Petco, and then him fighting a northbound traffic jam coming out of Manhattan. But this blond woman with her even-toned voice and her expressive hands and that delicious reserve had turned it all around.
“Well, I think I’d better get going,” she said as she bent to the side and picked up her purse.
“It’s Friday night,” her friend pointed out.
“I’m under deadline.”
“What are you working on?” G.B. asked, hoping to keep her around a little longer.
“It’s a book for five- to eight-year-olds—about a chocolate Lab who worries about things. I have to admit, it’s been one of my favorite projects. The puppy’s adorable, if I do say so myself.”
“I’d love to see your work
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