Best date ever.
38
Rowan
I guess I didn’t do too bad. Zahra’s had a permanent grin plastered across her face since she found out about the book signing. My only mistake was not swearing Juliana to secrecy about the reason behind the event.
I don’t want Zahra to look too much into things. But part of me wonders if it’s too late for that based on the way she smiles at me like I make her genuinely happy.
My driver drops us off back at the penthouse.
This elevator ride is different from the last, with Zahra cracking open her books like she wants to double-check for any water damage after our tumble. She’s done it twice already, but I don’t fault her for being protective over her new prized possessions.
We stroll into the apartment, and Zahra scurries away to put her books back in her luggage and take a shower. I do the same, changing into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a faded Dreamland logo.
“So, what’s the plan?” She walks down the stairs in a matching jogger set. The fabric outlines every curve on her body, and I find it difficult to be a decent man and look away. Except I’m not anything close to proper when it comes to Zahra, so I take the time to check her out.
She rounds the counter and looks up at me. “You’re going to burn a hole through my clothes if you keep staring at me like that.”
“Remove your clothes then. Problem solved.” I grab onto her hips and tug her closer.
She places a hand against my chest, right above my heart. It races faster in my chest at the registration of her touch.
Her stomach lets out the loudest protest ever. She slaps a hand over it. “How embarrassing.”
I cringe at my lack of thinking. We haven’t eaten anything since the quick lunch on the plane.
I release her and walk to the drawer filled with takeout menus. “Take your pick.”
She flips through the brochures and mini menus before plucking out one for pizza. “When in New York?” She lifts a shoulder.
“You pick that when you could have Ruth’s Chris takeout?”
“Who’s Ruth Chris?”
I groan. “Pizza it is.”
Dinner arrives an hour later, and I set it up on the coffee table. We both settle onto the accent rug in front of the massive fireplace in the middle of the living room. I’ve never enjoyed eating at a dining table. It reminds me of the time when my mother was alive, back when my father would make it home sober enough for us to eat as a family.
“So you said this was one of your properties. How many do you have exactly?” She takes a big bite of her pizza.
I do the mental math. “Twenty-eight.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
Her cheeks lose some of their color. “Okay. Wow. Which one is your favorite?”
I take a bite of my pizza to give me enough time to consider her question. “Honestly, I don’t have one.”
Her mouth gapes apart. “None of them feel like home?”
“Home is wherever I’m needed for work.”
She gapes at me.
“There’s some climates I prefer more than others. Like Chicago is great in the summer but my dick is subject to frostbite during the winter.”
“And Dreamland?”
I toe around her question carefully. “Dreamland is different.”
“How so?”