"... Kincaid would do it."
The sound of my name brought me back around several minutes later.
"What?" I turned to Doug, the speaker.
"Wouldn't you?" he repeated.
"Wouldn't I what?"
"Show Seth around the city tomorrow." Doug spoke patiently, as if to a child. "Get him acquainted with the area."
"My brother's too busy," explained Seth.
What did his brother have to do with anything? And why did he need to get acquainted with the area?
I faltered, unwilling to admit I'd spaced out just now while wallowing in self-pity.
"If you don't want to..." began Seth hesitantly.
"Of course she does." Doug nudged me. "Come on. Climb out of your hole."
We exchanged smartass looks, worthy of Jerome and Carter. "Yeah, fine. Whatever."
We arranged the logistics of me meeting Seth, and I wondered what I'd gotten myself into. I no longer wanted to stand out. In fact, I would have preferred if he could have just blotted me from his mind forever. Hanging out as we toured Seattle tomorrow didn't seem like the best way to make that happen. If anything, it would probably only result in more foolish behavior on my part.
Conversation finally faded. As we were about to disperse, I suddenly realized something. "Oh. Hey. Mr. Mortensen. Seth."
He turned toward me. "Yeah?"
I frantically tried to say something that would undo the tangled mess of mixed signals and embarrassment he and I had stumbled into. Unfortunately, the only things that came to mind were: Where do you get your ideas from? and Are Cady and O'Neill ever going to get together? Dismissing such idiocy, I simply shoved my book over to him.
"Can you sign this?"
He took it. "Uh, sure." A pause. "I'll bring it back tomorrow. "
Deprive me of my book for the night? Hadn't I suffered enough?
"Can't you just sign it now?"
He shrugged haplessly, as though the matter were out of his control. "I can't think of anything to write."
"Just sign your name."
"I'll bring it back tomorrow," he repeated, walking away with my copy of The Glasgow Pact like I hadn't even said anything. Appalled, I seriously considered running over and beating him up for it, but Warren suddenly tugged on my arm.
"Georgina," he said pleasantly as I stared desperately at my retreating book, "we still need to discuss that matter in my office."
No. No way. I definitely wasn't putting out after this debacle of an evening. Turning slowly toward him, I shook my head. "I told you, I can't."
"Yeah, I know already. Your fictitious date."
"It's not fictitious. It's - "
My eyes desperately scanned for escape as I spoke. While no magical portals appeared in the cookbook section, I suddenly locked gazes with a guy browsing our foreign language books. He smiled curiously at my attention, and in a flash, I made a ballsy choice.
" - with him. It's with him."
I waved my hand at the strange guy and beckoned him over. He looked understandably surprised, setting his book down and walking toward us. When he arrived, I slung my arm around him familiarly, giving him a look that had been known to bring kings to their knees.
"Are you ready to go?"
Mild astonishment flashed in his eyes - which were beautiful, by the way. An intense green-blue. To my relief, he played along and returned my serve masterfully.
"You bet." His own arm snaked around me, his hand resting on my hip with surprising presumption. "I would have been here sooner, but I got held up in traffic."
Cute. I glanced at Warren. "Rain check for our talk?"
Warren looked from me to the guy and then back to me. "Sure. Yes. Of course." Warren had proprietary feelings toward me, but they weren't strong enough for him to challenge a younger competitor.
A few of my coworkers also watched with interest. Like Warren, none of them had ever really seen me date anyone. Seth Mortensen busied himself packing up a briefcase, never meeting my eyes again, for all the world oblivious to my existence. He didn't even respond when I said goodbye. Probably just as well.
My "date" and I left the store, stepping out into the cool night. The precipitation had stopped, but clouds and city lights blotted out the stars. Studying him, I kind of wished maybe we were going out after all.
He was tall - really tall. Probably at least ten inches taller than my diminutive five-four. His hair was black and wavy, brushed away from a deeply tanned face that nearly made those sea-colored eyes glow. He wore a long, black wool coat and a scarf with a black, burgundy, and green plaid pattern.
"Thanks," I said as we paused to stand on the street corner. "You saved me from an... unpleasant situation."
"My pleasure." He held out his hand to me. "I'm Roman."
"Nice name."
"I guess. It reminds me of a romance novel."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. No one's really named that in real life. But in romance novels, there are a million of them. 'Roman the Fifth Duke of Wellington.' 'Roman the Terrible yet Dashing and Eerily Attractive Pirate of the High Seas.' "
"Hey, I think I read that last one. I'm Georgina."
"So I see." He nodded toward the staff ID badge I wore around my neck. Probably an excuse to check out my cle**age. "Is that outfit the standard uniform for assistant managers?"
"This outfit's becoming a real pain in the ass actually," I noted, thinking of the various reactions it had elicited.
"You can wear my coat. Where do you want to go tonight?"
"Where do I - ? We aren't going out. I told you: you just saved me from a minor entanglement, that's all."
"Hey, that's still got to be worth something," he countered. "A handkerchief? A kiss on the cheek? Your phone number?"
"No!"
"Oh, come on. Did you see how good I was? I didn't miss a beat when you roped me in with that come-hither look of yours."
I couldn't deny that. "All right. It's 555-1200."
"That's the store number."
"How did you know that?"
He pointed to the Emerald City sign behind me. It contained all of the store's contact information. "Because I'm literate. "
"Wow. That puts you, like, ten steps above most of the guys that hit on me."
He turned hopeful. "So does that mean we can go out sometime?"
"Nope. I appreciate your help tonight, but I don't date."
"Don't think of it as a date then. Think of it as... a meeting of minds."
The way he looked at me suggested he wanted to meet more than just my mind. I shivered involuntarily, but I wasn't cold. In fact, I was starting to feel unnervingly warm.
He unbuttoned his coat. "Here. You're freezing. Wear this while I take you home. My car's around the corner."
"I live within walking distance." His coat was still warm from his body and smelled nice. A combination of cK One and, well, man. Yum.
"Then let me walk you home."
His persistence was charming, which was all the more reason I had to end things now. This was exactly the kind of quality guy I needed to avoid.
"Come on," Roman begged when I didn't answer. "This isn't much to ask for. I'm not a stalker or anything. All I want is one walk home. Then you never have to see me again."
"Look, you barely even know me..." I paused, reconsidering what he'd said. "Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Okay, you can walk me home."
"Really?" He brightened.
"Yup."
Three minutes later, when we arrived at my apartment building, he threw up his hands in dismay. "That wasn't fair at all. You're practically next door."
" 'One walk home.' That was all you asked for."
Roman shook his head. "Not fair. Not fair at all. But" - he looked up hopefully at my building - "at least I know where you live now."
"Hey! You said you weren't a stalker."
He grinned, gorgeous white teeth flashing against his tanned skin. "It's never too late to start." Leaning down, he kissed my hand and gave me a wink. "Until we meet again, fair Georgina."
He turned and walked off into the Queen Anne night. I watched him go, still feeling his lips on my skin. What an unexpected - and perplexing - twist to the evening.
When he was no longer in sight, I turned around and went into my building. I was halfway up the stairs when I realized I was still wearing his coat. How was I going to get it back to him? He did that on purpose, I realized. He let me keep it.