"But it's not her routine," Connor had replied. "And it wasn't anonymous to her."
"Oh, fuck you," Nolan had retorted, because he hated when his friend was right. But he didn't riff on the date at all. Instead, he played Simon & Garfunkel's The Sound of Silence without commentary. Just because.
By the time the show ended, he wanted to bang his head against a wall. He'd been off the entire morning, his energy sucked down a well drilled by Connor's words.
The worst of it was that he was filling in tomorrow because Wayne, the usual Saturday morning host, was on vacation. Which meant he had one more day of fumbling like an idiot on the airwaves instead of chilling and getting his mojo back.
Well, hell.
He considered getting a second opinion from Amanda, but he didn't need it. Connor was right. Nolan had been living in his little bubble of bliss, and--just like he did with everything--he blew it out across the airwaves.
But, goddammit, he wanted to see her again. Which meant that somehow, he had to make this right.
He waited until five-thirty, hoping she'd be home from work, then drove to her house. Once again, her car was in the drive. And, once again, he climbed the steps. Two quick knocks, and then he waited on the porch, shifting his weight from foot to foot even as he told himself that he was wasting his time, because she wasn't going to open the damn door.
But then he felt the vibrations on the porch as someone inside the house hurried across the living room for the door. He heard her call, "You're early! Hang on!" And he held his breath as the latch clicked and she pulled the door open.
"You said six--oh! Nolan."
He saw her move to shut the door, and took a step forward. "I'm sorry. Please, don't slam the door."
"I wasn't going to," she said, but she stood in the doorway and blocked the entrance, so she clearly had no intention of letting him in, either.
"You look nice," he said, which was true. But she also looked different enough that if he'd seen her on the street, he might not have recognized her. She wore a tailored gray suit and a white button-down shirt. Her shoes had closed toes, low-heels, and resembled something his mom might wear to church. She was wearing stockings, but he had a feeling they were of the pantyhose variety, and that there was no sexy garter hidden under the trim skirt.
Inexplicably, just the sight of her in that buttoned-up outfit made him want to pull her close and kiss her hard.
"What do you want, Nolan?"
"What? Oh, I told you. I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blasted all that about us on the radio. I was--it's just that I don't have much of a filter when I'm doing my show. That's the schtick that keeps the ratings up. But I should have considered your feelings."
"That's a really nice apology," she said. "Thank you."
"Yeah?" He grinned. That had been remarkably easy. "Listen, I'm about to go get a bite. Want to join me?"
"Oh." She licked lips that he desperately wanted to kiss. Maybe they could order in...
"Um," she said, not quite meeting his eyes. "I really can't." She looked up, her expression pleading. "I had a great time on Wednesday. Really. And I really do accept your apology. But that girl from Wednesday--she wasn't really me."
"Aliens? Pod people? Clones?"
She rolled her eyes. "I was wasted."
He stepped forward, and since she held her ground and continued to block the entrance, they were only inches from each other. Awareness crackled between them, and from the cornered, desperate look in her eye, he was certain he wasn't the only one who felt it. "You weren't wasted," he said simply. "We worked pretty damn hard to establish that."
"I was overwhelmed," she amended.
"I have that effect."
"Look, Nolan. Please, just go."
"Come on, Shelby. We had a good time together. Let's grab some dinner and just talk this time."
"I--I--"
"What?"
"I'm seeing someone," she blurted. "His name's Alan. He's a professor."