He runs a hand along his chiseled jaw. His face is more angular now, and the short stubble makes him look older. “Can you meet me at the arena at six?” “The arena?” “Yeah, I’m not picking Ev up tomorrow. I have a conflict. But if you meet me at the arena, we can walk downtown and get drinks or dinner.” “This is sounding more and more like a date.” “Not a date. Promise.” He holds up both hands. “Fine,” I say, mostly to be done with this conversation. And maybe a little because I want to prove to him and to myself that I’m over him. I can meet up with him downtown, have dinner or a drink, talk
...more
Suuuuuuure
