Page 7 of Operation Annulment (Silent Phoenix MC)

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Kate

M odern rules dictate that a woman should always bring her own vehicle or have Uber on standby when going on a date or risk sneaking out of his house at the crack of dawn, looking like a wet koala bear.

Clearly, I’m out of my depth if I’m sitting in my SUV, researching how to have a one-night stand instead of sprinting to the tall, dark, and tattooed hunk waiting for me in front of the restaurant.

My one and only experience with Jeremy left a lot to be desired, so I’ll take any help I can get, even if it does come from an article titled, Fuck Like A Man : The Art of the One-Night Stand .

I check my makeup in the rearview mirror before nodding to my reflection. “One night. You’ll get rid of these repressed urges and be back to normal in no time.”

Who knows, maybe I’ll even find Jeremy desirable after this. It would sure as hell certainly make things less complicated.

As soon as I step out of my SUV, the fragrant scent of sizzling steaks hits my nose, reminding me I missed lunch. I pause to smooth a hand over my off-the-shoulder little black dress and adjust my cleavage.

One night or not, I plan on making a lasting impression.

Where my sister’s curves are more evenly distributed, mine are more…

top-heavy. During our teen years, Dakota was notorious for coming into our shared bedroom while I was changing.

Instead of slipping back out, she would don an Australian accent and creep around the room like she was hosting a nature show.

“Crikey! We’re going to be doing some exploring today.

We’ve got some nice hill country with adorable little gazelles roaming about,” she would say while gesturing to her own chest before cupping a hand over her brow and turning to me.

“Just beyond these hills, you’ll find Mt.

Kate. The terrain is rugged and treacherous, but the visitors never seem to complain. ”

I smile at the memory and sweep my dark hair, styled in loose waves, over one shoulder before crossing the parking lot.

Nate turns when he hears me approaching, and I stumble to a stop, suddenly ravenous—not for a fifty-dollar steak—but for him.

“McDonald’s wasn’t taking any more reservations for tonight. I hope this is okay.” His eyes move from my head down to my feet, and his throat bobs in a slow swallow as he admits, “You look amazing.”

If I thought seeing him in a fitted t-shirt and athletic shorts was intense, it has nothing on the sight of him in a white dress shirt and black slacks.

It’s one night.

Don’t get attached.

His brows pull together, and I know I should say something to break the awkward silence, but I’m distracted by the way his shirt molds around his muscular frame.

“I could eat you for dinner,” I murmur before grimacing. “I mean, I could eat dinner with you because you look very nice. Stop laughing!”

He presses his fist against his lips. “Let’s start with dinner first, though, yeah?”

“Obviously,” I say, trying to laugh it off despite the heat flooding my face.

Nate holds the door for me before leaning down to whisper, “So, not a narcissist. I’m glad we cleared that up.” His teeth graze the shell of my ear as we approach the hostess stand, and I suck in a breath.

One night. I can do this.

I can’t do this.

There’s no way that one night will be enough. Nate is nothing like I expected, which is surprising considering I’ve made a career out of figuring people out.

Once we’ve ordered, Nate addresses the elephant in the room. “I’d like to discuss what happened yesterday.”

I swallow a sip of water. “Yeah. That was interesting?”

He holds my gaze with the confidence of a man with no secrets.

The only indication he’s uncomfortable is the restless drumming of his fingertips against the tabletop.

“First, I just want to say thank you for agreeing to go out with me. I get that there’s a certain stigma surrounding divorce and a—I don’t know—feeling like maybe you’ve failed. ”

“I can understand that.” My fingers itch for my notebook, but this isn’t a session, and he’s not my patient. I settle for a nod and consider taking another drink of water just to give my hands something to do.

His shoulders relax, and he spins his water glass in a slow circle before adding, “It’s like, you take on the role of provider and husband, and once it’s gone, it takes this piece of your identity with it if that makes sense.”

“Do you ever talk to her?” I ask, fighting to keep my tone neutral.

“Sporadically here and there, although I couldn’t tell you why… which sounds bad.”

“What about your mother?” I ask, scanning the restaurant for our server. This conversation calls for a bottle of wine… or ten.

“What about my mother?” Nate asks, glancing around as if looking for clues .

“Um, are you two close?” This is way too personal for a first date, much less a hook-up. Then again, so is any discussion involving an ex.

“Yes… are you close with your mother?”

The therapist in me is trained to avoid his question by asking him another. “And what about your father? Is he in the picture?”

“If you’re asking if my parents are still together, the answer is yes,” he says, rubbing the back of his thumb along his brow.

I nod absently, mentally trying to arrange the pieces in a way that makes sense. “How would you describe your mother—hard to please? Domineering? Overly involved?”

An overbearing mother who undermined his sense of autonomy as a child would explain why he felt as if he had lost his identity in the divorce. It would also explain why he continues to maintain contact with an ex who, from what little I know about her, seems highly toxic.

“Jesus, Katy girl. I expected questions, just not about my family. Are you always this inquisitive?” he asks with a forced laugh. “My relationship with my mother is entirely normal. She’s pretty easy to get along with and lets her adult children make their own decisions.

I trace the wood grain pattern on the table with my fingernail as we slip into an uncomfortable silence. This is why I blackmailed Benjamin into hanging around for as long as I did. I suck at small talk and tend to jump off the deep end while everyone else is splashing in the kiddie pool.

“How about we start over,” Nate suggests before reaching across the table. “I’m Nathaniel Davis, but everyone calls me Nate.”

“Mary Katherine Quinn,” I say, my breath catching as our hands connect, sending a current of white-hot heat through my body. “But everyone calls me Kate.”

“Does anyone ever call you Katy?” he asks, pinning me with his intense gaze.

I shake my head. “Just you.”

“Good girl,” he says, stroking the inside of my wrist with his thumb. “Tell me about yourself, Katy girl? ”

“W-what do you want to know?” I ask, distracted by the petting.

The corner of his mouth curves into a wide grin.

“Everything. Like, off the top of my head, what makes you laugh? What makes you cry? What are you afraid of? Do you have a favorite color? Do you see yourself staying in Lubbock, or do you dream of moving somewhere else someday? Do you like getting dressed up and going out on dates with guys who ask too many questions, or are you wishing you stayed home?”

“Oh, I definitely wish I stayed home,” I say, smiling so hard my cheeks ache. “That’s a pretty impressive list. You really threw that together off the top of your head?”

“Completely off the cuff. Now, tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Um, my favorite movie is Die Hard ,” I reply, choosing the least invasive question from his list.

Nate lets out a low whistle and leans back into his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Surprising me already, Katy girl. I did not peg you as an action movie connoisseur.”

“What’s yours?”

“ The Notebook , obviously,” he says with a straight face. “All that angst and longing really does it for me.”

“Liar,” I say through giggles, unable to recall the last time I felt this carefree. “Tell me.”

“ Just Friends with Ryan Reynolds,” he admits as our food arrives. After assuring our server everything looks perfect, he cuts into his steak and asks, “So, what do you do for work?”

I scrunch up my nose. “Therapist. I counsel people for a living, find out what makes them tick.”

He smirks. “There it is. I’ve been sitting here trying to find the connection between my ex-wife and how it could possibly relate to my relationship with my mother.

Were you a fan of Freud, babe? Afraid I’ve got an Oedipus Complex?

No, I bet you’re more of a Karen Horney follower.

I ended up divorced because of Womb Envy, yeah? ”

Holy cow. The man knows his psychology.

Not only is he gorgeous, but he’s smart as well.

And I am going to fall head over heels in love with him…