Page 8 of Switch

Dammit.

I glance up and stop breathing.A quiet choking sound leaves me.

He’s fucking gorgeous.Lean.Boyish face.Intensely blue eyes.

A little angry.

I’m not sure what I expected, except that this date was set up by my very straight brother, who has no way of knowing what type of man I’m attracted to.

Yet here I am staring at a guy with tousled hair somewhere between rust and auburn, a strong jaw covered in thick stubble, and firm lips curved upward in smile that’s less welcoming and more superior.His skin is pale, his cheeks are a bit ruddy, and there’s a weird vibe surrounding him that’s almost dangerous.

It’s the tension in his body, I think.The sharpness in his gaze.The scrapes on his knuckles.There’s a little bit of arrogance, like a pissed-off prince showing up at a meeting he believes is beneath him.That should probably be a reason to say thanks but no thanks and leave.Instead, I’m standing so I can get closer.

Which is when I realize he’s about half a foot shorter than me.Honestly, he’s the perfect height to rest my chin on if I were going to.

I’m not.Butif.

“H-hi there.You must be…”Think.Think.Did Wes even tell me, or did I ignore him because I didn’t think it mattered?

The guy makes a sound—I can’t tell whether it’s annoyed or amused—and then sticks out his hand.“PJ.Nice to meet you.”

Is it, though?It’s been a painfully long while since I’ve been on a date, but I could swear his blue eyes scan me up and down less like flirting and more like he’s sizing me up.

Maybe I’m misinterpreting.I already hate this.Saying my safe word probably won’t work this time.

You could leave, you know.

Curiosity keeps me rooted to my spot.I’m caught in his energy field, stupidly leaning into his fuck-marry-kill vibes and wondering if I can handle whatever he’ll choose.

He pulls out a seat across from me and leans forward with a foxlike smile.“I’m gonna level with you, Fallon.I almost didn’t come tonight,” he says.

A relieved breath whooshes out of me, my whole body relaxing at his admission.I lean forward to acknowledge that I had the same feeling, but my hand hits my empty beer bottle, and the sound of it clattering across our small table does the talking for me.

He catches it before it rolls into his lap.His eyes are lit up even though his lips are pressed together.I’m not sure whether I want to laugh or melt underneath the table.

“It’s okay,” I tell him.“You can laugh.I’m clumsy when I’m nervous.”

Keep your hands still, pet.

I could swear I see his eyes narrow, but the expression is there and gone so fast I must have imagined it.Maybe I should consider Wes’s suggestion after all.This won’t be a love connection, but the guy is hot, and I could do worse for… Dammit, I almost said getting back on the horse.

What a stupid saying.

“Well, Fallon, how about you tell me what’s good here?”

“Oh, uh…” Nervous all over again, I glance down at the menu.“I’m going to be honest in a way that’ll probably make us both uncomfortable.”It’s the only way I know how to be these days.“This was my wife’s favorite place.She knew the menu backward and forward.The only thing I’ve ever ordered here is the pasta with red sauce and a side salad.I’m pretty boring like that.”

“Not boring.Simple.Simple can be good.But if this is a place you came with your ex?—”

“Late.”

“Excuse me?”

I’m grateful when PJ waves off an approaching waiter who’s got a pen and notepad out to take our order.

“Late wife.”I lower my voice, feeling suddenly too loud and too vulnerable for a public place, even one as quiet and intimate as Mama Elisabetta’s.“My wife passed away.A little over a year ago.That hotel collapse in Miami.”

“I see.”He bobs his head in understanding.