Page 3 of The Best Worst Mistake (Off-Limits #2)

Carrie glances back and forth between Dax and me, completely immersed in whatever is building between us.

“Suit yourself!” she says cheerfully before turning to me with her lips still pursed and one eyebrow turned up. “But the next one is on the house. I’m not entirely sure how drinkable that one was. My very hard-working, but under-achieving, nephew seems to be allergic to New York coffee culture.”

“I’m not the least bit sorry,” Dax says, keeping his eyes on me.

He takes another drag from the cup, which sends blood pumping down all four of my limbs and I have to shift on my feet to make sure they’re still planted on the ground. Carrie smiles back at me, not blinking.

“Right,” I announce, still reeling from the way he practically just sucked my lip mark off his cup.

Dax gives Carrie a little nod goodbye then turns toward the door, extending his hand, a signal for us to walk out together. My shoulder brushes his arm while he’s holding the door open and it sends my pulse flying.

Cool it, Abs. This is just a random meeting over random coffee. You’re probably about to walk in opposite directions, back to your own corners of the world.

My stomach drops at the thought, unsure of what’ll happen next.

“Which way are you heading?” he asks.

I point, and Dax grabs my arm, looping it through his elbow, holding me close to him as the morning crowd rushes down the sidewalk all around us.

He walks slower than all of them, forcing us to shorten our pace until it feels like we’re taking a Sunday stroll through Central Park instead of being lost inside the herd of commuters pounding down the pavement.

My mind and body fiercely deliberate as we walk. Pleasure versus logic, touch versus trouble. Each part of me remembers everything that unfolded between us, and yet nothing in me seems to have learned any hard and fast lessons from the last time things ended between us.

The last time I ended things between us.

I close my eyes and relinquish control, letting him lead me for a moment so I can collect myself while feeling his body press against my side. This invisible thread between us feels more like a power line, bouncing electricity back and forth as I do my best not to react.

“What brought you to New York?” I ask.

“I was supervising a few of our newest junior partners here in a negotiation. But I just got the call that they won, so I fly back to L.A. tomorrow.”

“You’re supervising junior partners?” I manage to kick out a weak laugh at the end. It would be funny knowing Dax was here to supervise a group of junior partners if it wasn’t for the fact that it’s just plain annoying.

“You know how junior partners can be,” he adds, sarcastically.

“Not yet. I just got promoted to senior associate, and I was pretty proud of myself for that until just this very moment, actually, so thank you very much.”

I bump his hip with my elbow.

He bumps me back gently, but the placement of his elbow against my ribcage, right where my bra line hugs my skin, catches a breath in my throat.

“I told you to come work for me after we graduated. I know you were hell-bent on joining one of those big national firms here, but I would have promoted you a long time ago.” His tone is light, but I know he’s serious.

I scoff, thinking of how to change the subject. There’s another reason I didn’t follow him to L.A., and it has nothing to do with me turning down the job offer from his mother’s firm.

He continues, “Then again, I’m not sure I could have managed to supervise you without making it horribly obvious to the other associates that you were” — he clears his throat — “my favorite.”

I don’t look over, but my body pounds in response. I focus on walking straight instead of stumbling over every crack in the sidewalk that’s suddenly jumping up to greet me.

“Probably for the best that you turned me down since that sort of thing in the workplace isn’t really looked upon highly these days,” he adds.

Lord help me not to fall.

“Dax Harper,” I say, shaking my head. “All these years later and you haven’t changed at all, have you?” I stop abruptly so he’ll face me. Then I can’t help it. I grin at him as if not one single day has passed. His eyes meet mine, and I know he’s right there with me.

“Some things never change,” he says, dropping his voice, like a secret between old friends. “At least that’s what I’m hoping, running into you like this.”

I swallow, conjuring up every bit of my self-control as we start walking again.

“Oh, that was a long time ago,” I remind him, briskly. “Before . . . ”

But I don’t finish.

I feel his eyes on me as we walk. How is this happening? Here we are, after accidentally swapping saliva on the rim of his cup two thousand miles away from the last time we rolled out of bed together.

Without any warning, Dax plants a foot squarely in front of me on the pavement, bringing us both to a halt.

I nearly run my mocha into his belt, then I look up at him, squinting into the morning sunlight streaming out from behind his head. His eyes, suddenly serious, stare down into mine.

“What are you doing later?” He knit his brows together, as if asking that question just took on some new level of concentration.

I start, “Well, I’m—”

“Nah, fuck it. Cancel whatever plans you have. Let me take you out.”

“Take me out?” I blink up at him.

He nods, grinning again, like nothing about this idea is out of the blue for us. When in fact, everything about this idea is out of the blue for us.

“We don’t really go out ,” I remind him, slowly. “We’ve never gone out for dinner. Hell, we’ve never even gone out for coffee. So, if you mean you’d like to see my apartment later, I can certainly—”

“Exactly,” he says, stopping me again. “All the more reason why we should. Me taking you out will give us a chance to catch up. Properly. Not on a sidewalk with all eight million New Yorkers heading into work. Let’s make a date out of it.”

He pulls me back as a teenager on a hoverboard swerves past us, narrowly missing my toe.

I brush my hair back, flustered. “A date? Us ?” I start my poor excuse for deflection, but the look on his face brings my lips to a close. “Okay, what?” I ask. He’s barely holding in a laugh. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing.” He purses his lips.

I raise a brow, waiting for him to go on.

“It’s just . . .”

I raise my other brow to match the first, waiting for him to finish. “What?”

“Consider it highly overdue then. I should have taken you out properly back when we were — well, you know. Back when we were . . . whatever we were.”

I drop a hand to my hip.

“You really don’t have to make up for lost time,” I assure him, my own lips deceiving me at the thought of Dax and I sharing a meal over the top of a bread basket.

Hardly our style. My top teeth clamp down on my bottom lip to stop myself from giving a full-on-shit-eating-grin over this — very out of left field — dinner proposal from a man I’ve fantasized about spending just one more night with.

“It’ll be fun.” He tilts his head. “You do still have fun, don’t you?”

“I know plenty of things that are fun,” I say, lowering my voice. “None of which need to involve white tablecloths and a dinner bill.”

“Ah, a white tablecloth.” He snaps his fingers. “Excellent idea.”

I stifle a laugh. “That wasn’t a suggestion.”

“I take it back. Asking was just a nicety. I’m not giving you a choice.” I watch his eyes darken into that I’m in charge now look that he used to give me right before completely dominating every last inch of my body. He adds, “You know what?”

I grimace, almost afraid of what he’s going to say next.

I shouldn’t be so anxious over the idea of catching up with an old friend over dinner, but this isn’t just any old friend.

And what sounds like a simple dinner has the potential to open up a whole can of worms that I’m not sure I woke up this morning wanting to open.

“What?’ I ask, scrunching my nose.

“It’s happening.” He gently presses a finger into my chest, just below the line of my collarbone, then nods, topping it with that unmistakably mischievous grin — the one that makes my skin prickle, just waiting for him to make good on his silent promise of good things to come.

“I didn’t know if I’d run into you while I was in New York this week, but now that I have, it just seems like some sort of a sign. ”

“A sign?” I ask, weakly.

“It’s happening.”

I part my lips, waiting for the correct words to come out, the ones that let him down easy. We excel in the bedroom, but dinner outside the bedroom? We’re talking uncharted territory here.

My jaw hinges open and shut as I stand frozen on the sidewalk.

It took me too long to forget Dax the last time we had a chance at making a real go of things together. I haven’t gone out with anyone in months, hell, at this point it might be years! And it’s suited me just fine.

I’m married to my work. I practically live at the office.

I have goals that can’t be derailed by some guy — this guy — taking up space in my head.

I’m not even sure I have time for dinner out, or a good romp in bed if that’s where this is all headed.

Even if it’s the kind of romp that makes me want to pull my own hair, and curls my toes, because it feels so fucking amazing to have him with me that I can’t think of anything else but the way his tongue has itself wrapped around mine while he grabs my face and pulls me back and—

Nope, don’t even go there, Abs.

He starts to walk backward in front of me now, grinning like a Cheshire cat, egging me on for an answer. I just shake my head, laughing at the look on his face until it hits me squarely in the gut.

This isn’t just anyone asking me out.

It’s Dax.

The one man I’ve never been fully able to forget.

He stops walking a few feet in front of me, and then . . . If lowering his voice is meant to draw me in, it works. “You really haven’t changed at all, Abs.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, like he’s still trying to take all of me in.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I say, quietly. “What the hell kind of luck is this?”

He moves forward, closing the gap between us.

“Then we should make the most of it.” Smiling down at me, he’s so close that I can feel the vibration of his chest when he speaks. Then he studies my eyes, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. It sends a delicious wave of desire though me. “What’s this look for?”

I narrow my eyes, wishing he could just read my mind instead of me having to spell it out for him. “Are you really ready to open up that can of worms again?” I ask.

“It’s only dinner,” he says casually, but his grin says otherwise. I look at him skeptically. “Alright, gorgeous, don’t tell me you’re afraid of actually falling for me if we spend a little more time on opposite sides of a tablecloth tonight?” His eyes darken. “Maybe a candle or two?”

I laugh, and push him aside to start walking again, like what he’s just said is utterly ridiculous when really, what I want to say is, Yes, Dax Harper, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.