Page 7 of The Best Worst Mistake (Off-Limits #2)

Abby

Olivia might be across an ocean, but she’s not letting that stop her from judging the very not-sexy outfit I put on this morning before knowing that a date with Dax was in my future.

“Please tell me you’re not wearing that tonight,” my best friend says, squinting at me through the phone screen.

I have my cell propped up on my desk with FaceTime open so we can have lunch together. Well, lunch for me and breakfast for her since she’s five hours behind in Hawaii.

“It’s not like I knew this was going to be happening,” I tell her, looking down at my navy blazer. “Would it help if I took this off?”

Without waiting for an answer, I peel the blazer off to reveal a silky, white camisole underneath.

“Yes,” she confirms, leaning toward her phone to inspect the upgrade. “Shoes?”

I pull my feet out from under my desk to examine the highly sensible flats I’m wearing before shoving them right back where they came from.

“Not showing you, Liv,” I say, forcing back a laugh.

“Don’t tell me you’re wearing those orthopedic clogs again,” she says with a groan.

“Actually, my highly sensible Danskos are safe at home,” I answer before my laughter grows well past the point of stifling it. “I’m in suede flats, perfectly presentable, but I could quickly run back to grab them if you think they’re the right choice,” I tease.

“Don’t even joke about that.” She looks horrified that I’d have the gall to suggest it. “Do you still have that extra set of heels in the closet there?”

I pop out of my chair to open the coat closet next to my office door. Sure enough, there’s a pair of nude Louboutins on the floor, red soles and all.

I grab them, then hold one up in front of the camera lens.

“Perfect!” She cheers, clapping her hands.

I peek out from behind the shoe.

“How did you remember they were in there?” I ask.

“First of all, those are the most memorable shoes you own — they make your legs look, like, six feet tall. And second, the last time we went out before I moved, we stopped by your office at the end of the night to swap your heels out for your office clogs because your feet were killing you.”

“But that was forever ago — like, before you went to Hawaii and left me here all alone with your cat.” I try to think back on whether or not I’ve gone for a fun night out since she left.

“I figured they’d still be there,” she says, grinning.

“I’m glad he’s taking you out. Those shoes need to be taken out at least once more before you pass away in that office, probably still clutching your laptop to your chest. Really, he’s doing the shoes a favor — don’t you dare change your mind, or I’ll have to come collect them.

Give our little friends a second life outside your shoe closet. ”

“As long as it’s for the shoes,” I say, sighing happily.

“And I hope you get a lot more out of tonight than a field trip for those babies,” she adds, grinning.

I laugh, but I’m on the same page.

“I hope so, too. Personally, I would have skipped the dinner part and gone straight to dessert, if you know what I mean, but he was pretty adamant about catching up beforehand.” I curl my fingers in air quotes.

“It’ll be good for you to catch up . . .” She pauses, studying my eyes, suddenly looking a bit more serious. “You know, I worry about you sometimes. The last time you considered going out with a guy long-term, it was that one from undergrad . . .”

“Chad,” we both say at the same time, then shudder in unison as if a chill has just taken over both our seats, an ocean away.

After a three-month relationship, Chad cheated on me with one of our mutual friends when we were rooming in college, and that was the last guy I ever committed to.

I know my lack of relationships goes back to a few of the skeletons I keep mummified in my closet of memories, but that’s just the way I’m built now.

Not much I can do about it, and so far, it’s served me better to accept this about myself than to try and change it.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m perfectly happy,” I say, digging through the Styrofoam container of salad my paralegal preemptively ordered for me, knowing I’d be at my desk again for lunch.

“I know you’re happy ,” Liv answers, gingerly. “I just think you could be happ ier .”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Because you won’t allow yourself to fall for anyone. Like in a real way.”

“You’re not talking about Dax, are you?”

She sighs at the screen, then pops a sushi roll into her mouth.

“Do I really need to answer that?” she asks, chewing.

“Dax lives in California, so why would I let myself fall for him now when I wouldn’t back when we were living on the same campus?”

“Because you’ve never been able to forget him,” she points out. “And I think you did fall for him back then. Which is why you ran at the end.”

I distract myself with another forkful of salad, refusing to respond.

“Just think about it,” she adds, gently. “You deserve to find your person.”

“You’re my person.” I point the prong end of my fork at the screen.

She raises her brows. “Always,” she agrees. “But you know what I mean.”

I shrug.

“Nothing about tonight has anything to do with me finding my person. Even if we have the most magical time catching up, we live on opposite sides of the country — and besides, I don’t know if I’m ever going to have a person .

This will just be dinner and hopefully a nice fuck, for old time’s sake.

I don’t need to make it any more complicated than that. ”

“Sex is always complicated,” Liv says, sweetly. “Especially when you harbor secret feelings for the person you’re with. Everyone who says it isn’t is just lying to themself. But if this is strictly for the sake of those shoes getting out there, then by all means, lie away.”

* * *

Before the menus have even been opened, Dax is making declarations about how tonight’s going to go.

But I’m hardly able to pay attention to the rules he’s mapping out because he’s apparently taken the time to change from the black shirt he wore earlier into a more casual sport coat and chinos.

Both are tailored to fit him so well that I had to do a double-take when he stood up to greet me, kissing me lightly on one cheek before pulling my chair out for me to sit down.

As if that silly role play wasn’t distracting enough, the change in clothing has made it hard for me to see anything other than the way his green shirt brings out the mossy undertones of his hazel eyes in the golden candlelight flickering on the table between us.

Of course, he has chosen a place with white tablecloths and candles, playfully smirking when I mention it.

“How did you get a reservation here so last minute?” I ask, interrupting him just as he’s saying something about us not discussing work tonight. “Doesn’t this place have a Michelin Star or something?”

“My client — more of a longtime friend than a client, really. He called in a favor earlier today when I told him our plans for tonight.”

“You told your client about me?” My eyes widen. Bold move for a simple meal between two old friends.

“Did you not hear my one rule for tonight?” he asks, closing his menu.

I blink at him. “No.” I was too busy staring at the candlelight flickering in your eyes. “What rule?”

“We’re not talking about work. At all,” he says, firmly. “We could talk about cases and clients all night, I’m quite sure.”

“Right.”

I inhale deeply and open my menu back up, wondering what else there is to talk about besides work. It’s all I do.

I wish I’d had more time to start up some hobbies today, like fencing or jujitsu over lunch maybe, just so I’d have something interesting to offer up about myself right now.

I peek over the top of the trifold at him, hoping he’ll think of something to ask me since my mind is spinning around like a silent record. I swear he somehow got more attractive since leaving the coffee shop this morning.

“Tell me something I’d never guess about you,” he says, glancing through the appetizer options. “Something that has nothing to do with work.”

Ugh .

I rack my brain.

He peeks over the menu to watch me think.

Something he’d never guess? My entire existence in New York is shockingly predictable.

I panic. “Uh, well, there’s someone new in my life,” I blurt out. It’s the most mind-blowing thing about me lately, though it’s still nothing to write home about.

He closes the menu and sets it down on the table, giving me his full attention.

“Now that’s not something I was expecting you to say,” he says, coolly.

“Liv gifted him to me before moving. His name is Toby.”

An intriguing mix of confusion takes over Dax’s features, making me laugh.

“ Gifted ? She gifted you a guy named Toby?”

“Toby’s a cat.” I smile, watching his shoulders uncurl from his ears. Payback for all the blushing he made me do earlier today.

“Toby stayed with me while Liv took a sabbatical in Hawaii. I don’t know if you caught all that Good Day Show drama over her failed marriage proposal a few months back?”

He nods grimly. I’m not surprised. Dax and I were still hanging out in law school when Liv got her first job at The Good Day station, and I used to make him watch clips of her earliest cameos on the show.

It was only a year ago that she was asked by her producer to propose to her boyfriend on-air during the show’s Valentine’s Day segment.

No one ever imagined Rex would say no, but he did.

The live footage and aftermath sent her reeling all the way to Hawaii for a few months while things calmed down at the station.

“Those memes with her reaction were brutal.” He shudders. “I think most of them went viral. How’s she doing now?”