Page 2 of The Impossible
“Nicolette,” a male voice called out
Hearing my middle name had my brows raised. No one ever called me by my middle name, other than my grandmother and him. He only did it because he heard her once and it stuck for him and his need to get on my nerves.
I halted my steps in complete disbelief before turning around. There he stood, as if I hadn’t just seen him on my TV, as if he was supposed to be back here. “Um, what are you doing here?”
“You still love these animals, huh? You looked like you were in pure fucking bliss in there with a whole predator in your arms,” he mused, eyes focused on Zar now lying on his back asleep.
“That’s because I was. Now what are you doing here?”
“What, you’re not happy to see an old friend, Nic?” he asked, arrogance oozing from his being. He looked good, so freaking good for a man who just skated charges.
“It’s not that. I just don’t understand why you—”
“Came to check on an old friend. Still beautiful as fuck, I see.” His eyes traveled my frame before they landed back on mine.
“Um, thank you.” I’d be lying if I said that compliment hadn’t sent heat down my spine and warmth to my cheeks. He said still beautiful, like back then he thought I was beautiful as well. Shit, he did!
“Come to dinner with me tonight.” There was no question in his words, instead a statement.
“Um, I don’t th—”
“It’s dinner, Nic.”
I didn’t mean to smile, but I did. “Why can’t you call me Patience like everyone else? After all these years you still insist on calling me by my middle name.”
“’Cause I’m not everyone else and you’ve always known that. So… dinner. What time?” He leaned against the wall.
“I didn’t say yes.”
He laughed, eyes glossing my frame once again. “You leave here at five, right?”
He caught me off guard. “And how do you know my schedule?”
“Are you still a pescatarian?” He didn’t answer my question but instead asked one of his own. It was at that moment I realized he had paid attention to me back then. When I was younger I went through this weird phase refusing to eat certain meats, therefore making me a momentary pescatarian.
“No.”
“Aight, bet. See you around five, Nicolette.” He turned to leave and I hadn’t even accepted the dinner date. It was like my answer didn’t matter.
“Don’t waste your time, Hondo. You’ll come here and I’ll be gone.”
He stopped, then turned and faced me again. “Still stubborn too, but nah you’ll still be here.”
“And how do you figure?”
He stepped into my space, forward as hell before his finger was at my chin. I shocked myself when I didn’t stop him. He lowered his head like he was about to kiss me, but stopped centimeters away and began to speak. “Because you wanna have dinner with me, Nic. Just like I wanna have dinner with you. Now stop being difficult and say okay. Don’t shatter a nigga’s ego on the first encounter.”
I grinned, eyes locked on him. “It’s impossible to shatter your ego. It’s big enough to be a whole person. But fine. I’ll play your game and take you up on dinner. Don’t be late.”
He laughed, letting my chin go and creating some space. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Nic.”
After he finally left, I rushed into my office and turned the fan on. I was freaking frazzled, borderline ready to open the window and sit on the sill to get a little bit of air between my legs. From seeing him on TV leaving the courthouse to him standing in my sanctuary bullying me into dinner smelling like flannel temptation. Why was he here?
It was safe to say my attention was shot to shit after he left. I couldn’t focus on anything. I was just here.
A knock at my door reminded me that I was at work. I jumped and glanced at the door, my eyes jumping to the clock on my wall that read four forty-five instead of five. No way he was early.
Another knock had me on my feet, moving to open the door. To my surprise it wasn’t Hondo, but another handsome face. This one I was used to seeing in these parts given we worked closely and often collaborated since he was also a curator but for the mammals.
