I nod. “You’re right.” I guess.

“Can I take you out again? Tomorrow? This time I’ll eat with you. And we can get something without garlic.” His lopsided grin makes me melt all over.

I want to argue, to push him harder so he’ll come upstairs and push me harder.

But he’s too cute to argue with.

I laugh. “Sure. Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day.

Sigh.

Can sexual frustration actually kill you?

Chapter Twelve

“Tell me about your parents.”

Anyone else might be taken aback at rapid-fire personal questions on what is supposed to be a first date. Or pre-date. Whatever this is. But not Alex. He smiles.

Besides, we’ve known each other for months, at least, at work. If he thinks I’m being strange or forward, he doesn’t say so. He’s the epitome of easygoing. Even when he’s being Mr. Big Shot CEO of his own company and giving orders, he’s calm and steady and self-assured.

“There isn’t much to tell.” He grabs one of the fries from my basket and pops it into his mouth.

I cover my remaining food with a protective hand. “Hey, grabby hands, I thought you weren’t hungry.”

“I’m not.” His fingers feint to one side, I move to block him, but quick and nimble, he darts to the other side, snatching one from under my hand.

I laugh. “You’re fast.”

Tonight we came to WesBurger N’ More, an old-timey diner on Mission with bright orange vinyl seats, excellent milkshakes, and a juke box playing Elvis in the back.

I made a point to avoid anything garlicky, and I even brought gum just in case. Maybe if I get him to drop me off again and then make out with him in his car, I can turn him on enough to convince him to come upstairs with me. It’s worth a shot.

“Tell me about your parents. ‘Not much to tell’ is probably a good thing.”

“It is. I have a lot to be grateful for.” He rubs the back of his head and gives me a sheepish smile. “I sort of won the parent lottery. My parents are kind, supportive, still together, totally in love. They married right out of high school, but they’re also best friends, you know?”

“Sure.” I don’t know, but it sounds nice.

“When I was sick, they were great. Protective and loving. Basically, they’re boring as hell. Tell me about your parents.”

“Oh, um.” I fiddle with the napkin in my lap, wiping my fingers on it. “Yeah, well, my parents are still together too, but I’m not sure if they’re in love with each other or just find their partnership too efficient to change.”

His head tilts, eyes considering. “That sounds . . . serious.”