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to see you again.”
    “Uh…I don’t think that would be a good ide—Hey! Stop that!”
    “Stop what?” Keir frowned. “Is there someone there with you?”
    “Um, kind of.”
    What kind of answer was that? “If you can’t talk, just let me know. I’ll call you another time. But just so you know, I will call you.” He hadn’t meant to make it sound like a threat even as he realized that that’s exactly how his words sounded once they left his mouth.
    But Patryk was no slouch and said, “You’re a real tyrant, aren’t you?”
    “You think I’m a tyrant?” Keir choked back another laugh, not wanting Patryk to think he mocked him. It was just that “tyrant” had been his three younger brothers’ favorite nickname for him. After “tyrant,” the ever popular but no less accurate monikers such as “bossy,” “domineering,” “stubborn,” and
    “competitive” followed, each term lovingly used by every member of his family at one time or another to describe him over the years.
    His brothers still ragged on him to this day about his “harsh treatment” of them when they were all kids. But now since his brothers had all reached varying stages of adulthood, the name-calling was all in good-natured fun.
    “I don’t think you’re a tyrant. I know you are,” Patryk said, and he sounded like he’d had a lot of experience dealing with tyrants, but not in a good way.
    He wanted to tell Patryk to chill, that he wouldn’t hurt him like that other guy obviously had in the past, but he didn’t want to move too fast, especially didn’t want to write checks with his mouth his actions and body couldn’t possibly cash. Not that he would do anything to hurt Patryk, not intentionally. But he was 38
    Gracie C. McKeever
    only human, after all, and things happened. “Give me a chance to change your mind.”
    “I don’t think that’s possible.”
    “That you’ll give me a chance, or that I can change your mind?”
    “Both.”
    Hmm, he was a tougher customer than Keir first thought. This would take some hardcore finessing and seducing, both of which he was totally capable.
    He lowered his natural baritone to what he had been told was his soul-searing Barry White voice and said, “Despite your skepticism, I’d still like to see you.”
    “Why?”
    “You need to ask?”
    “Obviously.”
    “I like you.”
    “I…uh… Ow! I like you, too.”
    “Thanks. I think.” What was going on over there? “Tell you what. Let’s meet each other later today, neutral territory, you pick the spot,” Keir said and listened as Patryk argued with someone who was obviously there with him. Only problem with that was Keir couldn’t hear anyone else on the other end except Patryk.
    Was the guy hearing voices in his head? As long as he didn’t hear one telling him to off the black bartender with cornrows, they should be okay, right?
    “The bandshell in Central Park, three o’clock. You know where it is, right?”
    “I know where it is.” Why did it sound like Patryk bit out every word as if someone was pinching and forcing him into making a date? Or as if he was challenging Keir to a fight after school? “The bandshell in Central Park, three o’clock it is.”
    “See you then.” Patryk abruptly hung up, leaving Keir staring at his cordless, wondering what he had gotten himself into.

    Ingenue’s Choice
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Chapter 4
    “Ow! Will you stop pinching me!”
    “I will if you stop being so stubborn.”
    “What’s stubborn about not wanting to make a date with a perfect stranger? I’m being cautious. So sue me!” Patryk leaped from the sofa and threw up his hands in frustration as he whirled on Zara.
    She sat there on the arm of his teal leather sofa, legs cross over each other yoga style as if she didn’t have a care in the world and hadn’t just ruined his life.
    “Stop looking so outraged. I did you a favor.”
    “What favor? What if he turns out to be an ax murderer or a serial killer?”
    “Oh puh-lease.