7
Angel
What on earth was I thinking?
I fluffed my hair in the mirror, seriously contemplating telling Nick that I couldn't do this. He would probably laugh and tell me that it was just dinner, that people had to eat, but of course, it wasn't the dinner part that bothered me. He'd flirted with me all day after we made it back down to base; he'd helped me with my skis, got me hot-chocolate, and that's not even taking into account the incident with the morning wood… And the way my dirty mind was working, dinner never merely meant just dinner. There was always some ulterior motive.
Images of Tim breaking up with me at the restaurant where we’d had our first date careened by in the fast lane of my mind, like a speeding car attempting to evade the pursuing cops.
But Nick wasn’t Tim. I remi
