The Checklist by Addie Woolridge (famous ebook reader txt) 📕

drinks, then,” Mike said, a wide smile on his face. “Really, it’s for the best. We were just gonna dump them on the floor.”

“I should’ve known they’d skip. Since when does Neale buy pitchers?” Dylan laughed, shaking her head.

“Well, unless you want something else, do you want to get outa here?”

Dylan knew exactly the kind of “outa here” he meant, but her blood still stopped running for a long second. She imagined his sheets felt a lot like that shirt looked, and she wouldn’t mind being in them, as long as he was there too. Without that shirt. She shook her head, putting a halt to her racing thoughts. “Two of these are more than enough for me.”

“In that case,” Mike said, scooting out of the bench, “let’s go.”

Dylan smirked at her own misguided physical response and began the slow, painful slink out of the bench with what little grace she could muster. Feeling her muscles howl as she stood, she turned back to Mike. “Before my sister and very best friend decided to skip out on us, you were saying that no one wants to invest until someone else invests.”

“After you,” Mike said, pushing the door open. “Basically. I need to find someone who’ll take a quarter-million-dollar risk, just to get a bunch of other people to take that same risk. On the upside, the other fundraisers like your live text-to-give idea, so that’s something.”

Passing through the door ahead of him, Dylan noticed that he was still carrying Neale’s jacket. “Want me to take that?” she asked, before adding, “Never let it be said you have inexpensive taste, Mike.”

He made a small noise that was somewhere between assent and a laugh. Handing her the jacket, he said, “Unfortunately, there is a difference between having expensive taste and having expensive things. The higher-ups aren’t saying it yet, but I think I may have to retire this dream and put in some blocks or some other tired experience.”

The night air felt good against the Rollercoaster-induced flush. At least, she thought it was the drink that was causing the flush. Risking a glance upward, Dylan decided that Mike had a nice neck. The kind where someone’s head would fit comfortably between his shoulders and his face. It was a neck made for being close to, for cuddling, as well as other, less . . . neighborly things.

Dylan paused, thinking of her current living situation and the possible city-ordinance violation her parents were planning to file against the Robinsons. She shuddered, deciding to focus on the less distressing aspects of her off-limits neighbor. Like his work situation.

“Maybe I could help some more? I still have a month left on my placement out here, and I don’t do much, except try not to get fired, so I may as well do something good with myself.” She was mostly babbling now, filling their walk with more acceptable thoughts. “I do know a fair number of well-connected people through my parents’ work and Kaplan. Maybe I could introduce you? Help you get some better meetings?”

“Are you being serious?” Mike had stopped walking, focusing all his attention on her. “I mean, you already connected us to the text-to-give company and the stock-gift-facilitator guy.”

“Of course I am.” Dylan tried to act affronted, as if the idea hadn’t just walked half-clothed into her head. A small voice in the back of her mind suggested that connecting Mike to actual money would be a lot harder than giving him the email address of a few civically minded former clients, but she pushed it aside. If by some miracle Kaplan didn’t fire her, it would look good on her résumé, and the partners took pro bono work very seriously. It would be a win-win for her career and for Mike. Spending more time with him was just an added bonus.

“Well, if you are serious, I’d love to go over donor names with you.” Mike looked genuinely surprised, even a little touched.

“Pffff. Serious as a heart attack.” Somewhere in the back of her mind, an alarm sounded that her promises might be bigger than her actual skills. But surely she could learn this. Jared basically played charity golf every other weekend, so how hard could this be?

“In that case, I think everyone at Crescent would murder me if I didn’t at least try.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Mike began walking again and bouncing on his toes with the kind of enthusiasm that would make Stacy proud. “I mean, I know it’s a long shot, but we have an event in three weeks. This is a super late addition to the program, but for that much money, I’m sure my big bosses would be willing to rearrange the evening to make a big announcement about the room.”

She heard the words three weeks and cringed internally. She didn’t know a lot about fundraising, but even in the business world, finding millions of dollars in three weeks was a stretch. Unless you had a connection. Which she had just billed herself as having. “Exactly.”

Dylan was vaguely aware she was leaning toward him as he spoke and cursed his magnetism. He was all easy charm and comfortable shirts. Or smiles. She was pretty sure she meant smiles. She frowned at herself and attempted to redirect her focus to Mike’s words.

“—maybe we can go over a list of names to try to get meetings with tomorrow? Do you need more time? Maybe the day after?”

“Let’s say Tuesday so I have time to think,” Dylan said in her best no-big-deal voice. She reasoned Mike was over the moon about the prospect of reviving the sensory room, and she could use some positivity heading into the homestretch with Technocore. Three weeks of concentrated time together doing something good for the world would be enjoyable, especially with Jared breathing down her neck.

“Dylan, this is just fantastic. I’m not gonna lie—I decided to come out for a sorry-about-your-dream drink, and then there you were. It’s like fate.” Mike began moving down the sidewalk again, streetlamps highlighting