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Leo was already waiting in the parking lot behind the building after my shift, leaning against the driver’s-side door of his Bentley. He looked like an old Hollywood star with his hair mussed, his cheekbones sharp. Instead of his usual suit and tie, he wore dark jeans over brown boots and a red flannel shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. A rugged dusting of day-old stubble peppered his jawline and reached down toward his neck. I’d never seen him anything other than meticulously clean-shaven, but this was already my favorite version of him.
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment when I realized that I was frozen at the door, gluttonously taking in the sight of him, still holding the push-handle in my now-clammy palms. His mouth curved into a smile at my hesitance, and I knew I’d been caught staring. I did my best to school my face before I pushed my feet forward. “Hey!” I called out as I worked to close the distance between us, trying to tamp down the erratic rhythm of my heart.
His eyes stayed rooted on me like an anchor, but for which one of us I wasn’t sure. His wide grin told me he somehow knew my heart might be racing, and I wondered if his might be, too. “Hey you,” he answered, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Under the dark sky, those eyes looked almost midnight. Full of starlight. “Ready for this?”
Live wires danced all over my skin as more nervous energy settled in, but for once it felt like the good kind of energy—the kind that flitted in right before something good happened. Something that could change the trajectory of an adventure—similar to how I felt the night we met. “I am, actually,” I smiled through my breathy response, feeling self-conscious of the way my cheeks pulled high on my face.
Leo’s eyes glinted in the glow of the streetlights as they cut a path down my body, taking in the simple black shin-length dress I’d slipped into in the locker room before coming out here. “I thought you didn’t wear dresses.”
“I don’t,” I answered. “But . . . for some reason I packed this one to bring to your place. I had a feeling I might need it.”
“Ah,” he said, amused. “I’m really glad you did.”
Heat crawled up the expanse of my neck as I felt myself tipping back into his sticky web of magic—he’d already caught me in it once. I knew our date tonight was supposed to be the way to get our story straight before the big test tomorrow night, but I still found myself feeling giddy and a little unsteady under his sharp focus. “How do you feel about hole-in-the-wall dive bars?” I asked, forcing some levity to the conversation.
“Depends,” he countered, expression growing serious. As if I’d asked him for his opinion about stock options.
“On?”
He took a step toward me, his gaze falling to my shoulder where my hair was draped over the hemline of my dress. “I’m a man of execution, Mara. Which means when I commit to something, I go all in. So if your intention is to woo me with a shitty dive bar, I want it to live up to my expectations. I want it to come with shitty beer and shitty food. Maybe a shitty band.” He reached his hand out, lightly trailing a finger over the top of the shoulder he’d been eyeing, gathering my hair and dropping it so that it fell across my back. His fingertips brushed through the ends of it before he drew his hand back to his pocket.
I shivered. “Got it. Shitty first date, coming right up.” I tried to suck down air as I spoke.
He laughed. “I have a feeling nothing about this is going to be shitty.”
I forced my eyes away from him, forging a path down the frame of his car instead. “Speak for yourself,” I said.
He shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. “You are a wicked woman. Come on, let’s go.” He held his hand out for me to take, and I didn’t think twice before my own was eagerly reaching for his, taking it as if we did this every day.
As he led me toward the passenger door, I couldn’t help the question from spilling out. “This isn’t a real date, right?”
I don’t do relationships.
Just a onetime thing.
You might never see me again.
Though his grin stayed put, the spark in his eyes dulled as he navigated me into the seat. “Just tonight.” He repeated the words he’d said to me almost a week ago. “Nothing more.”
I didn’t believe him then, and I definitely didn’t believe him now.
Chapter Twenty
Leo pulled into the farthest corner of The Manhole’s parking lot at my behest (it was way too nice of a car to be left next to the dirty old trucks that lined the curb near the front door), and I couldn’t help but shiver again at the feel of his palm sliding down my back after retrieving me from the passenger’s side. He must have thought the reaction was from the biting wind because he didn’t hesitate to pull out a black leather jacket from his seat to drape over my shoulders.
It smelled just like him—like the mountains—which only sharpened my desire.
He opened the door for me in true first-date fashion and steered me inside with an iron hook around my waist, caging me into his personal space. The close proximity of our bodies sent apprehension pinging through me as I took the first few steps inside the dark and dingy bar, internally praying like hell that no one from Larkspur would be here. It proved to be of little substance, though, after finding only seven other people littered about. I doubted anyone from Larkspur even knew this place existed.
I expelled a shaky breath as Leo’s palm rested on my hip. His skin was unnaturally warm against the cotton of my dress, a blazing point of heat in an otherwise drafty room. He stood next to me, content to wait for me to make the first move. To take the reins.
Could he tell how nervous I felt inside?
Of the seven other people scattered around, only two of them were women. One of them, a stout woman with spiked hair and a cut-off denim jacket, took only a brief interest in Leo and me before turning back to her small group of rowdy biker friends. The other was a petite woman who looked to be pushing seventy despite her platinum blonde hair and obvious cosmetic enhancements. When she’d caught sight of Leo, she seemed to levitate right out of her chair, fastening all of her attention to him.
I couldn’t blame her. Of the men here, Leo was the only one who looked like he didn’t wake up this morning and immediately light up a cigarette before putting on yesterday’s clothes. But still, the reflex to tuck myself closer and claim him came without thought, and I might have been embarrassed about it if he didn’t reciprocate the gesture by squeezing the hand wrapped around my hip before dipping it further along the curve of my ass—like this kind of intimate affection was normal for us.
I felt him bristle next to me when he could no longer ignore the woman approaching us, but when I looked up to take inventory of his face I found him throwing her that effervescent, thousand-watt smile that he slid on so easily. Ever the showman.
