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“You are.” Realization hits. “You prefer this. Is this a way to connect with your roots or something? I bet you totally order pizza and eat Italian food all the time.”
“Stop psychoanalyzing me.”
“But it’s so fun,” I tease. It is fun peeling back his layers, seeing what makes him tick. And I’m starting to think I might like it more than I thought. Particularly when he whispered my name like it was a prayer and kissed me like he had hours to explore my mouth.
We eat in silence for a minute, two people among fifty doing the same thing. I try not to watch him, but it’s hard. Jonah draws the eye in a way most men don’t. He’s sprawled in his chair like he’s the king of this little park. A woman across from us sits up straighter when she sees him. A couple of guys are sliding him glances and whispering. Does he notice? Nope. He has eyes for his food, and for me.
“Why did you agree to come tonight?” I ask, when he puts his milkshake down.
He wipes his mouth with a paper napkin, like it’s the finest linen. “I’m not sure,” he says slowly. “Or I am sure, but I don’t like the reason.”
I still, waiting with shallow breath to hear his reason.
He sighs. “I was scared.” He lifts his dark gaze to mine. “I thought about you out, drunk, with men accosting you. I was just going to drive you home.” Something warms in my chest at his admission. His brows draw down as he takes in my expression. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask innocently, but I feel triumphant. Jonah Crown likes me, and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like anyone.
“Like you know something I don’t. You’re my employee. I protect what’s mine.”
Longing flashes through me. I want that. I want to be protected. No one has ever protected me. Not my dad as soon as I hit eighteen and he got more and more distracted by the paper, not Eric, and definitely not my mom.
I reach over and steal one of his fries, and he smacks my hand. “So you would sing karaoke with any employee, is that it?” I keep my voice teasing, but my heart is thudding against the wall of my chest.
“Definitely not.” He sighs.
“You like me,” I say in a singsong voice. “You want to kiss me.”
“Do not quote Miss Congeniality to me again,” he says in a stern voice.
My mouth parts in shock. “You’ve seen it?”
“I practically know it by heart. Christine must have watched it a hundred times.”
“She sounds great. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“You are never meeting her, Thompson. You two would gang up on me, and I would never see a moment of peace.” He stands, sweeping up our garbage.
“Well, now you’ve just given me a new mission in life.” I grin and he rolls his eyes, but I see a ghost of a smile on his face.
“Where to?” he asks.
“One more drink?”
Jonah eyes me like I shouldn’t be allowed to touch alcohol, before he sighs. “One more. But something weak for you. I’m not carrying you home.”
* * *
“Shots. Come on.” I loop my arm through Jonah’s and knock back the cinnamon whiskey shot, before we both start coughing.
“I don’t know how you drink this crap. You know it’s illegal in Europe, right?”
I laugh. His perpetual grumpiness and his sharp humor do something to my insides. Somehow my knees are tucked between his at a dirty bar on 10th avenue, his shoulders are relaxed, and his face is boyish, even as he pretends to hate drinking. He’s done two shots with me, though.
“Only the finest whiskey for Your Majesty, is that it?”
“There’s a middle ground between swill and twenty-year old Macallan.”
I swig the rest of my cheap beer and shrug. “Too bad. You said the night is mine. You can have the next one.”
