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“Oh okay,” he says, and I say, “Don’t be sorry, Sky. Sorries are for people who have regrets. We don’t roll that way.”
He looks down at his plate, and when he looks back up at me, his eyes are screaming. I can almost hear him say the things my ears are aching to hear.
Instead, he shuts his to-go box and grabs one of my hands. He brings my fingers to his face. I rub his scruff.
“It’s late. I should go. Before I have at you again and we both fall asleep here.”
Disappointment drops my stomach. “Yeah. Okay.”
His lips brush my cheek. “Should…but I don’t know if I can.” His hand comes behind my neck. He tugs my hair—a gentle pressure that sends chills down my back. He kisses me like I’ve got all of him—as if by some miracle, this is our moment. Then he takes both of my hands.
“What do you think, Vanny? Want to go somewhere with me?”* * *LukeI watch his face. The stubble and the square jaw…those soft lips of his and the long lashes, the dark brows and storm-gray eyes. Sitting with him like this—I feel like I swallowed the sun.
He gives me a funny little puzzled smile. “Do you want me to?”
I shake my head. “No. I just said that to mess with you.”
He grins. “Where you wanna go?”
“Are you too tired?”
“Nah.”
“When do you go to sleep?”
He shrugs. His hands wrap around mine, and he brings my right one to his mouth…brushes his lips over it.
“It’s almost two AM your time,” I realize out loud.
He squeezes my hands and lets them go. “Take me somewhere.” He gets up and crouches by his suitcase. “What’s your car like, M-c-D?”
I get up to dress, too. “Guess you’ll have to wait and see, yeah?” I don’t usually end my sentences with “yeah,” but I love it when he does. He glances over his shoulder, giving me a funny arched brow before pulling on a pair of dark jeans. He’s got on a cream hoodie with a thick vertical gray stripe down one shoulder and his torso.
“I’m betting on a modest Acura or Volvo…” He frowns. “Although considering your suits, maybe I should go with Mercedes.”
I smile. All wrong. He pulls on some black sneaks as I tug on my shirt. “Are those Vans?” I ask.
He grins. “One of my friends got them for me last year.”
“I like.”
That makes him laugh again. “I’m glad they get the Luke McDowell seal of approval.”
I move over to him, take his chin and whisper by his cheek, “I’ll show you the Luke seal of approval.”
We kiss till he drags his mouth away, tired-eyed and smiling. “You’re too much for me, McDowell.”
I feel a pang of guilt for asking him to come with.
“How so, Mr. Rayne?”
He frowns. “I hated how you called me that.” The words are quiet.
“When?” Even as I ask him, I remember: at the church the other day.
His gaze dips to his feet before returning to my face. He pulls his lips flat, gives a shake of his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
Yes it does. I rub a hand through my hair. There is nothing I can tell him…no excuse that’s good enough for hurting him intentionally. I approached him partially to let him know not to tell Pearl we know each other. But there’s no denying it—I also sought to drive him off. By hurting him.
“I’m sorry.”
He steps forward a little, lacing his fingers through mine. “I knew what I was getting into when I took the job.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“It’s in the past, my man.” He lips brush mine, then he hugs me to his chest for just a second. “Take me away, Mr. McDowell.”6VanceHe drives a Model Fucking S—one of those dreamy red electric Tesla sports cars. He must know I get a hard-on for sweet rides, because he didn’t tell me in advance what kind of car it is. Just said it’s curb parked by a soup joint and that it’ll light up when I get close, just from the key fob being in my pocket.
I’m laughing like a kid as I duck into it. “Fuck yes!” There’s a tablet-looking screen on the dash, and the iconic T symbol on the steering wheel. I smile when I have to push the passenger’s seat back. I don’t know who’s been in here with him, but for sure no motherfuckers my height.
I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat and keep my head down, keep my face out of the gaze of any cameras pinned up onto nearby buildings. Never know when some crime could happen and cops could look back through the footage. His car is distinctive, and I’m in it, and it’s after midnight.
Luke strolls up six minutes after I get in, coming from the opposite direction on the sidewalk. I get a glimpse of someone tall in a dark hoodie—my hoodie—before he’s coming through the driver’s side door. He flashes me a smug grin, then slides the Tesla out of its spot.
