For a brief moment, my mood shifted at the mention of his name. But just as quickly as it happened, I got drawn back in by the mischievous gleam in Ronan’s gaze.
“I know the basics of how much you love your chosen field. But I’m more interested in what built that passion,” he said.
And so it started. Our conversation winded and twisted around our backgrounds and upbringings, how we got into our interests, then moved beyond that into what we wanted for the future outside of just a career.
He asked questions like he was truly interested in the answers, not like he was just trying to commit them to rote memory. And he was surprisingly open with me too. I know that at some point between the second and third round of drinks, the thought blipped into my head that maybe we were taking things too far.
There was polite conversation and then there was discovering things about someone that would push you from the line of being a mere acquaintance to something more. And I wasn’t sure what that something more was or even what I wanted it to be.
But threaded through most of our exchanges was the unmistakable hint of flirtation. I might have been conflicted but Ronan didn’t seem to have any ounce of doubt. And eventually, probably with the help of the third drink, I started reciprocating.
His words were just as inebriating as whatever it was that I was drinking, filling my veins with warmth and muddying my mind until the very last of my rational thinking had been snuffed out.
At some point I started noticing his hands as he spoke. He kept at least one of them on the table at all times, occasionally reaching for his glass. His whole body was relaxed with hisshoulders pulled back and chest open, projecting the image of a man who was completely self-possessed.
Even though there was so much of his appearance that I found interesting, it was his hands that captivated me the most. They were big and strong-looking and lined on the back with thick veins.
They were hands that might’ve belonged to a blue-collar worker and not an academic if it wasn’t for the obvious care he took of them; clean, short nails. No noticeable callouses.
A different kind of heat started building in my belly, one that had nothing to do with the alcohol I’d been sipping on the whole night. When the time finally came for Ronan to ask for the check, it felt like I’d snapped out of a trance.
“I thought I was the one who was supposed to book it early,” I teased as the waitress walked away looking very happy with whatever he tipped her.
Ronan’s lips twitched. “This place closes in an hour.”
My mouth dropped open. I checked the time on my phone and he was right—it was almost eleven.
“I had no idea it was this late,” I said with a groan.
“I take it that I passed the test, Miss Price?” he asked, standing to his feet and offering me his hand. “I can only assume the conversation was good enough, considering you stayed the entire evening.”
“You’d be right,” I said only half-begrudgingly as I took his hand.
My pulse started racing at the steadiness of his grip, the heat of his palm. But instead of just helping me slide out of the seat, he didn’t let go. Much to my twisted delight.
We walked out of the bar hand-in-hand, neither of us saying anything even though the air between us was thick with electricity. When we stepped outside, he released my hand with a gentle rub of his thumb against the back of it, a touch so light I barely noticed.
I quickly fumbled with my jacket and put it on, then reached for my phone to call a cab. “Thank you, Ronan. For the evening and the conversation.”
“You’re welcome,” he replied. He waited a moment, then added, “I could give you a ride home. I don’t know how comfortable I’d feel letting you take a cab or walk this time of the night.”
“That’s okay,” I said, ignoring the effects of the drinks pushing me to do something stupid like say yes. “Plus you’re not exactly the most sober either.”
“I’m a heavyweight,” he explained. “And I’m the one who kept you out this late. Please, I insist.”
I considered it a moment. He had a point. Besides, the campus was not even ten minutes away.
“Okay,” I acquiesced. “I’d appreciate that.”
He led me to his car, which was parked a little distance from the main bays lining the side of the bar. It was a considerable distance now that so many other patrons had left.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting knowing how wealthy his family actually was, but his car wasn’t some over-the-top flashy thing that probably ran like shit. He drove a sleek-looking Volvo, and while I wasn’t enough of a car person to name the model, I just thought it looked good.
Big enough for someone of his height, probably a decent amount of leg room.
What the hell was I thinking about?I blamed the alcohol for my nonsensical thoughts.
He opened the passenger door for me and closed it once I’d slipped inside before rounding the car and getting in himself. It smelled clean with a hint of his expensive cologne.
