Page 25 of Keeping Zita

“I wasn’t. But now I am,” he said firmly.

“You are what?”

“Interested in dating. You.”

He couldn’t read Zita’s expression, but he wasn’t telling her anything he hadn’t said this afternoon, in the smokers’ area on the film set. He went on.

“Next time, I’ll do it right. Maybe we can rent electric bikes and ride up and down the boardwalk at the beach. Or we can do one of those escape rooms or ax-throwing things. I’ve heard the aquarium is neat too.”

“Oooh, we should all do an escape room! We’d break a speed record for figuring out the puzzles!” Pyro bragged.

But Obi-Wan kept his gaze on Zita. He hadn’t thought it was weird at all that he’d asked her to come hang out with everyone at Anchor Point. But now, he realized it was probably a bonehead move…because deep down, he’d known even then that this was a date. Hadn’t he thought at the time that he’d prefer to cook for her at his apartment, just the two of them?

At least she was being cool about it. And he believed her when she said she would’ve turned him down if he’d gone the more traditional route.

This dating thing was tough.

“Zita?” he whispered, when she didn’t respond, suddenly feeling off-kilter and unsure of himself.

“Me too,” she said after a long moment.

“You too, what?” Chaos asked. “You want to date our boy here?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Obi-Wan was done with his friends. Why he’d thought this was a good idea was beyond him. He should’ve had this conversation somewhere else, away from his teammates, but it was too late now. But then again, if Edge hadn’t brought up the possibility that a group get-together wasn’t the best impression to make on a first date, he probably never would’ve thought twice about what he’d done.

He glanced at Chaos to tell him to fuck off, but a commotion at the front door of the bar had everyone turning to see what the hubbub was all about.

Obi-Wan couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Who he was seeing.

Carmen St. James had just sauntered into Anchor Point as if she were the queen of England, and she was doing her subjects a huge favor by gracing the commoners with her presence.

There was a big man standing right behind her, a guy Obi-Wan had seen on set more than once, but he had no idea what his job was.

Carmen looked around, saw him staring at her—and made a beeline straight for him.

Obi-Wan heard Zita inhale deeply and mutter, “What the hell is she doing here?”

But he had no time to do or say anything else before the beautiful actress was standing next to his chair with a huge smile on her face.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Zita could not fucking believe that Carmen was here. And looking at Sage as if he was some kind of prize at the bottom of a box of kids’ cereal.

How the hell had the woman known where he’d be tonight? Did she know Zita would be with him? And Carmen had brought that creepy bodyguard, Silas Graves, who followed her everywhere. She didn’t begrudge the actress having someone at her back, but Silas always had a gleam in his eye that made Zita nervous. Like he was looking for a confrontation so he’d have a reason to be violent.

She’d seen him literally knock one of the caterers away from Carmen because she came too close when telling her how much she enjoyed her movies. The woman had gone flying, tripping over a table and knocking all the food to the floor. Silas didn’t apologize. No, he’d had a satisfied look on his face as he led Carmen away from the mess.

Zita’s hand dropped from Sage’s leg, and she schooled her expression so none of her thoughts showed…she hoped. She hadn’t known Carmen long, but she’d met plenty of women exactly like her. Spoiled, conceited, and used to getting whatever they wanted because of their money and looks. And just as she’d warned Sage, what Carmen wanted was him.

It wasn’t as if Zita could even blame her. Sage was impressive. And sitting with his equally impressive friends, wearing civilian clothes, looking relaxed and happy…yeah, there was no way in hell Carmen wasn’t going to take her best shot at dragging Sage back to her hotel room.

Tonight, she was wearing a short, tight black miniskirt that looked painted on. It showcased her long, toned legs and left very little to the imagination. If she had to bend over for any reason, she’d surely flash her cooter to everyone in the room. But then again, it was likely if she dropped anything, someone else would pick it up for her. And if she did lean over, it would be for the express purpose of having sex.

Her blouse was white and sheer and clearly showed the white bra she wore underneath. Her makeup was done with a heavy hand, and the bright red high heels on her feet pushed her height over six feet. She was dressed more for a night club than a rundown hole-in-the-wall bar like Anchor Point.

But it wasn’t surprising that Carmen didn’t look one bit like she felt out of place. She’d walked in as if she owned the place, and probably thought she did.