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She let go of Oakley’s hands and waved Pike off. “You get what I serve you. No plain tamale plate for a date. I made my best mole for today’s special.” She poked his side. “And you getting too skinny again.”
Emilio shook his head. “He’s busy being important, Mamá.”
“Importante. Bah.” She sniffed, letting them all know that this was no excuse.
Pike lifted his palms to her. “We’re in your capable hands. Fatten me up.”
She left them with the look of a woman on a mission, and Emilio told t
hem to grab whatever table they wanted and he’d bring over a couple of beers. Oakley and Pike settled at a table by the front window that gave them a view of the rain-slicked streets, and Emilio dropped off two Negra Modelos, a basket of fresh tortilla chips, and two kinds of salsa—one red, one green, which he identified as “kinda hot” and “the one that made Paco cry.”
Pike flipped Emilio the bird and then went straight for the dangerous green one. “This stuff is amazing. But they served it to me when I was a kid, and I scooped it on a chip like it was Pace Picante. I thought I was going to die in the middle of their kitchen. I ended up eating ice cream out of the container by the handful to cool my tongue. It’s taken years to build up a tolerance to the heat.”
Oakley laughed. “I like spicy, but now you’ve scared me.”
“My advice is dip, don’t scoop.” He grabbed a chip and dunked the edge into the green salsa then handed it to her. “And be brave. That’s our theme for the night anyway, right?”
“Is it?” She took the chip and eyed it warily.
“Of course.” He held up one finger, counting off. “One, you sang in front of me. Two, you agreed to spend the night with me.” He leaned forward, wicked smirk touching his lips. “And three, I fucked you against the wall of my studio. I’d say you’ve been pretty brave.”
She glanced toward the counter to make sure no one was close enough to hear that last part. The few patrons in the place were seated on the other side of the restaurant, and Emilio had his back to them. She turned back to Pike. “Maybe. But how is it our theme? I’m guessing your night hasn’t been all that out of the ordinary.”
She popped the chip in her mouth and her tongue lit afire. She coughed but managed not to spit out the chip. Pike’s lips curled upward, and he pushed her beer closer to her. “Just chew, it gets better.”
Her eyes were trying to water, but she continued chewing, and the heat gave way to the flavors of lime, cilantro, and tomatillos. She swallowed the bite and took a swig of beer, then another, waiting for the flames to cool. “Wow. That is impressively hot. But tasty.”
“Like me.”
She snort-laughed at that one. “I need Flora’s dish towel so I can smack you with it.”
“Sounds kinky.” He leaned back in his chair, his gaze analyzing her. “But back to what you said about being daring, why would you think tonight is par for the course for me?”
She focused on the bowl of chips and shrugged. “You’re living the wild, single life every day. That’s all I’m saying.”
He reached out and tapped the top of her hand, making her look up. Lines appeared around his mouth. “No, you’re saying I fuck random girls in random places, so you’re just another one on the list, right? Another night.”
She winced. “I didn’t mean—”
“You did.”
She sighed. “Fine. Maybe I did. I’m not saying I have a problem with it.”
His jaw twitched. “Let’s get something straight, Oakley. If I wanted a random fuck tonight, I would’ve had one—at the party the guys invited me to, at The Ranch if I went solo, at any club downtown. But that’s not what I wanted. I wanted to be with you. You think I haven’t taken risks tonight?”
She stuck another chip in her mouth, fighting the images of Pike going out and picking up some other girl.
“So that’s a yes.” He let out a frustrated breath. “Look, you can believe what you want, but I’ve never done anything with a woman at my studio. I’ve never brought a date here. And I definitely don’t talk about the shit that happened when I was a kid to anyone. Even the record company has a fake, generic bio for me just so I can avoid talking about it altogether. So stop thinking you’re just some piece of ass, all right? I’d like to think we’re friends and that I’m treating you as such—regardless of whether or not we’re sleeping together.”
She frowned, his words stinging. Had she been treating him like that? Like she was just a fill-in lay on his calendar? Maybe. Yes. No matter how much she liked Pike, she kept reminding herself that he was who he was. Screwing women was sport to a guy like him. Keeping that at the front of her mind helped her keep her head straight about all this. But the hurt hovering in his eyes hit home. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I didn’t mean to imply that. I’m glad we’re … friends.”
He grabbed his beer and took a sip, brooding.
“And the childhood stuff … I know you didn’t have to share that with me.”
He shrugged. “I should’ve never said anything. Nothing ruins a fun date faster than some poor-me sob story. It just slipped out. That was my bad.”
“No. I’m glad you did,” she said, reaching out for his hand. “I … I like getting to know you. Even the ugly stuff. We all have it. I mean, in a lot of ways, I can relate.”
