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She eyes me skeptically as she sucks chocolate from the pad of her thumb. “Are you going to say it’s at your place?”
I bite the corner of my bottom lip to ward off a smile. “I assure you I don’t need to resort to that to get a woman into bed.”
Her gaze locks on mine. “I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
She laughs. “Where’s the pinball machine, Roman?”
“Easton Pub,” I say. “We can grab a drink. Play some pinball.”
She studies my face. “I’m not sure.”
I gaze down at the daisy in her hand. “Let the flower decide.”
Her brow twists in confusion. “What?”
I reach forward to pluck off a petal. “Pinball it is.” I pluck another. “Pinball it isn’t.”
“That doesn’t seem like a wise way to decide how I’ll spend my evening.”
I pluck another and let it fall to the deck of the bridge. “Pinball it is.”
She takes over, plucking each petal, muttering to herself as she does.
Just as she reaches the last one, she raises her voice. “Pinball it is.”
“Lucky me.”
“No,” she sighs, shaking her head. “Lucky me. I told you I’m good, Roman.”
I lean forward, bending enough that my lips are near her cheek. “I have no doubt about that, Bianca.”
She takes a step back. “This isn’t a date.”
Smiling, I nod. “Noted.”
“This is a celebration.”
“Understood.” I inch back to take her in. “It’s a celebration, not a date. I’m clear on that.”
“Good,” she says, straightening her shoulders.
“My driver is waiting for me.” I step to the side to allow her to take the lead. “Easton Pub awaits.”
“I need to be home by eight.”
As do I, but I don’t offer that. “Is that your curfew?”
Shaking her head, she purses her lips. “Are you always this not-funny?”
“Always.”
Laughing, she sets off ahead of me. I follow behind, completely infatuated with this woman.
Chapter 14
Bianca
The drive from Central Park to Easton Pub might have been filled with non-stop flirting if I hadn’t received a panicked call from a contractor.
Since I took on my new position, I no longer have the ability to redirect calls like that to the senior project manager. That’s my role now, so I spent my time sitting next to Roman in an SUV, reassuring the contractor that I’d be on-site first thing tomorrow morning.
As soon as the driver parked next to the curb on the street in front of the pub, Roman was out of the car. He rounded it quickly to open the car door and extend a hand to help me out.
Chivalry may be a lost art, but Roman has it down to a science.
I stand to the side as he tries to beat my high score on the pinball machine that I darted to as soon as we were inside the pub.
Roman handled the drink order at the bar. He brought me a glass of vodka and cranberry juice. It was just the way I like it with two lime wedges on the rim. He opted for what looks like sparkling water.
I’d feel guilty about drinking alcohol when he’s not, but I need the liquid courage.
Sitting next to him during the ride here was intoxicating. He smells wickedly good, and his gaze never left me.
That hasn’t changed since we’ve been in the pub.
At least three drop-dead women have walked past us, but Roman has kept his attention solely on me until it was his turn to play.
He pushes the flipper buttons rapidly, trying to keep the ball in motion.
“You’re losing,” I point out with a tap of my fingernail on the top of the machine.
“I’m aware,” he says with a straight face. “You weren’t kidding when you said you’re good, Bianca.”
I smile. “I’m better than good.”
His eyes catch mine for the briefest of moments. “Tell me something else about you.”
I take the last swallow of the drink in my hand. “Twenty-seven, senior project manager, New York Yankees fan.”
His fingers stop as he turns to face me. “You’re joking.”
I watch the small white ball slip out of play and out of view. “I won.”
“You distracted me,” he points out. “With a lie about being a fan of that other New York baseball team.”
I laugh. “That other team? So you don’t even say their name?”
He shakes his head. “Never.”
“It seems we’ve come to an impasse.” I sigh. “I’m a lifelong New Yorker who knows which ball team is the best.”
His gaze sprints over my face. “I’m a lifelong New Yorker with a few years on you, so suffice it to say, I have more knowledge when it comes to which team is superior.”
“Is that how you argue in court?” I ask with a grin. “It’s weak.”
“Weak?” A smile ghosts his mouth. “I’m anything but weak, Bianca.”
I don’t need him to tell me that. He wears strength like one of his well-tailored suits. Everything about him screams masculinity. Power is etched in the nuances of his deep voice and how he moves. He commands attention.
