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How bout you wear a hat and we just stay in the back, huh?
I sent back a grinning emoji and was on my way to go shower when his text came through.
And not that raggedy black one—doesn’t actually do shit to hide your damn pretty face.
I grinned for real at that, and snapped a picture of myself to send back in answer.
* * *
—
The Firefly Club was at 133rd and Lenox, and the sign outside informed me that Billie Holiday had played here. I pulled my hat down lower over my eyes as I waited for Caleb in the moonlight, but suddenly felt pretty sure that being recognized wasn’t going to be a problem. In fact, the bigger problem seemed to be that I was embarrassingly underdressed. I’d thrown on threadbare jeans and a worn white V-neck T-shirt, shoved my feet into black ankle boots, and jammed the wide-brimmed hat over my still-damp hair on my way out the door, expecting a typical dark, crowded bar where the more nondescript my clothes were, the better I’d blend in.
I felt like an idiot as I leaned on the corner next to the club and watched a steady parade of sharply dressed people stream in. The audience was mostly black, and mostly a bit older—forties and fifties, with some younger folks and much older mixed in. I messed with my phone, nervously, wondering if I should try and find a store to buy a different shirt, but Caleb came up before I could google any.
His smile made me forget about everything, momentarily, as did his warm hand on my shoulder.
“Okay?” he asked, and I leaned in, wanting to smell him.
“I’m seriously underdressed,” I said. “I feel like a dork.”
Caleb was also wearing jeans, but his were nice, dark denim, cuffed neatly above worn brown wingtips. His brown- and blue-checked shirt was tucked in, giving me a very welcome view of his incredible ass, and the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. A tight-fitting brown and gray vest hugged his torso and drew my eyes to the bulge of his biceps and the breadth of his chest and shoulders. I could just see the top of his tattoo at his unbuttoned collar.
“Damn,” I murmured. “You look good as hell.”
He ducked his head and muttered his thanks.
“You’re fine,” he said. “Really. The hat…ya know, dresses it up.” He tapped the brim of my hat.
“Should I tuck in my…?” I tried to tuck in my T-shirt, but my jeans hung too low on my hips.
He snorted. “No, just stop messing with yourself. I swear, you’re the fidgetiest damn thing I’ve seen since rehab.” He squeezed the back of my neck and I felt myself melt under his touch.
“Fuck,” he muttered, leaning close. “When your eyes go all sleepy like that I want to—” He shook his head as if to clear it and smoothed his beard aggressively, shooting me a hot look that I’d think was a glare if I didn’t know him.
I pushed my hips toward him and snaked my hand into his back pocket, looking up at him through my lashes to intensify the effect.
“Fuckin’ flirt,” he said, but his eyes were smiling and he didn’t look away.
“Is this a date?” I asked, pitching my voice low and soft. “I want it to be a date.”
Caleb had this face he made that was the expressional equivalent of a beleaguered groan, and it turned me on like nothing else because I knew it meant I was seriously getting to him. I hadn’t pushed the sex thing, though I’d wanted to. I respected the shit out of anyone who’d gotten clean, and it was clear that rushing into anything—well, rushing into anything again—scared Caleb. But…I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel like a rejection. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t tried to get a rise out of him, remind him that when he was ready, I was more than willing.
“Depends,” he bit off.
“Oh yeah? On what?”
He leaned in close enough that I could feel his breath on my neck, but didn’t touch me.
“On whether your idea of a date is that I come back to your place after this show and fuck the ever-loving hell out of your flirtatious ass.”
A sound escaped me that was half gasp and half mewl, and I let my eyes flutter shut, grabbing for whatever parts of him I could reach.
“That a yes?” he growled.
“Uh-huh.” I pulled his hips into mine so he could see how hard I was just at his words. Just thinking about what he would do to me. He hissed and drew back, breathing steadily.
“Kiss me?” I breathed. “Just once.”
Caleb’s eyes burned. Jesus, he was the most intense person I’d ever met. And I’d met some intense motherfuckers. His hand drifted up to cup my cheek, and he pressed his thumb against my mouth. Then he deliberately shook his head no, and I actually felt my eyes go misty from the intensity of my disappointment. From how badly I wanted to feel his mouth on mine. How desperately awful the distance he’d put between us felt.
