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“Where do you want to sit?” Grace asks. “You look like a guy who likes to sit at the bar.”
“Wrong. Let’s get a table.” She isn’t wrong. I like sitting at the bar when I’m with the guys or with a woman with whom I don’t have much to talk about with. But Grace intrigues me. I want to get into her psyche and know what makes her tick. There is more to her than she lets on, and I’ve noticed that she talks very little about her personal life. As a person used to hiding their identity, I can spot a kindred spirit, and Grace is one. I have no clue why she is so private, seeing that she has had a regular childhood and job. Maybe it’s just my imagination. It wouldn’t be the first time it has led me astray.
I pull out a chair for her, and after she sits down, I sit down on the one opposite. Excitement courses through me as I look around. It feels so fucking good to be out in public with no one coming to ask me for an autograph or a picture. It is more than exciting. It’s exhilarating.
A soft laugh breaks out of Grace. “You look like a boy who has just received a new toy. I know the Alms is good; I just didn’t know it was that good.”
I laugh. “I haven’t been a bar in ages. I love the energy here.”
“I’m glad you like it,” she says, an amused look on her face.
The server comes to take our order. I ask for a beer as does Grace.
“You look like a wine person.”
She chuckles. “I hate the taste of wine, but I drink it when I’m forced by the occasion to do so.”
“What kind of occasion would that be where you had to drink a different beverage from what you like?”
The laughter leaves her face. “I once dated this guy, and when I accompanied him to his work events, he insisted that I drink wine. Apparently, it’s unladylike to drink beer.”
“That’s bull,” I say hotly. “He was an idiot and full of himself.”
Grace smiles. “I thought so too. That’s why I got rid of him.”
“Smart woman.”
The server brings our beers and pours them into glasses. When she leaves, Grace takes a long sip, and when she sets her glass back on the table, she has a foam mustache.
I chuckle and reach out to brush it off with a finger. “As lovely as you look with a mustache, I’m thinking you might not want it there.” Pure, raw need races through me as I touch her. It has been too long if a simple touch with a finger has the power to get me so hot.
“Thanks,” she says. “Go on, taste yours.”
We’ve ordered a microbrew specially made for the bar, as the server told us. I reach for my glass and take a long sip. It has a nice malty taste, and it flows down my throat smoothly.
“I like it.”
Grace giggles and then reaches out to wipe my foam mustache just as I did hers. As she’s about to withdraw her hand, I capture it, turn it around and kiss it. When I look up to meet her gaze, her eyes are smoldering with passion. I feel like I’ve stumbled upon an early Christmas present, and I can’t wait to get home and rip it open.
Chapter 3
Grace
I can’t even use the excuse of a drink to explain why Jack and I are headed to my place. I’ve only had two beers, my absolute maximum when I’m driving. He had three beers, and they don’t seem to have affected him. We’re both in our right minds when we decide to continue the date at my place.
However, I have one stop to make before we get home. I bring the car to a stop outside a convenience store and turn to him.
“We need to buy condoms.” My voice trembles with embarrassment. It gives away the fact that I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what the etiquette is, but I do know that I don’t have condoms at home, and I’m definitely not sleeping with anyone without taking precautions. Even the delectable Jack.
“No worries. I’ll go in and grab some,” he says in an easy voice that tells me he has done this before. Foolishly, a pang of jealousy spears through me, and I immediately scold myself. We’re not sixteen years old. We’re not even in a relationship.
As Jack gets out of the car and strolls to the convenience store entrance, a cold sweat breaks out on my skin. What am I doing? It’s crazy to take a strange man home. He could be a serial killer for all I know. Plus, I’m not that kind of girl. What if my parents could see me now? What would they think?
