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Shane’s face hardens, and it’s reassuring to see absolutely no doubt in his eyes. “He’ll stay away, or he’ll wish he had. But you’re safe, okay?”
I dip my chin, feeling silly that he’s still reassuring me, and deciding I need to act a bit more blasé about the whole thing, put it in my past and move forward. I’m supposed to be a tough girl, not a scaredy cat.
Decision made, I stand and straighten my back, rolling my shoulders back to look as tall as I can, which isn’t much considering my petite five-foot-nothing self. “Let me put on a fresh pot of coffee—”
Shane interrupts, straightening up himself. “Thanks, but I’d better get going. Need to get my truck before tonight’s shift starts.”
A tough ball of disappointment forms in my gut, but I plaster a fake smile on my face anyway. I mean, I was pathetic enough to almost beg him to stay last night. I shouldn’t keep the streak going. “Sure, of course. Want me to give you a ride back to the club?”
“No, thanks, I’ll grab a cab. I’m sure you’ve got plans today,” Shane says, getting up. I do have plans. I mean, I have to go to my other job, but he doesn’t know that. And there’s something about the way he says it that sounds like a dismissal, not like he’s fishing for me to hang out with him.
“Yeah, busy.” He folds the blanket and lays it on the arm of the couch, and something about that strikes me as so domestic, so tame considering he’s a wild beast of man who didn’t hesitate to put the beat-down on that guy last night.
The contrast makes me feel dizzy, or maybe that’s just him and how he makes me feel inside. I walk him to door, one hand on the doorknob as I turn and look at him again. “Thanks for last night.”
Shit, that sounds like I mean something else, something decidedly more vulgar, and I can feel the blush warming my cheeks. Even Shane smiles a little, and I quickly try to get myself out of this quicksand I’ve stuck myself in. “I mean with the guy at the club. And bringing me home.”
I know I look like a total fool, and Shane seems amused by my awkwardness. He gives me a little grin that leaves my heart hammering even more in my chest and chuckles. “You’re welcome. Just doing my job. Well, mostly,” he says with a pointed look at the couch. “But I’m glad I was here.”
I think he’s trying to make me blush more, and to be honest, he’s succeeding. “Uh . . . me too.”
Shane clears his throat, and I have a half-second to wonder if he’s serious that he liked being here. “I’ll see you tonight?”
I nod, thinking that I wouldn’t miss a shift at Petals for the world right now. “Yeah, I’m working dinner to close tonight, so I’ll see you later.”
There’s a moment where it seems neither of us knows what to do, so I finally lean in for a hug.
I mean, heck. I slept draped over the guy like he was a body pillow last night. A hug doesn’t seem all that intimate, right? And we’re colleagues, work buddies even. And work buddies will sometimes give each other a hug.
Except when I reach up and wrap my arms around him and press my chest toward his, all I can think about is how good he feels. My breasts tingle as they smoosh against his hard chest muscles, and my body feels every bit of his hand splayed on my back. I can almost read the way his fingers adjust their pressures, his thumb pressing against one of my ‘dimples’ for a moment before his fingers take over, alternating like he’s playing a piano before he pulls me tighter and his musky-manly scent fills my senses. I have to bite back the moan in my throat.
“You be good,” Shane says with a tantalizing ghost of huskiness in his voice that makes me think maybe he liked the hug as much as me. With one last full, white smile and a little two-finger wave, he steps out. “And take it easy.”
As soon as he’s gone, I melt back to the couch, a wistful sigh mixing with the floomp of my cushions as I flop.
“Damn, that man is hot with a capital Oh, yeah!” I sigh, knowing that he’s also incredibly off-limits, for so many reasons. First, there’s my waitress job where the no fraternizing rule is strictly enforced.
Second, there’s the fact that I’m undercover for the tabloid and he doesn’t even know my real name. He thinks I’m Meghan, not Maggie. Major buzzkill to be mid-flagrante delicto and for him to cry out your name, except it’s not yours but rather the alias you gave him.
