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Laurie smoothed Scarlet Seduction over her upper lip, then the lower. Once both were coated, she pressed them together and let them part with a little pop. With the small chore attended to, she officially ran out of reasons to loiter in the ladies’ room at Delaney’s. Booker was in the bar, somewhere, ordering drinks while they waited for a table to open. In truth, she didn’t even need to use the restroom. She excused herself because she needed a moment to recover after their walk from her apartment to the restaurant.
Walking a quarter of a mile along well-maintained sidewalks didn’t elevate her pulse in the least, but walking a quarter of a mile with Booker’s fingers casually threaded through hers and his thumb caressing her palm with steady strokes that enflamed every one of her overheated nerve endings? That quickened her pulse. And she had a sneaking suspicion he knew it.
Stupid, letting such a simple gesture throw her off her game, but her system simply hadn’t known how to react when he’d reac
hed down and taken her hand. She wasn’t a hold hands kind of girl. Best she could recall she’d never walked hand in hand with anyone. Maybe Chelsea, when they were little, but otherwise? Nope. If she decided to let a man touch her, they didn’t waste time holding her hand. What was the point?
Except maybe there was one because five minutes of strolling hand in hand with Booker sent her straight to the restroom to wrestle with her equilibrium. What was wrong with her?
I don’t know, but the next time you go on a date with Booker, wear underwear.
Excellent plan. She pushed through the restroom door. The hum of conversations immediately surrounded her. It took some doing to maneuver her way through the crowd to where Booker stood beside the only empty barstool. He chatted with the bartender—a tall, sun-bleached stud named Jessie, who was basically a golden retriever trapped in the body of a man. Jessie’s easy-going smile dimmed when he looked her way.
“Hey, Laurie. ‘Sup?”
He extended an arm across the bar for a hug. She leaned in and gave him one, a little surprised when he didn’t let go right away. A quick glance at Booker revealed nothing. “What’s up with you, Jessie?”
“I heard about the fire. I’m super-bummed for you. And for me.” He slowly uncurled his arm, and gave her the puppy dog eyes. “I loved your maple-glazed waffle donuts.”
The weight of the loss settled on her again. In her preoccupation with Booker and this date, she’d momentarily forgotten the reason she’d agreed to this charade in the first place. “Hopefully I’ll be able to rebuild soon.” Assuming you repay the deposits, and your loan, and don’t go bankrupt in the meantime.
His smile returned. “Awesome. Let me know how I can help.”
She picked up the glass of white wine sitting on the bar next to Booker’s beer. “This helps.”
“Dude, wait. That drink is not for you. It’s for Booker’s date. She’s in the restroom.”
She glanced at Booker, who appeared to be stifling a laugh. “I’m back from the restroom.” So saying, she took a purposeful drink.
Granted, Jessie read the subtleties of a wave better than he read the subtleties of a situation, but it took what Laurie considered an insultingly long time before he slapped one hand to his forehead and lifted the other to Booker for a welcome-to-the-club fist bump. Also wrong. Booker was smart enough to dig for his wallet right then and “miss” the not-so-secret handshake.
“Oh, wow. You’re his date. I did not see that coming. But”—he regarded them for a moment, and nodded as if happy with what he saw—“cool.”
Not really, but they’d managed to convince one person they were on a legit date. She called that a win, and toasted herself with another swallow.
When Jessie stepped down the bar to serve other customers, she turned to find Booker’s eyes on her. Knowing and persistent. Like he awaited a confession.
Why was he giving her that look? She checked her earrings to make sure she hadn’t accidentally worn a mismatched pair. Nope. The oversize silver hoops matched. “What?”
A dark eyebrow arched.
Oh. “Once. A while ago. Don’t you dare throw stones.” She shrugged out of her jacket and draped it over the back of the barstool. “You’re no virgin. I can name names.”
His laugh startled her. “I have no intention of getting into a stone throwing contest with you. And for the record, I don’t give a single fuck who you entertained yourself with before New Year’s Eve.” He caught her chin and pulled her close for a hard kiss that ended way too soon. When he eased away his smile returned—the confident smile. “You’re mine now.”
Mine. She understood the context of his comment, but even so, the word uncaged wings in her stomach. Another big swallow of wine settled the annoying flutters. “I’m yours for now, pursuant to our…arrangement, which, judging by Jessie’s reaction, is going to be a hard sell.”
He rested a forearm arm on the bar, and leaned toward her. “What makes you say that? We sold Jessie.”
“Please. You can’t judge by what came out of his mouth. Reactions speak louder than words. Even with me standing right beside you, it took him a full minute to realize I was your date. The sheriff and the troublemaker don’t make the most intuitive of matches.” Nor did a guy from a wealthy, respectable family and a girl whose family tree might as well be a cactus. The list of reasons they made a laughable couple went on and on…
“You’re not a troublemaker.”
“Interesting statement, coming from you. I’m pretty sure I didn’t give myself a nickname like Jailbait.” Shit. This topic led down memory lane. A journey she didn’t want to make. Seeking escape, she reached for her wineglass.
His hand covered her wrist, stalling her. She looked up to find him staring at her with a serious expression. “I called you Jailbait because I wanted to get your attention, and make you understand the risks inherent in your situation. Lecturing you would have wasted my breath and your time.”
“Hey.” She shrugged, and slid her wrist out from under his hand. “The shoe fit.” Hoping that put an end to the conversation, she lifted the glass to her lips.
