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I don’t either. It feels good to be brave again.
We hadto move to the airplane’s couch after attempting sex on the seat. It might have worked if Nate was shorter. Or if I was a contortionist.
After the flight we made a quick stop at the hotel to change and then we visited the job site. A posh live-work new-build halfway done. The style is more industrial, less homey than Grand Marin, which suits the area. Nate is specific about architecture and aesthetics. He has a gift.
“No wonder you’ve grown your wealth in this sector of Owen Construction,” I tell him after dinner. We ate at a sandwich shop downtown that served an amazing mushroom Reuben. I’m going to have dreams about that sandwich, mark my words.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He hails a cab and gives the driver an address that is not our hotel’s location.
“Where are we going?” I ask as Nate settles in next to me. He smells good, as usual. And in this stinky cab, that’s impressive. He leans his back on the seat and turns his head and smiles. I nearly melt into the overly warm vinyl.
“Pint Haus. It’s…rustic.”
“Rustic.” I make a face. That doesn’t sound good.
“Not the kind of place you’d frequent, but I like it. I want to show it to you.”
When the cab arrives at Pint Haus, I blink. He was right. I’d never step foot five blocks from a place like this. The wall is crumbling, the facade has seen better days—say, the mid ’80s—and the thumping of drums leaking from the inside hints that the band is long-haired and tattooed.
“This is what you wanted to show me?”
Nate grins. “Best dive bar in town. A city kid like me is more comfortable here than in one of Archer’s posh clubs.”
“I like posh clubs.” I push out my bottom lip and he kisses it.
“You can take the girl out of the snooty neighborhood…” he teases before helping me out of the cab.
I bristle at the noise coming from the bar. I feel safe with him, though. He’d never bring me into a situation where I was in danger. And if I was, he’d protect me.
Inside, we smash in with the crowd at the bar. Nate orders two beers.
“No dirty martini?” I call out over the noise.
“You want to be laughed out of this place?” He’s so damn appealing in this environment. When he changed at the hotel, he opted for casual trousers and a button-down. His sleeves are cuffed and rolled. I run my hand along the coarse hair covering one ropey forearm. He’s so masculine. Painfully sexy.
Beer bottles in hand, we press toward to the band. After a song and a half, the lead singer lets us know they’ll be back for a second set after he grabs “tequila and a blow job.”
“Charming,” I tell Nate as the band files off stage. Long hair and ripped jeans and tattoos galore. I’m a psychic. “You don’t have any tattoos.”
“Not a big fan of needles after Dad died with one in his arm.”
I wince. He bends and kisses my cheek, then says into my ear, “You’re cute when you’re worrying about me.”
“I’m not worried about you.”
“Uh-huh.” He checks out the crowd and I do the same. “What do you think?”
There are people of all ages and creeds in here. It’s a dive bar, but one with a hell of a lot of personality. I don’t feel unsafe after all.
“It suits you. I like being in the mix with the commoners.” I sip my beer and smile to let him know I’m being purposely obtuse. “I’ll never fit in here. If half of them had any clue who I was, I’d be dragged out and tossed into the gutter.”
He doesn’t smile. “Let’s test that theory.”
With his free hand, he takes mine and walks me to the first couple we see. They’re twentysomething, college kids, I’d guess, given their trendy clothes.
“Excuse me,” Nate says to them.
I jerk his arm in protest. What is he doing?
