AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That’s not what I asked.”
His eyes narrowed, and his lips lifted into a smirk again. It seemed his default expression, as though inside his head were his own personal jokes he thought no one else would find funny, so he kept them to himself. “I’m uh…” he took another drink, steeling himself up to tell me something shocking perhaps, “… a mechanic.”
Not what I expected. “By trade?”
“Not yet. I was taught by a friend.”
“Sometimes that’s the best way.”
“Agreed. While his memory wasn’t as good as it was when he was younger, even the things he’d forgotten probably covered more than modern mechanics ever learned. I want to work on classic cars mainly, and I wouldloveto have my own business.” He paused as though once he started talking about it, it all came tumbling out, and he caught himself too late. Absentmindedly, he ran his fingers delicately over the stem of the wine glass, and I studied his hands. I can’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before, the slight callousing, the remnants of dirt and oil under his nails that would never go away no matter how much he cleaned them. Maybe he didn’t want to clean it, maybe it was a reminder to himself of what he was truly passionate about. Maybe it was a subtle, perhaps even subconscious, fuck you to what was expected of him.
“So what’s stopping you?” I asked.
Jacob eyed me again, another sweep of his hand through his hair, his fingers combing back the blond locks. A motion I hoped to do myself later. “It’s not that simple.”
“It rarely is. I wasn’t claiming it was. I asked, what’s stopping you?”
“Usually, when people say that, they meanwhy haven’t you just done it already?”
“Maybe, but that’s not what I meant.”
“There are expectations, you know? Dad is so keen for me to follow him career-wise, but there is a world of things I’d rather do between mechanic, the dream, and city planner, the last resort. Did you see my graduation photo on his desk today?” I nodded, and Jacob dipped his chin before continuing. “He’s so proud of me, and he’s never been anything but supportive, but the longer I leave it, the harder it gets to raise the topic, and whenever I mention work, he immediately begins talking about his, as though they’re one-in-the-same—his work and mine.” Jacob took another sip of his wine, again licking his lips and again making me think things about his lips and mouth I shouldn’t be in a crowded restaurant. “But enough about me, tell me your story.”
“I’m an architect.”
He laughed, and I smirked. “No shit. Tell me all the usual first-date stuff. How did you get into it? Why do you love it? Do you have any siblings, etcetera, etcetera?”
“How did we get from business to siblings?”
Jacob lifted a shoulder, his eyes flashing with a cheekiness that he displayed on the forefront of his personality. “As I said, general first-date questions.”
“I got into architecture because I enjoy creating and making something out of nothing. I chose architecture instead of art because I have a big ego, and I’m a control freak, and creating buildings is far grander than painting on a canvas or building a birdhouse.”
“Big ego and a control freak? Starting off with honesty.”
“You already know I like to be in control.”
Jacob chuckled, and we held eye contact. Again, for longer than was necessary and communicating all things that neither of us were going to voice just yet. “And the siblings?” he asked.
“I have many brothers and sisters, none of which I see.”
“Why?”
“We don’t get along.”
That slight smirk was coupled with unasked questions in his eyes, but it seemed he didn’t want to get into that line of questioning any more than I did, and the conversation moved forward. The waiter returned shortly to take our orders, and Jacob joked about me ordering for him, which I proceeded to do.
He really did need to learn who was in control here.
JACOB
Dinner was pleasant, more than pleasant. Mike was a gentleman in every way, although occasionally, we would share a look, and his eyes would blaze with intensity as he stared me down, a challenge that wasn’t verbalized but which I already knew I was going to take him up on.
Do you think you could handle me?
Fuck, he was hot, and getting sexier with every minute that passed. Every word from his mouth was gold, nothing seemed rehearsed or stoic, yet he continued to hold that graceful, professional demeanor about him, as though he was in complete control all the time. And with the ballet of the staff around him, I guess he did. He owned the situation, knew what would happen before it did, commanded attention without having to raise his voice, and held a conversation that was the perfect combination of flirting and actual getting-to-know-you style questions.
I was somehow relaxed in an atmosphere that would generally put me on edge.
