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“What the hell!”
“I know!”
“I really would have expected your flirt game to be on point.”
“I’m out of practice. You know I haven’t dated for the last year, after the relationship from hell. Besides, talking to him isn’t like chatting up some dude in a club. That man would absolutely see through my bullshit.”
My friend raised a brow and asked, “Is that how you normally hit on guys? By dazzling them with bullshit?”
“No. I just mean he’s a lot more sophisticated than what I’m used to. Not that I should even think about flirting with him. Alan Allen Alan has fired people for a lot less.”
“It’d be worth it. Aren’t you one foot out the door anyway, what with your looming quarter-life crisis and all?”
“Third-of-a-life crisis. I’m not going to live to be a hundred and twenty.”
“Not with that attitude.”
I grinned at that and said, “Let’s get to work. I don’t want to stay a minute later than I have to, and I really don’t want to incur the wrath of Alan Allen Alan Allen.”
“That’s literally the last thing we need.”
A few minutes later, I went to collect Volkov’s bill so I could cash out. Usually, he was gone by now, but this time I found him waiting for me. Two hundred-dollar bills were sticking from the top of the bill holder. It was significantly more than he usually tipped me, so I picked it up and said, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’ll be right back with your change, and—”
“No, I don’t want change. I just wanted to ask how you’re getting home.”
“Public transit, same as always.”
“Your back’s clearly giving you more trouble than it was when I first arrived, so may I offer you a ride?” Well, that was certainly unexpected.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s no problem. My driver is right out front.”
“I’d hate to keep you waiting. I’m going to be another twenty minutes.”
“It’s fine.” He slid out of the booth and held up his folder. “It’ll give me a chance to do some more reading.”
His physical presence was overwhelming. Obviously, I’d already known he was big and tall, but damn. Not that I was miniscule at five-ten, but this guy was huge—about six-three, and so broad and solidly built that I felt tiny by comparison.
I totally forgot what we were doing as I stared up at him. Finally, he asked, “So, is it a yes?”
I muttered, “God, yes,” before remembering we were talking about a ride home. Then I stammered, “I mean, um, yes. Awesome. I’d love a ride, thank you. I’ll meet you out front just as soon as I finish up.”
He’d always been dead serious, but for the first time, he looked amused. He gave me a single nod before heading for the door, and I quickly got back to work.
After I cashed out and completed my closing routine, I found Daniel in the back and said, “You’ll never guess what happened.”
“Hottie McCEO asked you out.”
“Damn it, now my news doesn’t seem as exciting.”
“Sorry. Tell me.”
“Hottie McCEO is giving me a ride home.”
“Well, then you know what you have to do,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Invite him in and ride him like a bull at the rodeo. Yeehaw!” He started making a lassoing motion with one hand while wildly jerking back and forth. I burst out laughing, and he straightened up and grinned at me. “Get out of here, before he gets tired of waiting and leaves your ass behind.”
“I’m going. See you tomorrow.” I stuffed my apron in the laundry bin before grabbing my coat and rushing for the door.
When I got outside, I discovered a black town car parked in front of the restaurant. Since its windows were tinted, I wasn’t quite sure it was Volkov’s. But then he climbed out of the backseat and held the door for me, and I hurried over.
Once we were both seated, the car pulled from the curb and he asked, “Where are we going?”
“I live in the Mission, near Delores Park.” After I recited the address, he pushed a button on an intercom and conveyed that information to the driver, who was separated from us by a tinted glass partition.
We rode in silence for a while. Why was I so nervous around this guy? Oddly enough, he seemed nervous, too. I had no idea why that would be the case.
Finally, he surprised me by saying, “That blond waiter you’re always talking to. Is he your boyfriend?”
“Daniel? No, we’re just good friends.”
He glanced at my profile. “But are you—never mind. It’s none of my business.”
“Gay?” When he nodded, I said, “Yeah, I am, and it’s not a secret or anything. In fact, I’ve been out since I was six, more or less. That was when I came home from first grade and announced I was marrying Jimmy Coppersmith. In retrospect, I have no idea what I saw in him. He was always sticking things up his nose—Legos, raisins, those little baby carrots. That’s not attractive.” Why was I telling him this story?
