Austentatious (14 page)
Authors: Alyssa Goodnight
“So, dinner?” Sean asked, tracing dizzying circles on the inside of my palm. Before I could formulate a response, he moved in closer, close enough to have me backing up against the security counter, whispering, “I’ll pretend to be an investment banker.”
My eyes widened in a mix of shock and confusion, and I stumbled over my words. “Wh-why would you do that?”
“To put you at ease. You don’t strike me as the type to date musicians.”
I tipped my head down and felt the flush creep up my neck. “I’m not actually dating anyone at all.”
“Brilliant! Can I assume that you’re free, then, it being a Monday night and all?”
The surprise and shock of it all, combined with the slow seduction of my palm, had me sliding into submission despite the clamor of protestations sounding in my brain.
“Sure,” I answered with what probably seemed like an overly dramatic exhalation of breath. “How about we meet at seven?”
We agreed on a place and exchanged cell phone numbers, and as I programmed his into my phone, I couldn’t help but imagine how bittersweet it was going to be when it was time to delete it.
“I’ll meet you there,” I said. “Without helmet hair.”
And then he flashed me that charming, irresistible smile and began, once again, to lean in. Images fluttered like butterflies in my brain, and for at least two excruciating seconds, I was dizzy with uncertainty. I’d imagined so many different ways to be kissed by this man—all of them quite excellent—and I was darn ready to get on with things.
At long last, his lips pressed softly against my temple, sending the blood rushing to that spot, causing a rhythmic pounding that closely resembled a sinus headache. Feeling the tingle on my skin, I realized that further time spent with Sean was bound to turn my face into a series of landmarks, all branded with his name. When he let go of my hand, I tightened my grip on my perky little bouquet and watched as he disappeared through the lobby’s revolving door. And then I climbed the steps back to my cube.
I was beginning to wonder if my fancy little spicy-scented journal worked like the famed wardrobe that secreted a passage to Narnia, as a portal that had sent me spiraling into some sort of parallel universe. The very idea was wildly unbelievable, but lately I felt like a stand-in in someone else’s life.
Dropping the daisies into a mug of tepid drinking water, I eyed their innocent little faces, forcing myself to remember that they were not the guilty party here. On edge, I shifted my gaze to stare at the phone, biting my lower lip. I suddenly had this intense need to talk to someone who understood about worlds colliding. I immediately thought of Beck.
She wasn’t working today—she had a full class schedule on Mondays—but I’d catch her between bells. I dialed her cell, and it went straight to voice mail, and I heard myself leaving an urgent, angsty message with a final plea to please try to call me before seven.
Conscious of the need to get some work done today, I swung into my lab coat, selected the pertinent binder from a tidily organized row, and carefully collected the tray of parts I needed to get tested that afternoon.
I ran into Brett on my way out—literally ran into him. He was lounging in the doorway of my cube, his hands deep in his pockets. He had an uncertain little-boy look on his face as he eyed the daisies peeping their mischievous little faces up over the edge of my travel mug.
“Flowers, huh?” His eyes swiveled back to me, and his smile seemed a little off.
I glanced over my shoulder and then back at him. “Um, yeah. A friend sent them.”
“Nice. Well, I just came by ...” He breathed out, his shoulders drooping slightly with the effort, and started over with, “The guy in the cubicle across from me told me you’d been by a few times.”
Hell. Who knew Brett had spies?
“Yeah.”
Think fast, think fast. How can I possibly justify swinging by at all hours of the workday?
Think fast, think fast. How can I possibly justify swinging by at all hours of the workday?
“Thought I’d better come pin you down after Saturday night,” he continued before I could muster anything useful.
“Saturday night?” I was seriously confused.
“At the wedding? I thought you were going to come upstairs and hang out.”
Oh crap.
Saturday night had been an out-of-body experience. But that probably wasn’t the best response here. “Yeah,” I answered, nodding, “I thought so too.” I shook my head a little, trying to convey my inadvertent mishandling of the situation. “I ended up leaving early,” I confessed, hoping this little fraction of the truth would satisfy him, hoping he’d never seen me with Sean.
Saturday night had been an out-of-body experience. But that probably wasn’t the best response here. “Yeah,” I answered, nodding, “I thought so too.” I shook my head a little, trying to convey my inadvertent mishandling of the situation. “I ended up leaving early,” I confessed, hoping this little fraction of the truth would satisfy him, hoping he’d never seen me with Sean.
“I figured. I didn’t see you again after the one dance.”
Shit! He saw me!
Frantically fidgeting with my pocketful of engineering tools, I forced myself not to react, to try to stay mysterious.
“Right. I left right after that. I should never have worn those shoes.” I was cringing inside, waiting for him to call me on this ridiculous skirting of the truth.
I smiled up at him and saw his gaze flick over the daisies again. As if he was making the connection I desperately didn’t want him to make.
Yes, I’m having dinner with that stranger tonight and planning to see him again Thursday night. But it’s just a fling, brought on by a little spot of blackmail!
Yes, I’m having dinner with that stranger tonight and planning to see him again Thursday night. But it’s just a fling, brought on by a little spot of blackmail!
“I gotta admit I was disappointed.”
This had me whipping my head up and stilling the hand in my pocket.
He was watching my reaction with interest and surprised me with the admission, “I was kinda hoping to talk to you beyond the realm of cubicles and the whole Whac-A-Mole dynamic.”
Recognizing the appeal of a padded mallet in my current work environment, I nevertheless tried to stay focused on the words coming from Brett’s mouth.
“You free for lunch any day this week?”
“Yep. Pretty much any day. Take your pick,” I offered, shooting him a much-relieved smile. Sean was no longer the elephant in the cubicle. Or if he was, Brett was content to ignore him.
“How about tomorrow?”
“That works.” I’d have to push back my trip to New Braunfels a few hours. Maybe I could swing an early-evening visit, steering clear of the
Jeopardy!
time slot
.
Jeopardy!
time slot
.
“Okay, well, see you then—unless I catch you skulking around my cube sometime before that.” He was clearly teasing, but it was hitting a little close to the mark. I plastered on a grin.
His eyes tipped down, taking in my white engineer’s smock, schoolgirl binder, and clunky heel straps, and a slow smile slid across his face.
“I know—it’s all very sexy,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“And here I thought it was my own personal fetish,” he admitted with a parting wink before shrugging off the doorjamb to head off down the hall.
Oh my God, he was serious! I stared down at myself, a shapeless figure in white with a pocket protector. Who knew?
Feeling the warmth of a full-on flush creeping up my neck and spreading into my cheeks, I hurried into the maze with my head down, making a beeline for the test floor. Looked like I’d be spending the remainder of the afternoon worrying alternately over my bumbling flirtations with both Sean and Brett. Not to mention trouble.
By six I’d shucked the smock and sped home to change. My thinking was to dress sensible and act the part. But gazing at myself in a tailored skirt and sweater set and remembering Sean’s tousled hair and effortless style, I figured it’d be nice to look like his date instead of his personal assistant. Even though this was not a date-date.
Fully aware that I was going to be late—when did this start?—I yanked off the sensible and scrambled to replace it with something sexy. I did a quick touch-up on my makeup and tamed a few flyaways with a squirt of hair spray. Feeling only marginally overdressed for Tex-Mex, I grabbed my purse and dashed for the door. I absolutely refused to check the calendar and psych myself out any further.
I made the drive in record time, wobbled across the potholed parking lot, and scanned for motorcycles. I didn’t see one—maybe he wasn’t here yet. I spared a moment to gather my nerve and remind myself that there was no need for me to be suffering all these first-date symptoms when this wasn’t a date. The last second before I pulled open the door was spent in calling myself a delusional idiot.
All was momentarily forgotten as I stepped into sensory overload. Mariachi music mingled with the sizzle of fajitas, and punched tin lanterns glinted off neon Mexican beer signs to create a quaint but jaunty ambiance. I approached the hostess with her scary-enthusiastic smile. She greeted me brightly. “Table for one this evening?”
“I’m actually meeting someone,” I informed her, trailing off, glancing around.
“There’s a man waiting in the bar,” she said, shifting her eyes that way, willing mine to follow, and letting hers linger. We shared a smile before I thanked her and headed off in Sean’s direction. I couldn’t help but wonder where his motorcycle was hiding.
He was staring up at a muted television screen, mesmerized by a frenzy of soccer players. Shaking his head, presumably in exasperation, he suddenly, almost guiltily, shifted his eyes in my direction. And I, just as guiltily, tried to pull mine up and away from his ass, hoping he hadn’t noticed. We shared a smile, and he nodded his thanks to the bartender, lifted a booted foot off the brass bar rail, and headed toward me.
He’d switched his jeans for chinos and covered that afternoon’s T-shirt with a charcoal gray crewneck sweater that looked suspiciously like cashmere. I had an almost overpowering urge to smooth my palms over his chest and snuggle into him. Not the best of sensible, restrained beginnings.
His lips quirked with some secret knowledge and he pointedly checked his watch. I tried not to squirm. “You’re late,” he informed me. “I would never have imagined that possible, Ms. James. But good for you.”
I had absolutely no response to this—an apology seemed out of place, and he didn’t seem to be expecting one. Palming my hand in his and raising an eyebrow that dared me to remove it, Sean led the way back toward the hostess station. We were seated immediately in a red vinyl corner booth.
As the hostess stood waiting with our menus, I lowered myself onto the right edge of the booth, swung my legs under the table, and tentatively started scooting. First test of the evening: Where should I stop in my scoot-around? Before I could decide, Sean dropped down onto the seat opposite and began his own scoot, rapidly closing the space between us.
I forced myself to focus on the hostess as she ran down the day’s specials, but a slight dip in the seat cushion had me glancing to my right, only to discover that Sean had, in one fell scoot, repositioned himself almost flush up against me. Our knees bumped, followed closely by our thighs. It was only when they’d finally settled against each other that the little zips and snaps of electricity settled down to a low-level buzz. Glancing up at Sean, I caught the look in his eye and once again felt as if he was daring me to shift away. I smiled warmly, keeping all sharp edges of my personality in check, and glanced again at the hostess, who finished with, “Your server will be right with you.”
This wasn’t going to work. My body went haywire whenever he so much as brushed against me, and here he was,
pressing,
lingering, driving me crazy. I casually shifted over a couple of inches, pretending to get comfortable.
pressing,
lingering, driving me crazy. I casually shifted over a couple of inches, pretending to get comfortable.
Sean looked me in the eye, quirked his lips, and in a low voice murmured, “I’ll follow you all the way around.”
My smile fell away a little, chipped off by the shock of it all, and I didn’t move again.
At that moment, it occurred to me that if I didn’t drag my nerve out of hiding, he was going to play everything to his advantage and probably end up scoring (in one way or another). At this rate it was only a matter of time before my willpower tanked and my plan to stay detached and project incompatibility crashed and burned.
The busboy appeared, bearing tumblers of ice water, little bowls of chunky red salsa, and a heaping basket of golden tortilla chips. Depositing these, he dodged away without a word.
Sean leaned into me as I reached for a chip.
“Did you notice? I’m dressed as ‘Investment Banker on Casual Date.’ ”
“Very nice.” I shot him an amused smile. “But not necessary.”
“If it helps you relax, then I’m all in. And next time, you can return the favor by dressing like a rock star. Wild hair, a little leather, lots of skin ...”
This was a bit of a shocker. “Is that how your band dresses?”
“No, but if we had a female band member, we’d absolutely make her dress like that.” His grin was quick and sure, and I was getting a little addicted to it. I decided not to mention that there wouldn’t be a next time.
He was quiet for a bit, staring at me. Initially I filled the silence crunching chips, but eventually self-consciousness won the day, spurring me to stop eating and ask, “What are you doing?”
“Picturing you in leather.”
My stomach lurched. It appeared the evening would have me floundering in ways I’d never predicted.
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