“What about the other girl who works here? Your friend with the blond hair?”
“April can’t work on you.”
“She’s not any good?”
“We’ll go with that.”
The corner of his mouth pulls up in a slow smirk. “You don’t want her to touch me?”
Now he’s poking fun. “Never mind. This isn’t a good idea.”
“Whoa, whoa. Okay, no April. We’ll go with Marcie then, or I can see the team therapist if I have to.” He huffs out a breath. “So how long will I have to wait for you to be able to work on me again?”
“I won’t ever be able to treat you again.” I don’t mention that if one date turns into many, and I end up being more than just someone he sleeps with and tosses aside, I’ll be more than happy to provide all services free of charge. He doesn’t need to know that.
He runs a rough hand through his hair. “Never?”
“You can’t be my client anymore. Not ever.”
“Fuck. It’s really that final.”
I nod solemnly. “I could lose my job otherwise.”
“For going on a date? Shit. Well, I don’t want that to happen.” He dips his head resolutely. “Okay. So two dates, one coffee and one dinner, in whatever order you’d prefer them.”
I have to force my face to stay neutral. “One date. Dinner or coffee.”
“I think we need to do some negotiating. If I have to give up massages from you forever, it’s only fair that I get more than one kick at the can here.”
I raise a brow at his choice of words. I also have to bite my tongue to keep from telling him that technically this would be his third kick at the can.
“In case I screw something up,” he continues, “which is entirely possible since this whole dating thing is off the grid for me. So one dinner date and one coffee date?”
It doesn’t surprise me that he hasn’t had much dating experience. Girls have probably thrown themselves at him his entire life. Still, it’s obvious he’s trying.
“Fine. One dinner and one coffee. Any more stipulations you’d like to add to the bargaining table?”
Lance tips his chin in the air and regards the dusty lights above. “The dates have to occur within a week of each other.”
He’s rather charming. “Very practical. We wouldn’t want to drag it out unnecessarily.”
“You’re sassy. I like it a lot. What’re you doing Friday night?”
“I work until six.”
“I’ll pick you up for dinner at seven thirty? Is there any type of food you’re particularly averse to?”
“Food aversions?”
“Things you don’t like to eat.”
“Oh. I won’t eat things with tentacles, or meat babies.” I shiver at the thought.
“Meat babies?”
“Like lamb or veal.”
“Oh, got it. No lamb or veal. Anything you love?”
You wearing nothing, lying on my table. “I like comfort food. Pasta, things like that.”
He smiles. “Great.” He taps his forehead. “I’m locking all that information away in here.”
“Okay. Well, I guess I should get my things and go home.”
“Right. Yeah. Sure. I can walk you to your car?”
I find it interesting that he makes it more of a statement than a question. “Sure, I’ll grab my purse and coat.”
“’Kay. I’ll wait here.” He pushes up on his toes a couple of times.
I can feel his eyes on me as I head back to my room to get my things. I’ve agreed to go out with Lance. On a date. Two actually. I don’t even know what to think. I grab my purse and slip into my jacket. As fall settles in and the temperature drops, layers are becoming necessary.
When I return, Lance is standing at the desk, checking his phone. He’s smiling.
“Ready to go,” I say.
He hits a couple of buttons, pockets his phone, and turns that grin on me. “Cool.”
I lock up the clinic, and Lance walks me across the lot. This time he doesn’t leave the usual space between us, and the back of his hand grazes my hip.
I’m nervous when we reach my car. His Hummer is parked right behind my Mini this time. I adjust the strap of my purse and look up at him. Strangely, he looks as nervous as me.
He scans my face and takes a small step closer. I can see his hand lifting in my peripheral vision. My hair is in a ponytail, which is sitting on my shoulder. He fingers the end of it.
“Why do I always want to pull this?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he used to do it when we were kids. But I don’t have the opportunity, because he drops his head and his lips skim my cheek.
“I want to kiss you, pretty Poppy.”
“You just did,” I whisper.
“I want do it again, but here.” His thumb touches my bottom lip.
“Oh.”
He’s so close. His lips almost touching mine as he asks, “Can I do that?”
“Yes, please.”
His lids grow heavy, and he kisses the corner of my mouth. I’m transported back in time, to a dark closet at a party I never should’ve been at. Lance strokes my cheek and rests his palm on the side of my neck. The other hand skims the length of my arm until he reaches my fingertips.
He leans back a little, and for a second I think it’s over before it’s even begun, but he takes my hand in his. Uncurling my fingers, he lifts it and presses my palm against his cheek. A full-body tremor runs through him, and his eyes drift closed. He turns his head toward my palm, and I smooth my thumb along the contour of his bottom lip. A deep sound comes from the back of his throat, making my skin prickle and heat blossom in my belly.
When he opens his eyes again, the fire in them matches the heat flooding my entire body. “Can you keep yer hand right here?”
“If you want me to, yes.”
“I definitely do.”
He leans in and brushes his lips over mine again. It’s soft and warm. The next time he takes my bottom lip between his, he releases it slowly, and then does the same with the top one. When his tongue flicks out, I might whimper. Light fingers cup my head, and I tilt it back farther.
I part my lips, and his tongue sweeps my mouth. His groan is low, sending a shiver down my spine. He drops the hand that’s keeping mine pressed against his cheek. His arm winds around my waist, and he pulls me in tight against him.
I expect the kiss to grow in intensity. It doesn’t, though I can feel the heat building inside me. That feeling I’ve been searching for all these years is finally back.
My other hand abandons the strap of my purse, because there are far better places for it to go. I follow the contour of muscle in his arm to his shoulder. As soon as my cold fingertips connect with the warm skin on his neck, Lance makes another needy sound and tightens his hold around my waist.
The flash of headlights reminds us we’re in the middle of a parking lot. Lance disconnects his mouth from mine, and we turn to see a police cruiser moving through the lot.
“Fucking cops, ruining my goddamn moment.”
I laugh. It’s all breathy and shaky, like the rest of me.
The cruiser stops in front of my car, and the window whirs down. “Everything all right here?”
“Just saying good night, sir.” Lance has his arm thrown casually over my shoulder, but his fingertips are pressing in.
“He was making sure I got to my car safely.” I gesture to the mostly empty lot and state the obvious. “Because it’s dark.”
The policeman regards us for a few long seconds, as if discerning whether we’re likely to be thieves. He must decide we’re harmless. “Careful out here at night. There’ve been some car break-ins lately.”
“Thanks for the warning, officer.” Lance raises a hand.
The police officer taps the side of his car and rolls away, the window whirring up.
Once he’s moved on, Lance returns his focus to me. “Maybe you want to go out for drinks now or someth
ing?”
“I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Right. Okay. What about tea? Or maybe a bite to eat?”
“You want to have dinner tonight instead of Friday?”
“It won’t count as dinner. It’s too late.”
“So this is our coffee date, then?” I’m egging him on.
“Well, no. Not unless we have coffee, which probably isn’t the best idea since it’s late. Unless you want to pull an all-nighter with me.” His expression is impish.
“I have to be up early tomorrow.”
His eyes dip back to my mouth. “I bet you could do it.”
“Just because I can doesn’t mean I should.” I imagine an all-nighter with Lance would be exhausting for reasons other than lack of sleep.
“What about going for ice cream then?”
“It’s October.”
“Or some other dessert? Please, Poppy.” He tugs on the end of my ponytail. “I want a reason to say good night again.”
If he means kissing me, he hardly needs an excuse. “I guess dessert wouldn’t hurt.”
“And that way this doesn’t count as part of the dinner and a coffee date thing.”
“You’re quite the negotiator, aren’t you?”
“I always won in debate class. So should I follow you home and we can hit a place near there?”
“Sure. That would work.”
Lance holds my door open. Before I get in he puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head up. I expect some tongue or something, but all I get is a quick brush of lips. “Drive safe.”
“You, too.”
I drop into the driver’s seat, my legs feeling like they’re made of rubber. Lance’s Hummer revs to life, the loud rumble drowning out the sound of my engine turning over and the music filtering through my speaker system. His lights practically blind me. I turn my head away, letting my eyes adjust to the dark for a moment, before I pull out of the lot, and he follows me to my neighborhood.
The butterflies in my stomach won’t stop, and my palms are sweaty. I park in front of my house, but Lance has to drive a little farther down to find a spot for his giant vehicle.
While he’s parking, I run into my house, change into a pair of jeans and a mostly wrinkle-free sweater, and return to meet him on my front porch.
“There’s a little dessert place a couple of blocks away. Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah. Dessert’s my favorite.”
“Great.” We start down the sidewalk. I have to take two steps for every one of his long strides. “They have all kinds of homemade pies and cakes and scones and things, and this amazing lavender tea.”
“Nice. I’m actually kinda hungry now, so that’s perfect.”
“I imagine that’s fairly constant for you.”
“Pretty much.” Lance shoves his hands in his pockets as we walk, so I do, too. “You said you grew up in your house, right? So you’ve lived here all your life?”
“Until high school. We moved to Galesburg for a few years right before I started, but my parents didn’t sell the house. I guess they always thought we’d be back. Or maybe it was a good investment property. The neighborhood’s improved a lot over the years.”
Lance takes in the houses lining the street. They’re pretty, and many of them have been face-lifted, if not totally remodeled, since my childhood.
“I lived around here for a few years,” he says.
“Oh? Whereabouts?”
“Not too far away, I don’t think. Lister Street? All of this looked familiar the last time I came here. My aunt’s moved since I lived with her, so I haven’t been back in this neighborhood for a long time.”
“Oh? Where’d she move to?” I want to distract him from questions about me. Now that he’s taking me out, I can and probably should tell him the entire truth, but I’m not sure how to divulge that information yet.
“Up to Wisconsin, out of the city. Her kids are grown and out of the house. My one cousin’s married with kids in Milwaukee, and I think she wants to be close to them and all.”
“How old were you when you moved to Chicago, anyway?” I think my school must’ve been the first place he came, based on the rumors back then, but asking keeps the focus away from me.
“Thirteen. It was late spring. I didn’t expect it to be so freaking hot since it had been winter the last time I visited, and that was when I was ten. Scotland doesn’t get snow that much, not where I’m from, and the temperature changes aren’t as extreme as they are here.”
“You must’ve been so sunburned that first summer.”
“Oh, fuck! I had the worst sun poisoning. I was barfing for, like, three days, and I was covered in blisters. My mum was pissed. I had to miss two hockey practices, I was so sick.” His jaw tics. “I never went outside without a ball cap or sunscreen after that.”
“Was it hard to get used to winter?”
“Not too bad, since it meant playing lots of ice hockey.”
“Did you start playing Rep hockey as soon as you moved? That must’ve been a huge change.”
“I did. I was old to be starting. Most of these kids had been on skates since they could walk, but I loved playing, and it was a good outlet for me.”
“Your parents must be so proud of you.” Mine are happy that I have a full-time job in the field they spent all sorts of money educating me for, and that I found a job that suits me. Obviously they’re proud, too, but becoming a massage therapist is a lot different than a professional hockey player.
“I don’t talk to them all that much. I mean, I guess my dad is proud, but he isn’t all that connected to the family, and he wasn’t here when it mattered.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault. My mum isn’t really a good person, so I don’t much blame my dad for leaving.”
I don’t ask any more questions about his family, because it seems to put him in a dark mood, and I’d much rather have the flirty, sweet, funny Lance. My family has always been pretty close. Even my sister, who has a hard time settling down anywhere, always shows up for the important events, though most of the time she asks for money before she leaves. Fortunately, we’ve arrived at the little café. It’s busy, maybe because it’s a Monday night and lots of places aren’t open.
Lance holds the door open for me and groans when the smell of sugar, coffee, and baked goods hits him. “Now I’m really starving.”
“We’ll feed your beast.” I pat his flat stomach, then realize the unrequested contact might not be all that welcome.
But he grabs my hand before I can pull it away. He threads his fingers through mine and squeezes before guiding me through the tables to the counter. A glass case features muffins, scones and ornately decorated cakes. On the chalkboard menu above the cashier is a list of sundaes and ice cream options.
“There’s a gummy bear sundae?” Lance asks, awestruck. He looks at the girl standing behind the counter. “Is that any good? Do they really use gummy bears?”
“Um. Yes. And everything here is good.”
He looks down at me. “Have you ever had one?”
“No. I usually get their lava cake, but you’re allergic to chocolate, right?”
“You can still get it.”
“Well, how allergic are you?”
Lance frowns, and then his eyebrows pop up, his eyes moving to my mouth. “Uh, on second thought, I guess it might be better to avoid it if you want me to say a proper good night later.”
“I’d like a proper good night.”
His smile is devilish. “I’d like several proper good nights.”
Lance orders the gummy bear sundae and a strawberry tea—this place doesn’t have a liquor license—and I get the carrot cake and lavender tea. We look around for a table, but the options are limited. Lance spots a tiny two-top in the corner, grabs my hand again, and leads me over. He pulls out my chair, tucking me in. Then he moves his chair so he’s not across from me, but perpendicular, his kn
ee touching mine as it bounces under the table.
“I like this place.”
I shrug out of my jacket. “Me, too. April and I come here sometimes.”
“The girl at the clinic, right? The one you don’t want to touch me.”
“That would be her.”
Lance tugs the end of my ponytail, running his fingers through it. His smile falters, and he sifts through the strands again. “I have this memory from when I first moved here—”
The server brings our drinks and desserts over, interrupting him. My heart stays firmly lodged in my throat, though.
Lance’s sundae is ridiculously huge, and as advertised, it’s covered in gummy bears and some sort of white topping.
“What’s on that?”
“Marshmallow fluff.” Lance digs in, twirling his spoon as it gathers ice cream, fluff, and gummy bears. He shoves the massive spoonful in and makes a contented food-love sound.
“Is it good, then?” I ask.
He makes hand gestures, but he can’t actually respond for the moment. It takes a long time before he’s finished chewing enough to use words.
“The gummy bears are so cold and hard. It’s magically delicious.” He puts on an overdone, fake Irish accent for the last part. “You need to try this.”
He shoves the spoon in and drags it through the ice cream, holding it out to me. It’s heaping. I don’t even think I can open my mouth that wide.
“That’s too much.”
He frowns and looks at the spoon, then sticks it in his mouth, removing about half the contents before he holds it back out to me. “How’s this?”
I make a face. “It’s got your spit all over it now.”
“So? You’ve already had my spit in your mouth. What’s the big deal?”
“Lance!” I look around to see if anyone has overheard, but no one’s paying attention to us.
“It’s true. But fine, I’ll try again.” He flips the spoon over and keeps his eyes on mine while he licks off the contents. When he’s done, he flips it back over, licking the other side clean. He’s incredibly thorough. I have lots of thoughts about how talented he must be with that tongue. And now that he’s not my client, I allow my imagination to run.
Holding the spoon up, he asks, “Is this okay? Or do you need me to get a clean spoon that hasn’t been in my mouth at all?”
Pucked Off (The Pucked Series) Page 16