She could do this. Maybe. Although going home and bingeing on Netflix shows did seem appealing at the moment. What if he looked nothing like his profile picture? What if he had a machete in his car and was going to take a swing at her when they said good night? Was she supposed to kiss him good night?
Dear Lord. This was a lot to think about.
Just as she reached for the door handle, a text came through.
Reece: Fun fact: Peaches has picked up on sign language. She now knows the sign for beer. Next week I’m going to train her to grab one out of the fridge.
Sloane exhaled a laugh, and the tension flooded from her chest. It was highly unlikely the dog would ever be able to open the fridge when she was barely bigger than the beer itself. Also, it was endearing that Reece had taken to caring about Peaches, even if he didn’t outright say it.
Sloane: Keep your cheese somewhere safe. Dogs love that.
Reece: Good to know. Have a good night, Smurfette.
She stared at her phone. Do it. Ask me out. I’ll cancel my date this nanosecond if you do. She was woman enough to admit that her thundering chest had nothing to do with her scheduled date and everything to do with the prospect of seeing Reece again. She’d much rather spend the night listening to Reece bicker about Supernatural than spend it in a stuffy French restaurant.
She pocketed her phone and opened her car door. The damp air chilled her bones, and she wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. Portland wasn’t known for its dry winter. Instead, it was filled with a whole lot of rain. Over the mountain, it was a winter wonderland, but in the valley, they were lucky to get a few snow days. Water sloshed on her boots, peppering the tops of the brown leather with raindrops. She pulled her hood over her hair, hoping that her flatiron job wasn’t a total wash.
She opened the door to the restaurant at exactly seven. The restaurant was packed, many of the patrons standing, waiting for their names to be called to be led to tables. She did a quick scan of the waiting area and debated scurrying back to her car.
Nope. You made it here. At least give the guy a chance.
She owed herself that much. Because even if Sloane was perfectly content being single, she’d reached a point where she was ready to share her life with someone. And Aaron with the affinity for khaki pants just might be that person. Who knew?
A man who resembled Aaron’s profile picture leaned against the wall nearest the hostess station, staring at his phone. He was cute. Had a dimpled chin, black-rimmed glasses framing blue eyes, sandy-brown hair that was crafted with hair wax, and was wearing a nice button-down that fit against his lithe frame. Everything that would normally send her heart into palpitations. She waited for it. To feel an ounce of something. A Whoa, baby, you need to get on that steed, STAT.
Nada.
This isn’t even close to how you feel when you’re around Reece.
She told her inner voice to shove it.
Then again, she still had time to duck out without him noticing.
No. She owed herself this. Sometimes connections took time. It was a possibility that by the end of dinner, she could feel totally different. She took a deep breath and made her way over to him.
“Aaron?”
“Hey, Sloane.” He smiled and stuck out his hand.
Oh. Okay. So formal. She took his grip and shook. She hadn’t been on a date in years, so maybe this was the new protocol. Also, the fact that she even had to second-guess how to start a date made her feel super old and crotchety. And now she was doing a mental eye roll at herself because she sounded like her parents when they’d chime in with, “When I was your age, I used to walk to dates uphill in the snow, both ways.” Her father had grown up in Southern California, and her mother had been raised in Florida. Highly doubtful on both claims.
“I told the hostess to hold our table, even though you’re late,” Aaron said.
She glanced at her phone because she remembered giving herself a mental pat on the back that she was early when she’d pulled into the parking lot. It was still seven on the dot. “I was right on time.”
He shook his head and rolled his eyes. Actually rolled them. It seemed so off compared to Aaron’s persona online, where he’d come off as light and breezy. Which was exactly what she needed. Definitely not a broody firefighter who didn’t know what he wanted out of life.
She let Aaron’s comment slide. Maybe he was one of those nuts who actually liked to show up ten minutes early to everything. The only thing Sloane was on time for was work, and that was out of necessity. Everything else went on her own time frame.
The hostess walked them to a table at the window facing the streets of downtown. The table itself was nice. A large lacquered wooden tabletop complete with a small vase of flowers and votive candles. The waitress filled their crystal stemmed glasses and brought a basket of bread.
“I’m glad I got to meet up with you tonight,” he said, looking over his menu. His jaw worked as he chewed a piece of gum, and then he popped a loud bubble.
Sloane flinched. “Yeah. This is actually my first date from online dating.”
He quirked a brow, looking over his glasses at her. “Why? You got something wrong with you?”
Whoa there. Sloane was a direct person by nature, but even she knew the difference between that and just plain rude. She dragged her finger through the condensation on her glass and made a heart. “Uh. No. I just wasn’t ready.” Maybe she still wasn’t ready.
She swallowed hard.
He laughed. “I’m just messing with you. But it does seem like a common problem with you ladies.”
“Excuse me?” Oh no. She thought she’d done her homework, researched the guy’s profile. Nothing in it pointed to him being a jerk. He’d passed the three-point background checklist Erin had given her:
Employed/no arrest records
No recent pics of exes
No mansplaining posts
But Sloane supposed a few a-holes could slip through the cracks.
“Sorry. I know it’s sometimes hard to understand. But I saw this article online that said that when women are getting old and their eggs are drying up, they become desperate to finally find someone. To, you know, have kids and all.” He adjusted his stupid Clark Kent frames, and Sloane had the urge to rip them off his face and chuck them into the fireplace in the corner of the restaurant.
Did he really just casually drop info about a BS article regarding the female reproductive system within five minutes of meeting her? Oh. Hell. No.
And Sloane’s eggs weren’t drying up. She wasn’t even over the thirty mark. And she knew she hadn’t done this in a long time, but was it socially acceptable to throat-punch on the first date?
“I don’t know who you think you’re taking out on a date, but let’s get one thing clear. You don’t get to try to school me about my own gender.” She stretched her neck from side to side. Settle in, Aaron, because it’s about to get real up in here.
Just as she was about to rip into the dude some more and possibly toss her wine in his face, a text buzzed through on her phone.
Reece walked down Twenty-First Avenue, trying to figure out what he wanted to do for dinner. He’d been in a foul mood ever since he’d found out Sloane was going on a date tonight. Damn Erin for planting that seed in his head to go see Sloane. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about her sitting across from some schmuck, his hands coasting over her curves.
His curves.
Fine. Not his. But damn it, he wanted that to be true. He was man enough to admit he’d kiss her feet and beg if he needed to. It was more than just the physical attraction. Sloane was easy to talk to. He could tell her things. Something he hadn’t been able to do for a long time. And every time she smiled around him now, it wrecked him. That smile made him burn hotter than any fire he’d fought. He’d gladly burn for one chance with her.
So he’d walked to the exact spot where Erin had told him Sloane would be. Why, exactly, he didn’t know. What was he really going to do? Wav
e her down from the street like a lovesick teenager? Not exactly his style. It shouldn’t have bothered him, but what did she even know about the dude?
His eyes caught a flash of blue in the restaurant window. And there was Sloane, staring at her wine, frowning. And then the dude said something, and an inferno burned in Sloane’s eyes, and if looks could do anything, hers would have incinerated the guy right there in his seat till there was nothing left but ash and embers. He couldn’t tell what Sloane was saying, but she was gesticulating wildly with her hands, and a few patrons around her were taking notice. He considered storming into the restaurant and swooping in to save her, but he knew Sloane better than that. She’d resent him because she liked to save herself. He’d respect that even if it went against his every single instinct.
He pulled out his phone.
Reece: Unhappy with your date because you know I’d be a much better conversationalist?
He knew the second his text went through because she stopped midconversation and picked up her phone from the table. A smile spread across her face, and Reece felt like he’d won some victory. His chest tightened. He liked that smile. It’d been years since he’d seen her smile like that . . . because of him.
Sloane: I’m having a fabulous time. We’re really hitting it off.
Why did she feel the need to lie to him? Was it just another way for her to try to get under his skin? Whatever it was, he knew that look. And knew when someone was in need of saving.
Reece: Liar. You look miserable.
She looked up from her phone, her gaze tracking everyone in the restaurant.
Reece: Meet me outside in two mins. I’ll show you what a real date should be like.
Sloane: Are you crazy?? I can’t just leave in the middle of a date.
Reece: Sure you can. You’re texting in the middle of one even though your date is sitting there, staring at you. And if you want to experience the best Mexican food in Portland, you have a little over a minute left to get your ass out here, Smurfette.
He couldn’t hear what she told the guy, but moments later, she pushed back from her chair and made her way out of the restaurant. This was his one chance, and he wasn’t going to blow it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Two minutes ago, she’d been verbally accosting Douchebag of the Year (her new name for Khaki Guy), and now she was breezing out of the restaurant.
The rundown:
Douchebag of the Year: Blah, blah, blah, why are you on your phone? Hold on while I stroke my hand through my hair because I think it looks cute.
No self-respecting guy touched his hair that much.
Sloane: The guy on the phone is much more interesting.
And yep, the palpitations started.
Douchebag of the Year: Don’t worry. I’ll just be doing douchebag things like uploading pics of our pinot to my Insta story and totally mansplaining the way a person should sip wine.
Sloane: Date. Over.
Okay, so it didn’t go quite like that, but that was how it went down in her head.
After Sloane grabbed her purse from the back of the chair, she hightailed it out of the restaurant. This had to be a record for shortest date. She considered the guy lucky that Reece had come along because she was ready to lay into him about a little thing called human decency and treating women with respect.
Reece was leaning against a parked car, his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket. Her heart hammered in her chest as she regarded him. The sharp line of his jaw. The scruff of his blond beard. The way his eyes lingered on her like she was an entrée at that fancy French restaurant. How it made her want to be devoured by him. She hadn’t felt a modicum of this when she’d sat across from Aaron.
“What are you doing here?” Reece didn’t deserve any pleasantries. She should have never told him about the date in the first place. And then he had had a front-row view of the worst date in history. How embarrassing.
“I saw you by accident. I was looking for something to eat.”
She regarded him, trying to see if he’d known where to find her. His expression remained neutral.
It made sense. Both of their places were close to the heart of downtown. And this area of town did have the best options for food. Still.
“Maybe I should go back in there. I mean, who bails out on a date? Especially one that was getting his ass handed to him.”
The muscles in his jaw twitched. “You don’t owe him anything. And, besides, if he’s that horrible that you were eviscerating him at the table, it’s time you lay that one to rest.”
“Was not.”
He quirked a brow.
“Okay, I was. But still. It seems so wrong not to see it through. I’m not a quitter.” Not in work, not in the sports she’d played in high school, and definitely not in dating, even when she’d been in a craptastic relationship for almost a decade. That last one was not something she was proud of. And she definitely wouldn’t settle like that in the future.
“There’s always a first for something.”
Aaron was insufferable. And Reece had swooped in like some shining knight. Well, he’d tried, at least. Sloane was perfectly capable of handling herself.
“Come on. Let’s go get something to eat,” he said.
“I don’t know . . .” She’d been gung ho a moment ago when she’d made her badass exit from that horrible date. But now, she was starting to have second thoughts. She didn’t think her pride could take much more of a hit tonight.
“You’d rather sit with someone that makes you bored?” A look she’d never seen before flashed across Reece’s face. Was that hurt in his eyes? It spoke of need and desire. Before she could decipher his look any further, his mouth turned into his signature smile.
“C’mon, Smurfette. It’s just a meal. Let’s drop your car back off at your apartment and eat.”
Her gaze raked over him. Under his tan jacket, he wore a flannel button-up. Dark, broken-in jeans fit nicely around his thighs, and his blond hair peeked out beneath his black beanie. “Fine. What is this supposed restaurant that will blow my mind?”
“La Hacienda. Heard of it?”
Had he been tapping her phone when she’d been talking about that same restaurant with Erin and Madison earlier in the week? She’d been wanting to try it out for a while now.
“Sure.”
He put his arm around her waist and led her down the street. And for the first time that night, she didn’t feel nervous.
Reece stared at Sloane’s mouth as she took another bite of chips and salsa. They were red and plump and glossed. Good enough to take a bite. He shook his head. Ever since he had kissed her, it seemed like that was the only thing on his mind.
They were settled into a corner booth at the hole-in-the-wall restaurant a few blocks down from the fancy place where dickwad had met up with Sloane. The best places in Portland were that way. The grimier, the better. Sure, the facade might be in need of a new paint job, the chipped tile tables could use a fresh coat of grout, and they were probably in violation of a couple of health codes. But La Hacienda was the real deal. With handmade tortilla chips, spicy salsa that added hair to your chest, and the sauces slathered on their enchiladas, they were on a whole different level in terms of authentic Mexican food. Like the heavens-parting, angels-singing level of cuisine divinity.
“Is this where you take all your dates?” She toyed with a chip, swirling it around in the black mortar dish of salsa.
Reece tapped his thumb on a pristine yellow tile on the table regarding her. “Just when I steal them from other miserable ones.”
Her cheeks bloomed a light shade of pink, trailing down her neck, and disappearing into the top of her pale blue top.
Their eyes met. Hers were soft, the lightest shade of brown, complementing her skin. Everything about Sloane was soft. Her lips, her curves, her glossy hair. Reece would do anything to bury his face into any one of those. For his mouth to explore every inch of her.
Just as she was about to say
something, their food arrived, the server using an oven mitt to hold Sloane’s fajitas. She then slid Reece’s chili colorado in front of him.
Sloane loaded her fajita with steak and vegetables and picked up their conversation where they’d left off. “Reece Jenkins, firefighter and savior of women on bad dates.”
“It has a certain ring to it.” But if he knew one thing, it was that Sloane wasn’t a woman who needed saving. He liked that about her. He cut into his food and took a bite. Perfection.
“How are things going with the chief?” She took a bite of her fajitas, and his mouth went dry as he watched her chew.
He grunted. What could he really say? The chief had him under a microscope and was just waiting for him to screw up. Not that he would. He did everything by the book, like always. Sometimes that wasn’t enough with a dick for a boss. With the way things were going, he fully expected the chief to find some way to put him on suspension before Christmas.
“That good?”
“Worse.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. He didn’t need a pity party. He definitely didn’t need Sloane, of all people, to feel bad for him. Why had he admitted this to her? His job was basically in her hands. Hands that had threatened on many occasions to extricate his manhood from his body.
He decided to change the subject to something safer. “Tell me, were you really going to stay and finish that date even though you were having a bad time?”
She took a deep breath, and the frustration was clear in her eyes. “I feel so stupid. I thought I was ready for this whole dating thing, but obviously I’m total crap at it.”
“You’re basing that off one date with a dude who cared more about being a dick than getting to know you?”
“Isn’t that what you do?”
Did she really think so little of him? Sure, he’d dated a lot. And he’d never really settled down over the years. With anyone. But what was he really going to tell her? No one had made him feel the need to settle down since Amber.
“I’m glad you have such a high opinion of me.”
Up In Flames (Flirting with Fire Book 2) Page 19