“Really? That’s such not a bummer.” Saylor passes off the crate to a man with dark skin and long dreads. “Thanks, Lucius.”
“Are you free for lunch?” I ask.
“I don’t charge for lunch.” She pushes her glasses up on her nose. “Actually, I don’t ever charge for my services, except here, because the shelter won’t make any money if it provides everything for free. Oh, and I don’t service people. Maybe you should try the health clinic.” Her gaze flickers to my groin before she leans into me. “Fire down below isn’t just a work expression, is it?”
“Thanks for the suggestion, but I’m fire down below free.”
Honestly, her response should make me want to leave. Obviously, she’s not interested in me. But I’m sure as hell interested in her. The thing is, I already have her figured out. It’s a gift or a curse, depending on who you talk to. It’s also why my dad is hell-bent on me following in his footsteps.
In any case, Saylor likes to put on the extra quirky to keep people from getting close…and to get her way.
“Anyway, will you eat lunch with me?” I don’t ask if she’d like to have lunch with me because I’m pretty sure the answer would be one of her say-one-thing-while-meaning-another. “My treat and I’ll drive.”
“I’m not sure.”
“What’s holding you back?” I lean against the counter.
She scuffs one of her shoes against the floor. “Actually, I don’t know why you’re asking me out.”
I shrug a little. “I want to get to know you.”
“Why would you want to subject yourself to that?”
Because I can’t get you out of my head and that’s never been a problem before. “Why wouldn’t I?” I give her a friendly smile. “C’mon, Saylor, it’s just lunch.”
“That’s what you said the last time we ate together,” she mutters.
Finally, it dawns on me. She’s embarrassed about what happened between us in Tijuana. “Look. I know you and I shared a kiss, and while to most people that would be a fairly innocuous event, it’s not to you and I respect that. Which is why I’m here to apologize by taking you to lunch.”
Her gaze narrows, as if she’s trying to gauge the sincerity of my words. “I don’t give away kisses indiscriminately.”
“Then it’s a damn shame I don’t remember ours.” I mean it, just as much as I mean that I want to apologize and that I want to get to know her.
She blushes. “When you put it that way….” Suddenly, she pivots and starts walking away, but not outside.
What the hell? “Some other time, then?”
A quick glance over her shoulder reveals a frown on her lips. “No. I brought my lunch. We can go halvsies.”
Pushing away from the counter, I follow her. “It’s really no trouble to take you out.”
“I don’t like to waste food.”
I keep back a step so I can watch her hips sway as she walks. “Wasting food’s not my thing either, but—”
She stops in the middle of the hallway and I nearly run into her. At the last minute, I swerve left and she spins around, placing her hands on her hips. “Take it or leave it, Walker. I’m a busy girl.”
A challenge? “I’ll take it.”
“Fine.” She leans to one side and pushes open a door. “After you.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, quickly going inside before she changes her mind. “What’s on the menu?”
“Takeout.” Leaning over her desk, she clicks on the computer screen, licking her lips as she scans it. “Chinese or Mexican?”
“I thought you brought your lunch?”
“I always buy my lunch.”
“No, you said brought. Not bought.”
“Brought. Bought.” She waves a hand in the air. “Pacific. Specific. Who cares? Two of one, baker’s dozen of the other.”
“You don’t have to be this way with me.”
Saylor pauses, her gaze sliding to mine. “I don’t know what you mean.”
There is no way I’ve ever tried this hard with a woman in my life. That might explain why I’m willing to try so hard now.
Everything has come easy to me, with the exception of working my way up as fire captain. I didn’t want any special favors for that. I wanted to do it all on my own, without the Walker name giving me an advantage. If I failed, it was on me, and if I succeeded, it was on me.
“This I’m the quirkiest woman in America act.”
“It’s not an act,” she insists.
Except when it is. “It’s adorable.”
The pink hue that hadn’t left her cheeks turns cherry red. “I’m not trying to be adorable.”
“But you are anyway.”
With an awkward smile, she straightens. “I really did bring my lunch,” she admits. “It’s over there, in my fridge, if you’d like to share.”
“Sounds perfect. What can I help you do?”
“Nothing.” She scrunches her nose a little. “Well, maybe you can clean up my desk a little so you have room to eat, too.”
“On it.” While she gets our lunch, I clear off a spot on her desk. The smell of garlic and steak fill the air. “Smells good.”
“It’s japchae—my mom’s recipe,” she says as she waits by the microwave that’s sitting on top of the fridge. “Some people like to use sweet potato noodles, but I use glass noodles. Don’t worry, it’s not real glass. It’s not even crunchy.”
Biting back a smile, I say, “I’ve eaten it before. There’s a Korean BBQ place in NoDa that serves it.”
“Oh? I’ll have to try it out.”
“You could let me take you there.”
Before she can answer, the microwave dings and she’s off like a rocket.
Gathering a couple of paper plates and two bottles of water, she crosses the small office and sets everything on top of the desk.
“Well?” I ask.
“I’m not really into dinner dates.”
“We can go as friends.”
“Friends don’t kiss.”
Carefully, I grab her wrist, ignoring the spark of desire that ignites at contact. “Was it that bad?”
“It was that good.” Her eyes are serious as her gaze drops to my mouth. Her lips part in silent invitation.
I want to kiss her again. Yeah, I don’t remember our kiss, not beyond the impressions in my brain, but who gives a good damn.
Her pink tongue slips out, licking her bottom lip.
Forget want. I need to kiss her again, see if she tastes like cinnamon or mint. To feel her playful tongue against mine. The pressure of her mouth, the softness of her lips…
“Have dinner with me tonight.”
Her chest begins to rise and fall like crazy. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Why is that?” I’m genuinely confused at this point. It’s clear she’s attracted to me. She admitted that the kiss we shared was good. I fucking hate mind games.
However, my gut’s saying that Saylor isn’t playing a game with me.
“It just isn’t.”
“We’re at an impasse, then.”
“Guess so.”
“Inconceivable—and I know exactly what that word means.” Letting go of her, I focus on the food in front of me. “I’m ready to eat when you are.”
“Oh. Yes, food.” She hurries around the desk, plopping down in her chair. “Let me know if I need to heat it up some more.”
Taking a bite I nod, savoring the garlicky goodness of the dish. “Perfect.”
“Thanks.”
I glance around the office. Other than a slightly messy desk, her space is immaculate. There are pictures of dogs and cats, looking pretty happy, as well as Best of the Best awards for animal shelters and grooming.
“How long have you been running this place?” I ask.
“Four years.” Strangely, she doesn’t elaborate.
C’mon, baby. I lobbed a softball at you. “What made you decide to work with animals?”
“I’ve always loved them. I don’
t, however, always love running the business side, but when you’re the owner…”—she shrugs a little, then glances around the room—“there was so much work to be done here when I first bought it. Remodeling and purchasing better equipment. Hiring people like Leslie and Lucius, who actually know what they’re doing.”
She actually owns the animal shelter? “I think you did a hell of a lot more than all that stuff. It’s not easy to run a business.” I want to ask how she got the money to start such an undertaking, but that’s not the path I want our conversation to go down.
Her brown eyes gaze into mine for a beat. Always, this girl is weighing my words. “No, it’s not. Is a fire station run like a business?”
I rub my chin. “A business with one hand tied behind its back by the local government—well, local politics.”
She makes a face. “I hate politics.” Suddenly, her face pales. “And—and baseball.”
“Politics, I get. But you’re throwing me a curve ball with the other.”
Her gaze darts away from mine. “I had a bad experience with a baseball player.”
“Athletes can be assholes,” I agree, even as a spark of jealousy ignites. Quickly, I put it out. No reason to be jealous over a woman I barely know. Besides, I’m not the jealous type. “But don’t paint every guy who happens to knock a ball out of the park with the same brush.”
“Oh, I don’t paint guys at all. I do cassette tape portraits of pop artists gone too soon.”
“I’m not following.”
She sets her fork down. “At the art co-op in Forrestville, there’s a class on how to make a portrait using the tape from cassettes.”
“Sounds…difficult.”
“Isn’t everything until you get the hang of it? Except for those rare things or people you never get the hang of.”
She wants to warn me away, but again, the urge to meet the challenge she poses ignites something inside me. “How often do you go?”
“Once a week. Tonight’s a real doozy. We’re doing Prince.” She gets all animated, her face lighting up and her hands dancing in the air as if she’s creating him right at that moment. “I can’t decide if I want to show him sitting on a throne or just him.”
“Maybe I should try it out.”
She blinks at me, the light on her face growing dim…and panicked? “I don’t think it would be your thing.”
“How do you know what my thing is?” I counter.
“You’re right. I don’t.”
“That’s because you don’t know me.”
“Right again,” she chirps, then picks up a landline phone, without actually dialing any numbers. “I really have to take this call.”
I don’t bother to point out that no one is on the other line. “Understandable. I need to get going myself so I can get educated about cassette tape art.”
Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times. “What? How…why would you need to get educated about that?”
“If I answer you, that would mean you’d have to spend at least ten more minutes talking to me, and we can’t have that, can we?”
“Uh, no.” Adorable confusion makes her brows push together.
Standing, I motion to the phone before gathering up my trash and throwing it away. “Don’t leave the person on the other end hanging.”
Then I leave her office before she can reply.
Chapter 6
Saylor
“Fold the ribbon into small accordions and twist counterclockwise,” the art instructor says. She’s subbing tonight and for the life of me, I can’t remember her name.
“Mind if we share a table?” Hayden asks before he sits, and I nearly fall off my stool.
Holy cow, he’s here.
“If you really cared, you wouldn’t have sat down before I answered,” I reply steadily.
“Oh, I care—to get to know you.”
The instructor shushes us. Wow. Strictville.
I glare at Hayden. “Don’t you dare get me kicked out,” I whisper.
“For talking?”
I nod once. “You’re supposed to be listening, following directions, and…” I watch in absolute shock and awe as he expertly begins to form the outline of Prince.
“Now you may talk amongst yourselves. Please consider helping first-timers.” The instructor places her hands on my shoulders. “I hope you’ll let your table partner give you some pointers.”
To Hayden’s credit, he doesn’t smirk or laugh at me, but I want to smack him anyway. Which is totally stupid.
“That’s the most impressive creation I’ve seen,” the instructor coos at him.
What the heck!
“Couldn’t have done it without my table mate’s help,” he replies in all seriousness, and I melt a little.
“Hmpf.” The instructor moves to another table, joining in on the conversation there.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“A good teacher doesn’t humiliate his or her students.”
The melting continues, and if it doesn’t stop, I’ll slide right off this stool and into a gooey pile of Saylor.
“You can leave now that you’re done,” I point out.
“I just got here.”
“You’re a distraction.” I set back to work on my masterpiece, trying to ignore the feelings of excitement and desire he inspires.
In the deepest part of my heart, I’m incredibly thrilled he’s paying so much attention to me, that he’s going out of his way to spend time with me. Twice in one day seems like a miracle…or he’s a freaking stalker.
But Hayden is a longtime friend of Hunter’s and now is friends with my bestie as well. They wouldn’t let him stalk me.
“You distract me, too. Ever since Tijuana, I can’t get you off my mind.”
The tape flies out of my hand. “You mean you…”
He glances around the room, then brings his sexy gaze back to me. “What I mean is that I want something different and you’re it.”
Nose scrunching, I sit back a little. “You want different, as in weird?”
“I like the beat of your drum.” He smiles at me; then his face grows all serious. “I’ve gone out of my way to see you, to have lunch with you, and to come to this class just so I can sit near you. Be near you. I want to know why you appeal to me so much.”
I snort. “Because I have great boobs and awesome hair.”
His gaze dips to my chest, lingering there for so long that my nipples tighten. “Not going to argue with that.”
“Hayden, I’m really flattered, but my track record with guys isn’t exactly the best, and you’re one in a long line of dudes who couldn’t handle the beat of my drum.”
He searches my face, like he’s trying to figure out if I’m teasing him or simply playing hard to get. “Did you ever consider that it was the guys whose track records sucked and that maybe your drumbeat doesn’t need to be handled?”
I am so taken aback by his response that I blurt, “Not even my dad has anything to do with me. The guy I married doesn’t remember me.”
Hayden’s brows shoot clear to his hairline. “Excuse me?”
“The two most important men in my life let me down.”
“Are you still married?” His voice is terse, almost accusing.
I shake my head, tearing my gaze away from his face. “It wasn’t legal in the first place. Just something stupid we did.” All of that is true, except the legality part. I have no idea if our marriage was legal, but I’m betting not.
My hands start to shake and tears begin to drip from my lashes. “I have to go.”
I’m out of there before he can stop me, uncaring that my art project didn’t get done. As soon as my feet touch the parking lot, I run to my Jeep, searching for the keys in my purse along the way.
Fumbling with the keys, I drop them twice before I can unlock the doors, but instead of getting in, I collapse against it. The metal feels cool against my overheated skin.
The sound of footsteps catches my attent
ion, but I’m too slow to react. Hayden’s arms come around me, turning me to face him. He lifts up my chin with one finger, then frames my face with his hands.
I know what’s coming next. I love how he kisses. Love how he holds my head in his hands like I’m made of something so precious that he can’t bear the thought of hurting me.
“I’m sorry for making you cry,” he says, lips inches from mine.
“Thank you.” What else can I say?
He brushes his mouth against mine and desire surges so hard inside of me that my knees wobble. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not kissing you because I feel sorry for you. I’m kissing you because I’ll go out of my mind if I don’t.”
My lips part and apparently that’s all he needs from me because he sweeps his mouth across mine, lingering and tasting—teasing my bottom lip until I can’t help but wrap my arms around his neck and press myself against him.
He groans low in his throat. A primal sound that excites me.
His fingers tangle in my hair as he secures his mouth firmly to mine. Our tongues touch, move, and tangle in such perfect synchronization.
We’ve done this before, of course, and I remember every kiss, every touch, even if he does not. However, there is no denying the way we move together, the way I anticipate what he wants next.
I’ve spent a lifetime studying behavior, both human and animal. Who knew it would come in so handy when it came to intimate moments like this. Like our night together in Tijuana.
He pulls back a little. “No way in hell we only kissed, Saylor.”
I blush fiercely, unwilling to share. I know I should, but I just can’t. “We made out. A lot.”
“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. Then a wicked gleam enters his eyes. “Was there anywhere else you particularly enjoyed me kissing you?”
I am going to combust. Right this second. “Yes, but we’d get arrested for indecent exposure.” A little honesty can’t hurt.
“Wish like hell I remembered that.”
“Me, too.”
He eyes me. “I think that’s the first entirely honest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Desire gives way to panic and anxiety. “I have to go.”
Hard to Fall Page 4