“Yeah. I’m good.”
“Who’s the skirt?”
Marshall’s head jerked up. Skirt? Really? “The woman in question is one of our best customers as well as our newest part-time barista, so maybe treat her like a damn person?”
“Sorry.” Dylan said the word, but not in any way that actually indicated an apology. “Does the best customer and part-time barista have a name?”
Any other time, Marshall would have given him a more thorough talking-to, but right now, his priority was getting Alexa out of there. “Her name is Alexa.”
“And you want to fuck her.” Marshall shot a glance behind him, but no one, including Alexa, seemed to have heard Dylan. “Don’t worry, man, I get it. She’s hot enough in a MILF way.”
“That’s it.” He turned back toward his night manager. “You need to start acting like a damn professional.”
“Yeah. Sure. You let me know as soon as you stop taking numbers from every chick who gives them to you, and I’ll jump right on the professional bandwagon.” He snorted and shook his head. “Is there anything I need to know for tonight?”
If Dylan kept this shit up, Marshall was going to have to start thinking about hunting for a new manager. “We’re out of pepper jack cheese. And the steamer is being finicky, so make sure everyone is extra careful. It’ll be fixed tomorrow, but for tonight, baby the damn thing.”
“Got it.” He jerked his chin in the direction of Alexa. “Go. Bag your cougar. I’ve got things here.” When Marshall shot him a look, he rolled his eyes. “And I promise to be a complete gentleman to all the customers and the female employees.”
Two choices: trust Dylan to do his damn job, or bail on taking Alexa to the bar and pull a Friday night double shift instead.
That debate didn’t last long. “Grab the new drawer and do your count. Then I’m out.”
He ended up leaving thirty minutes before his shift actually ended, but he would lose it if he had to listen to Dylan talking more about Alexa. As she stood, he said, “Together or separate?”
Her eyes darted from his to the door. “I’m not sure about leaving my car in your lot all night.”
“Drive to my place and then go together? Or yours? Whichever makes you more comfortable. Though, if we go to mine, I can take a five-minute shower and put on clean clothes.” Not a necessity, but if they were going out together, he could manage something better than jeans and a stained T-shirt.
“Your place is fine. If there’s a gas station nearby, I can fill up while you shower.”
“Right on the corner.” He led her out to the lot with his hand lightly touching the small of her back, reveling in the casual contact and the heat radiating from her to his fingertips. At her car, he nodded toward his. “I shouldn’t be too hard to follow.”
She shook her head as if to clear her vision then said, incredulously, “You drive a classic?”
“’56 Chevy Bel Air. Like I told you before, the good guys aren’t afraid to advertise. It might not exactly be flashy, but she gets noticed.” He held Alexa’s door as she climbed behind the steering wheel. “See you in a few. I’m only a couple miles away.”
In his own car, he gunned the engine and pulled out of the lot, making sure she was right behind him. This was going to be a record-breaking shower. He had no intention of leaving her alone long enough to change her mind.
Chapter Nine
The instant Alexa got into the Bel Air, she realized how epically stupid this was. Sure, she trusted Marshall in theory, but letting him drive? To who knew where? If she’d misjudged him at all…
Oh God, am I really doing this? I should have driven on my own. Hell, I shouldn’t even be going out with him. Was it just a rash decision because Chris showed up? I needed something to liven up the Friday night he killed? And I made it Marshall? What if Peyton’s right and he’s interested? What if he makes a move? How the hell am I supposed to deal with that?
No. She was being beyond stupid. He’d had her alone in the storeroom more than once. If he were handsy or aggressive, she’d have experienced it already. And he said this was about numbers at the café. She’d socialized after work before. How was this any different?
It’s not unless you make it different.
Which she had absolutely zero intention of doing. They were just two friends going out to talk business. She’d done it with Peyton. She’d likely do it with their new neighbor at some point. And while Marshall wasn’t one of the girls, she couldn’t deny he’d become a friend over the last few weeks.
Besides, he’d put the top down, and the wind combing through her hair was soothing in ways she could never have imagined. “Where are we going exactly?”
He wove between slower-moving cars like he’d been a stunt driver in a past life. Not reckless, just very sure in every movement. “Deckard’s. They have a great menu, and it’s pretty quiet for a bar. At least until the dancing starts, but we have a couple of hours before that happens.”
“You’re taking me to a nightclub?” Maybe the wind and rumbling of the engine had lulled her into a false sense of security—this new knowledge was yanking her right out of it.
“Nope. I’m taking you for dinner and a drink or two. If you want to stay once they change gears, that’s up to you.”
Taking a sharp left, he turned onto a wide boulevard that was home to some of the most popular hot spots in the area. He’d given her the perfect out, and she was going to take it now, before she made any stupid decisions she couldn’t take back. “We’re not staying for dancing.”
“Okay. I’m in it for the steak anyway.” He shrugged, the motion drawing her attention to the way his shirt clung to his biceps. It was odd seeing him in anything other than his graphic tees. This Marshall wasn’t exactly business suit material, but he was significantly more put together than normal. What other tricks did he have up his sleeve? She would need to be on her toes tonight—otherwise, he had a damn good chance of making it through her defenses, which were set as high as they would go considering the one-on-one time.
Before she finished the thought, they turned into a dimly lit parking lot and the top began going up. The outside of the place was ridiculously nondescript. In fact, with the black painted masonry, it looked more like it belonged in an industrial park than here among the bright lights and flashy banners.
The more she examined things, though, the more she realized that plainness actually made it stand out more. The rest of the buildings on the street blended together in a riot of color. Deckard’s, on the other hand, was little more than a three-story brick edifice with the name in plain text over the door.
Stoic. That was the word that came to mind. It was like the bar was the last of some old guard, standing watch over the young, flashy upstarts. Strange that this would be Marshall’s choice of place to take her. She might have thought it was because he felt it fit her, but the way he’d spoken about the place made it clear he frequented Deckard’s.
The passenger door popped open, and she startled out of her musings. Marshall smirked at her. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I wasn’t exactly planning on asking them to pack up our meals to go, so you do have to get out of the car eventually.”
She took his outstretched hand and uncurled herself from the seat. “I was just trying to reconcile this with your shoes.” Because snappier shirt or not, he still wore the purple Converse.
“I like being a mass of contradictions.”
Inside, he nodded at the hostess, and she waved them in as if he was a regular here in the same way she was a regular at the Bean Counter—known enough to not need instruction. And a waitress was at their table the instant they sat. “Hey, Marshall. What can I get you?”
Yes, definitely a known quantity. Interesting. Once their drink orders were on the way to the bar, Alexa asked, “Do you come here often?”
“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world…this one is my favorite.” She rolled her eyes, and he continued, “It was either make a joke or poi
nt out that you actually used a pickup line on me.”
“I did n…”
Oh my God, I did.
For a long minute, he let her stew in the realization. “My parents were part owners of Deckard’s before they passed. I spent a lot of time here growing up.”
Oh. “So, you’re an owner?”
“No. My sister declared it hurt too much to come here after they passed. So we sold their share to their partners. Unlike her, I still love the place, though, so I come here when I can.” Their drinks arrived, along with menus, and he stopped talking.
Strange that she’d never asked about his family. He knew about hers, at least in part, because of bringing the boys into the Bean Counter and what bits he might have picked up from conversations between Peyton and her. But she’d never asked, and this was the first time he’d volunteered.
Once they’d given their orders, she opened her mouth to inquire further, but Marshall said, “You were right, by the way.”
“Right about what?” Not that she was always right, but by this point, she’d structured her life to minimize mistakes. There were a lot of things he might be talking about.
“The numbers. In-house coffee orders are up more than eleven percent already. I ordered your doily things today.” He raised his glass as if toasting her.
She clinked her martini against his beer. “That’s fantastic news.”
“Yeah. It is. I owe you.” Even though he’d said he wanted to talk numbers, Alexa hadn’t realized this was a celebratory dinner. It took all the pressure off, and she smiled as she sipped her cosmo. Marshall, however, took a long, slow drink and then set his glass down on the napkin, carefully, as if its placement mattered. That was…troubling. “So I was wondering, how much would it cost me to hire you on officially to help with things like that? Run the numbers to help me figure out how to make things work better.”
And just like that, the pressure was on again, but it was different this time. When she’d briefly worried this was a veiled attempt at a date, she’d been uncomfortable, but now she recognized that feeling as butterflies. Contrary to her worries, she’d been…excited at the prospect. Now it was all business, and not only was she trying to sort out her emotions over being hired for the work she’d happily done for free, but part of her—a bigger part than she wanted to admit—was almost disappointed.
And what the hell was she supposed to do with that?
…
The way she stared at him made Marshall think he’d fucked up somehow. “Alexa?”
She shook her head as if chasing away a swarm of bad thoughts. “Sorry. I’m just wondering why you think you have to pay me. I’m more than happy to help the Bean Counter become successful. It’s actually a selfish thing. I like your place better than the big chains. You succeed, you stay open, I still get my coffee fix.”
Which meant his entire argument for getting her here, alone, had just gone up in smoke. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just know from friends that the single mom thing can be tough, and I didn’t want to take advantage.”
“I make more than enough money. If that changes, I’ll let you know.” She reached for her drink but only twisted the glass by the stem, watching the liquid as it caught the light. “If you’re serious about wanting help, though, you have to trust me. Because some stuff won’t be as readily obvious as the chocolate-covered bean thing.”
“I can do that.”
She propped her elbows on the table and her chin on her folded hands, staring at him intently. “And it’ll mean planning. And all those things you hate.”
“When did I say I hated planning?” Is that really what she thought? In a way, it was true, but not all the time. For fuck’s sake, he’d been planning a way to get her to go out with him for months. It just so happened that, once again, fate allowed tonight to fall into his lap.
She arched a brow at him. “You don’t have to say something to make it obvious.”
The waitress chose that moment to drop off their food. He waited until she was gone before responding. “Well, in this case, you’re wrong. I don’t like planning my life. That doesn’t mean I refuse to plan for anything. I mean, I have an entire zombie apocalypse survival guide drawn up. If that doesn’t count as planning, I don’t know what does.”
As he spoke, her eyes went wide, almost to comedic proportions. “A lot of things. An infinite number of things count more as planning than that, especially since the odds are not in favor of a zombie—or any other—apocalypse happening in your lifetime.”
“You have stats on those odds?” He winked and took a bite of his steak. Perfect, as always.
Alexa laughed and dug into her mesquite-grilled chicken salad. “This is delicious.”
“Told you the food here was awesome. That’s why I plan to come here whenever the opportunity arises.”
“All right, all right, you don’t avoid organization at all costs.” She took another bite and chewed slowly, watching him. “But you admit you avoid it when it comes to big-picture things. Why?”
He needed another drink for that conversation, so he waved at the waitress and held up his glass. As soon as she nodded, he turned to Alexa. “Why do you insist on planning everything?”
His scrutiny didn’t make her squirm, but she did take another bite of salad and a slow drink of her martini before responding. “If I’d known tonight was going to get personal, I’d have come better prepared.” Then, as if realizing how that sounded in the context of their conversation, she gave a mirthless laugh. “I used to plan very little. I had school and work and a social life. Everything fell at certain times, so it was organized by nature. All my relationships happened organically, including meeting my ex-husband. Chris was…a force of nature. He didn’t believe in rules or walls or being tied down. Being with him was amazing, freeing. But then he decided he did want to be tied down—to me. It seemed like fate had brought us together. After all, why else would a man who hated anything that might cage him ask a woman to get married?”
Damn. He saw where this was going, but it was like watching a train wreck. He couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. “The whole adventure thing you mentioned before. He saw you as…uncharted territory to be discovered.”
She smiled, but it lit her eyes with sadness rather than joy. “That’s a beautifully romantic way of putting it.” Another slow drink, one she seemed to have difficulty swallowing. Then she sucked in a shuddering breath and continued her story. “We lasted longer than we had any right to, all things considered. Almost a dozen years married. For a guy like him, that had to be some sort of record. When the end came, it was amiable. We’d both gone into our marriage expecting different things out of it.”
“I think a lot of people do that.”
“They do.” She let out a deep sigh, one that seemed heavy with regret and longing. It made him want to reach out and hold her, soothe the pain of her past away, but they’d come here as friends and coworkers. He needed to respect that, even if he didn’t fully want to. “Anyway, knowing very well Christian planned on physically leaving at the first opportunity, I very rapidly found myself separated and pregnant with the third of our boys. With a mortgage I couldn’t pay on my own. The pregnancy slowed down the divorce proceedings, but I realized long before Blake came into the world that I couldn’t just…roll with life anymore. If I didn’t have a plan, we could end up homeless, or starve, or…something. Planning our lives down to the last detail kept us afloat and kept me sane. And it suited me as well as my work, so I never stopped planning everything after that.”
“That makes complete sense.” It was a lot for her to admit in detail. All the times she had mentioned them being friends hadn’t prepared him for this sort of exchange. Because that’s what it was going to be. She showed him hers. It was his turn now.
She didn’t push, but she didn’t elaborate on her answer any further, either. With the patience of a saint, she sat there and waited. When his new beer arrived, he drank half of it in a few lon
g swallows. All that got in response was a twitch of her eyebrow as she chewed on her salad.
He pushed the beer away before he guzzled the rest. “We’re such polar opposites in some ways, it’s not even funny.” There was no fortifying breath. No saved-by-the-bell phone ringing. It was time to lay his life out for her. “I was the guy in college with the one-year plan, the two-year plan, the five-year plan, the ten-year plan, and the retirement plan. Probably a few others sprinkled in there for good measure. I was going into engineering because I liked to design and build things. Business was Dad’s gig, and it never even made my top ten options.”
She frowned at him slightly, her brows pulling together in a way that made him want to reach across the table and smooth the worry from her face. “A lot of people steer clear of whatever their parents do for a living. Both because they want to avoid comparison and because they already spent a lifetime growing bored with the career.”
“Yeah. I know.” Fuck it. He took another gulp of his beer. “Winter of junior year, my parents were on a trip. They’d retired and were celebrating life by doing all the things they loved—finally fulfilling all the plans they’d made over the years. Travel was the big one. It was their first extravagant trip—a two-month tour through Europe.”
“Sounds amazing.” The frown lines had disappeared, and she looked at him wearing a dreamy expression.
“They were killed in a car accident the third day into the trip. Died on impact.” He downed the rest of his beer. “All that careful living and planning. And the third day into their big payoff, it ended. After taking the rest of the year off, I changed my major and my outlook on life. All my plans for the future were thrown in the trash. That was the day I started running my life based on my heart and my gut rather than a piece of paper. The coffee shop is in honor of them. The damn shoes are Colorado Rockies purple because my dad grew up in Denver and loved baseball. He became a die-hard Rockies fan the moment the team hit the mile-high city and remained one until the day he died. When the team changed the shade of purple they use last year, I bought like twenty pairs just in case Converse stopped making the original color, and I wear them every day so I never forget what happened to my parents. I learned the hard way that life comes at you faster than you can possibly imagine, and I’m not willing to waste time planning when I could spend it living.”
Adventures in Online Dating Page 8