by Aly Martinez
And God, did I want to let him.
When his sexy smolder became too much, I cut my gaze to the table, unable to hide my smile as I polished off my wine. Tanner was quick to refill it, and by the time I met his gaze again, his one-sided smirk had reappeared.
Moments later, Kevin reemerged, but unlike the first time, it was all business. And as the sounds of pans sizzling and the scent of garlic and rosemary filled the air, Tanner got down to business as well.
“So, tell me about yourself, Rita.” He leaned back in his chair, his hand sadly sliding off mine.
I shouldn’t have wanted it back as badly as I did.
I was a married woman for Pete’s sake.
Yeah, married to a man who cheated on me and got his mistress pregnant, I reminded myself. Greg and I were done. I was allowed to enjoy myself with the company of another man if I wanted to. And I currently wanted to do a whole hell of a lot of enjoying with Tanner Reese.
My stomach fluttered, and I took another sip of wine. “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know. That seemed like the required first date question.”
I leaned forward on my elbows and whispered, “Which was why I gave you the required first date answer. You’ll have to be more creative than that if you want to get the goods on me, Reese.”
His eyes sparked, burning like an inferno. Deep and filled with promise, he whispered, “Oh, I can be very creative, Rita.”
The molten heat rolling off his words hung in the air, causing a chill to pebble my skin. One he did not miss. A gentle arrogance lit his handsome face, that dimple dancing as he held my gaze until I feared I was melting right in front of his eyes.
While it was true that I didn’t have a ton of experience with men—Greg had been my first and only in pretty much every category—I was no delicate wallflower.
He might be two-named Tanner Reese.
But one-named Rita could be creative too.
Leaning back in my chair, I folded my hands on the table and taunted, “Prove it.”
“You prove it,” he retorted.
“I didn’t say I was creative.” At least not out loud. “I don’t have anything to prove.” My tongue snaked out to dampen my lips and I took a great pleasure as he watched the movement with hunger etched on his face.
We stared at each other.
Me trying to be sexy and mysterious.
Him actually being sexy and mysterious.
And we stared some more.
The tension between us building.
Nerves rolling in my stomach.
My palms starting to sweat.
But neither one of us actually did anything “creative.”
We just stared.
And that was when I realized how freaking awkward silently staring at someone could be.
Finally, Tanner broke the silence. “I can’t keep this up much longer. My eyes are starting to burn. Any chance we can…maybe…agree that being creative is hard, and let’s just be cliché until we get to know each other a little better?”
A bubble of laughter sprang from my throat. “Yes. I can totally do that.”
Like a sleepy little boy, he used his balled-up fist to rub his eyes. It totally wasn’t fair that he looked hot even doing that.
“So, Rita, tell me what you do in your free time besides mopping the floor with school children across the country in staring contests?”
I giggled. “Oh, you know, the usual. Rock, Paper, Scissors. Thumb wrestling. Slapsies.”
He stopped rubbing long enough to peek up at me. “Slapsies?”
“Come on. You know, Slapsies.”
He shook his head. “Nope. Can’t say I do.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he confirmed.
I huffed and put my hands out, palms up. “Give me your hands.”
Eyeing me skeptically, he scooted his chair around the table until our knees were only a few inches apart and put his hands out, mirroring mine.
“No. Like this.” I turned his hands over and then slid mine underneath. “Okay, now, you have to try to jerk your hands away before I can slap one of them.”
“Ohhh yeah. I know this game. Porter and I used to—”
Smack!
“Ow!” he shouted, yanking his right hand away, but it was too late. I’d gotten him good.
“Annnnnd that’s how you play Slapsies.”
He narrowed his eyes, shaking out his hand before placing it back on top for round two. “That was messed up. I wasn’t even ready yet.”
Smack!
“Shit!” he yelled, shooting to his feet, his left hand being my latest victim. “What the hell, woman? You didn’t say go.”
I beamed up at him, fighting back laughter. “No one ever says go in Slapsies. It would defeat the purpose if you knew it was coming.” I pushed my hands toward him. “Round three?”
“I think I’m going to pass, Cheaty McCheaterson.”
“Fantastic,” I deadpanned, pouting my lips before smiling up at him. “The great Tanner Reese is a sore loser.”
I expected him to smile back, and for the most part, he did. His mouth was curled up, but something strange passed over his face. A wince, maybe? I couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, he hid it well.
I didn’t have a chance to harp on it because Kevin cleared his throat, stealing our attention. He was leaning over a pan, using a spoon to drizzle butter over what I hoped and prayed were seared scallops for us because they smelled divine. In a bored tone, he said, “I’m so glad I volunteered to do this tonight so I could watch you two ignore twenty years of culinary excellence in order to play a game of Slapsies.”
My whole body locked up tight, ice hitting my veins. Shit. Maybe that was what Tanner’s wince had been all about. I must have looked like a fool and probably embarrassed him. Tanner was a professional chef after all. And freaking Kevin Story was standing not ten feet away, preparing our dinner.
And I, one-named Rita, was playing Slapsies.
Oh. My. God. I was usually so good at reading the room. Maybe I was drunker than I’d thought.
“I’m so sorry,” I breathed, my cheeks flashing red. And that had nothing to do with the sudden rise in temperature since Kevin had turned the burners on.
“Don’t apologize to him,” Tanner scolded, settling back in his chair, But he didn’t move it away. He did, however, reach out, take my hand, intertwine our fingers, and rest our joined hands on his thigh. “I’m the one you physically maimed, and not in the way a man hopes a beautiful woman will physically maim him on a date.” He smiled, flirty, charming, one hundred percent Tanner Reese. And he gave my hand a squeeze like he could read my embarrassment.
Which, let’s be honest, my face was on fire, so it probably wasn’t hard.
But Tanner was holding my hand. With his magic, calming, reassuring hand.
And he was smiling at me like he thought I was cute.
Most importantly, he was holding my hand and smiling at me like he was truly and genuinely happy just to be sitting with me.
And this scared the absolute shit out of me because I knew I was truly and genuinely happy just to be sitting with him.
I made a weak attempt to pull my hand away, but Tanner was having none of it.
And as contradictory as it made me, I liked that he was having none of it.
Turning in his seat, he used his other hand to slide his plate and his fork to the spot adjacent to me, a waitress quickly rushing over to help him in this task.
Okay. So I guessed we were sitting next to each other now.
It might have made me a seventh grader, but he was holding my hand in the best hand-hold of my life and we were sitting next to each other like he couldn’t get close enough. My stomach did an Olympic gymnast pass of somersaults.
Even as all of this once again terrified me.
He leaned toward me, his warm breath fluttering across my skin as he whispered, “And besides, I don’t care what this guy tries to tell
you. Twenty years of culinary excellence my ass. Hand on the Bible, this asshole includes three years in high school when he was a fry cook on his resume.”
“Oh, fuck off!” Kevin interjected. “At least I had a job and wasn’t sitting at home, holding hands with my mommy. How does that work when you’re with a woman, Tanner? Does the umbilical cord reattach itself every morning?”
I let out a soft laugh—not so much at what Kevin had said, but rather that Tanner had put his chin to his chest and was shaking his head.
“Jesus Christ, Kev.”
“What?” He feigned innocence. “I figured you’d have already introduced her to Mama Reese. I didn’t know you were allowed to date without her approval.”
“So, I’m guessing you’re close with your mom?” I asked, thinking it was really freaking sweet if he was.
“Close?” Kevin answered. “The man is worth millions and he’d probably still live in the basement if his dad would let him. Those two are inseparable.”
Tanner shrugged. “My mom’s amazing. I’m not going to lie. We’re tight. Kev’s just jealous.”
Yeah. I was right. Totally freaking sweet. Greg and his mother spoke twice a year. Once on her birthday. Once on his. He didn’t even call the woman on Mother’s Day. She wasn’t incredible though. She was actually a super pretentious snob who’d raised a pretentious asshole. But everyone deserved a call on Mother’s Day, so that responsibility had fallen to me. I distractedly wondered if it was going to fall on Tammy now. And then I giggled at the idea of Daphne Laughlin meeting Tammy Grigs for the first time. God, they were going to hate each other.
“His mom is amazing,” Kevin parroted. “It’s a shame she got stuck with a son like this one. But everyone knows Porter is her favorite anyway.”
Tanner lowered his voice as he whispered, “Would you be willing to give me an alibi for tonight on the off chance that Kevin washes up on the shores of the lake?”
Smiling wider than I knew possible, I whispered back, “Sure, honey. As long as it’s not my lake. A dead man in the water would really decrease my property value. And my hammock view. Though those scallops smell amazing, so if we could forgo murder until after I’ve eaten, I’d be much obliged.”
His face transformed into what could only be described as awe. It might have been the only thing in the world that was even more tremendous, outstanding, and astonishing than the natural beauty of Tanner Reese’s smile, and it stirred something inside me.
It was small. But I felt the stir all the same.
He glanced down at the table, then back up at me, repeating this three times before he stopped and stared.
There was nothing awkward about the staring this time.
And when his thumb started rubbing circles over the back of my hand, his warmth engulfing me, traveling through me, and then burrowing in deep, I finally felt myself relax.
And not because of the wine.
I could do this.
I could so do this.
* * *
Dinner was incredible. And not because—despite his unfortunate personality—Kevin Story was an amazing chef.
No, dinner was incredible because Rita was incredible.
We’d eaten, polished off the wine, and held hands more than I had since middle school.
It was nice being with her.
Okay, that’s not completely true. It was fun being with her.
Rita was a smartass who did not pull punches even when the jokes were at my expense. She and Kevin had ganged up on me more than once while he was preparing our dinner. I should have hated it. But I fucking loved every second of seeing her interacting so naturally with my friend. It wasn’t forced or overwrought. Honestly, Rita didn’t seem like she was trying at all.
So either she was the world’s best con-woman and I was going to wake up to find she was second in line behind Shana to sell a story about me to a tabloid or Rita was a genuine person on a date with a man who liked her a hell of a lot.
After Kevin said his goodbyes, whispering another, “Marry her,” into my ear before leaving us to dessert, I found out that Rita and I had a lot more in common than a quick wit.
We’d been born in the same hospital, albeit two years apart. (I was older. She’d pointed that out at least twelve times. In a cute way though.)
We were both a Leo, but she’d quickly informed me that she didn’t buy into the horoscope bullshit because her arch nemesis from ninth grade was a Leo too.
Her favorite color was red. And after seeing her in that dress and staring at her lips all night, it was quickly becoming mine too.
Our high school football teams had played each other every year. Sure, she’d been a cheerleader and I had more than likely only attended the games to make out with a girl under the bleachers, but we’d both been there.
And surprisingly enough, we even knew a few of the same people. Chris Tobin—a random guy I’d graduated with who I hadn’t spoken to in years—was her older brother’s best friend. Okay, so that one was a stretch.
But! That same big brother, Jon, owned the company that had completely renovated my house when I’d bought it.
I mean, what were the chances?
Atlanta had to be the smallest big city in the entire world.
And there was a very solid chance that I’d just found the most incredible woman in the whole city.
It was past midnight when I rested my hand on the curve of her lower back and guided her out of the restaurant. We’d both stopped after glass two of wine, but while my metabolism had burned it off quickly, I could tell that Rita was still feeling the effects. This meant she forgot to play hard to get and instead tucked her arms against her chest and pressed into my front when the cool wind whipped around us as we waited for the valet.
Fuck, she felt good. All soft against my hard and the perfect height in those heels so my chin could rest on the top of her head. I drew her in close, pretending it was only to help block the wind. But the truth was I could have stood outside that restaurant for the rest of the night.
We rode back to her place in comfortable quiet. She occasionally smiled over at me or commented on the song on the radio, and I kept my hand on her dress-covered thigh, replying to those glances with a gentle squeeze, wishing I didn’t have to let her go.
Dinner wasn’t enough.
Though I had a feeling it wouldn’t have been enough if I’d booked us a fourteen-day cruise to Alaska—or somewhere equally cold so she’d never want to leave the room. But even in that little mental shoulda-woulda-coulda, we didn’t spend those fourteen days naked and in bed. I didn’t even know what Rita looked like naked and in bed.
But I knew how much I loved talking to her.
Laughing with her.
Verbally sparring with her.
I liked the way her body sagged when I took her hand.
I liked the way her nose crinkled when I teased her.
I liked the way she didn’t laugh at everything I said, so when she did, it was a gift.
I liked the way she looked at me—like I was incredible too.
And I liked the way she didn’t look at me—like I was the gift.
Yeah. It’d only been one date.
But I was fucked—and not in the literal sense.
I stood in front of a camera every week, taking my shirt off and smiling with all the confidence in the world. But with this woman, I couldn’t even gather the courage to ask her back to my place for a drink.
Because fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me.
I liked her. A lot.
And that was exactly why bile started crawling up the back of my throat when I pulled into her driveway and found a silver Jaguar parked next to her BMW SUV. One that had most definitely not been there when I’d picked her up.
“Oh, shit,” she breathed as I put the car into park.
A light at the front of her house came on, and I prayed they were motion-sensored. But no such luck. The front door swung open and the silhouette of a man holding a highball
glass appeared within. He casually propped his shoulder against the jamb and crossed his legs at the ankle.
Greg.
Fucking fucking fucking Greg.
“Oh, shit,” Rita repeated, this time with a whole lot of pissed off replacing the bitchiness.
It was only that pissed off in her voice that kept me in the car. Greg was not my competition. He was a nuisance. Not to mention an idiot. Something I’d known when she’d told me that he’d cheated on her back at the Fling. Something I knew even more after having spent the last four hours with her.
He was also not something I wanted to deal with when he was standing inside her house after midnight with a drink in his hand. I did not have the PR capital to spend on getting arrested tonight. Per my attorney, I was supposed to be lying low. I didn’t think waking up to my mug shot on TMZ was what he had in mind.
“Does he still live here?” I asked.
She swung her head my way so fast that I feared she’d given herself whiplash. “Hell no. I kicked his ass out weeks ago.”
“But he’s still got a key, and after finding out about us today, he decided to show up tonight and be a dick,” I deduced.
“God, I hate him,” she groaned. “I had a really good night. He does not get to show up here and ruin it.” She jerked the door handle, but I caught her arm before she had the chance to swing it open.
“So don’t let him ruin it,” I implored.
“What the hell am I supposed to do? Go inside and yell, ‘Honey, I’m home’? Maybe scooch over in the bed so Tammy can sleep in the middle of us?”
If I wasn’t so pissed that she had a jackass like Greg in her life, I would have laughed. But I didn’t think laughing at her was going to get me a yes to my next question.
Grabbing my balls—not literally because that would have been weird—I rushed out, “Come back to my place. We can have another drink.” I waggled my eyebrows. “Maybe swing in the hammock.”
Her face got soft, all the pissed off fading away. “Oh, honey. That’s really sweet of you. But I couldn’t.”
Shit. Rejection stung. But I’d convinced her to go out on a date with me. I could work some magic on this too. “And why not? You said it yourself: We had fun tonight. And if you go in there now, he’s going to erase all of that with more of his bullshit. It was bad enough he got to be a part of the way we met. Don’t let him be a part of the way tonight ends too.”