Hendrix, p.3
Hendrix, page 3
“But he just dumped his girlfriend.” That doesn’t sound so nice.
“Trust me,” Harlow says with an incline of her head. “She needed to be dumped. She was one of the most unpleasant people I’ve ever known.”
“Then why was he with her?” I ask curiously.
Harlow shrugs. “You have ten minutes with him. Maybe you should ask.” I scoff, because I don’t care about his personal life. “Although I suggest you continue the flirting you two had going on. It was fun to watch.”
This time, I roll my eyes, because the last thing I could ever be called is a flirt. I mean, sure, I’ll turn on the charm with my customers when I’m behind the bar, but that’s part of my job—and it increases tips.
Still, I did find myself engaging with Hendrix as we moved around the pool table, analyzing angles and calling shots. I know the booze in him probably buoyed his natural charisma, but damn, he’s fun to be around. Playful, witty, and actually quite the gentleman, despite his obvious interest in me as a woman.
“I want my ten minutes now.” I turn around to find Hendrix behind me, his eyes cutting briefly to Harlow. “And I want them to be quality, which means we’re not talking while you’re working behind the bar so we need someplace quiet.”
I twirl around, noting the still thirty or so patrons, and then nod toward the jukebox. “I can’t make it quiet in here.”
He grins devilishly as he hands his pool cue to Harlow and takes my hand. “Luckily, I’m an observant guy.”
To my shock, Hendrix leads me through the bar to the small hallway that branches off to the bathrooms on one side and the stockroom on the other.
It’s the stockroom door handle he grabs, pulling me in behind him. I glance back once into the bar area and note my father watchful but unmoving. He knows I can handle myself, but I can tell you Hendrix just landed a point against himself for pulling me into a private place. Not my problem though, especially since after he gets his ten minutes, I’ll never see him again.
The door closes and Hendrix looks around, taking in the rough wooden built-in shelves around the perimeter filled with supplies, as well as beer cases stacked in the center. Using his hold on my hand, he tugs me over to a lonely stool in the corner. It has a slight tear in the seat, which is why it’s in here.
He releases me and admittedly, I’m charmed when he presses down on the stool top, testing for stability. It holds strong because the rip is the only defect, and then he’s got me by the shoulders, spinning and pushing me down gently onto it.
Hendrix reaches a hand up to one of the wooden shelves, casually tucks his other hand in his jeans pocket, and crosses one ankle over the other. “Okay… since I only have ten minutes—”
“Starting now,” I say, glancing at my watch.
He powers on without missing a beat. “You should know my ultimate goal is in securing a date with you. It would help if you could tell me what hesitations you have in agreeing to such a thing. Like… for example, if you’re not attracted to me, there’s not much I can do about that, and I won’t waste our time.”
“It’s really that I’m too busy to—”
“Aha,” he says in triumph. “So you are attracted to me.”
“I didn’t say that,” I exclaim as I stand from the stool, trying to hold back the twitch of a threatened smile.
“You didn’t not say it either.” He smirks, moving very quickly out of his casual lean. He backs me up into the shelves, putting his hands on the wood at my shoulders, caging me in. “Looked like you were going to escape.”
“Just don’t like having to look up at you,” I counter, still needing to tip my head to look him directly in the eye because he’s so tall. “And back to your original question, the main reason I don’t want to go on a date is that I’m too busy.”
“I’m busy, too, but we can find time.”
“Well, you did just dump a girl today, so you probably have more time than I do.”
“I didn’t dump her on a whim, you know.”
“And you’re already on the prowl,” I point out.
“Not prowling.” He moves in a bit, dips his head a little closer. “And my relationship with Tracy was severely broken. I should’ve ended things a long time ago.”
I hear a bit of disappointment in his tone, and that makes me curious. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because it takes effort to make a relationship work and I tried my damnedest. I’m not one who gives up easily and I don’t ever want to have regrets. Now, I definitely might have hung on too long trying to change things, but I won’t wake up tomorrow with any remorse for finally calling it quits.”
God, I can never let him know that right there would convince me to give him a try. One of my pet peeves is quitters. People who run when things get too hard, and that stems directly from my mom abandoning me because “having a kid was just a little too hard.”
Still, I’m stubborn and unwilling to let him know that meant anything to me. “We wouldn’t be well suited. You’re all preppy polos, and I’m a biker babe.”
Hendrix laughs, truly amused by my description. “Going to have to do better than the way we dress as an excuse.”
“It’s not just the way we dress,” I snap in defense. “You’re just… too… vanilla.”
If he found me funny before, he thinks I’m fucking hilarious as his bark of laughter is loud and deep. His humor wells up from his belly, and he laughs so hard, tears form in his eyes.
Shaking his head, still chuckling, he reaches a hand to tug on a lock of my hair just above my shoulder. “It’s cute you think I’m vanilla.” His eyes lift to meet mine, and his voice drops an octave. “If that’s a true concern, I’m willing to disprove that theory right now. I could have you screaming out my name in far less than ten minutes if you gave me the go-ahead.”
“Less than ten minutes, huh? Not a lot of lasting power, buddy.”
“I didn’t say I’d be screaming in that time frame. Only you would be. Trust me, I’ve got a lot of ways to get you there.”
God help me, but that hit me right between the legs and my throat is so parched my words come out in a rasp. “So, you’re all about a hot hookup then, huh?”
“Did I say I wanted a hookup?” His eyes twinkle with humor, but there’s still a low simmer of heat deep within. “I believe I asked for a date, but we can make it what you want.” Hendrix’s voice drops even lower with a sexy rumble. “I’m very willing to please.”
And I have no doubt he’d deliver if I let him.
I think about the opportunity before me. It’s absolutely true that I work very hard and don’t have a lot of free time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t date. Granted, it’s been a long damn time since I’ve been on one and I might have gotten into a bit of a rut. But the question is, should I give Hendrix a try?
He’s gorgeous, and Harlow wouldn’t have let me take this bet so far if he wasn’t a decent guy. It’s true I think he might be a little vanilla, but the way he confidently challenged me makes me think I might be misjudging him.
All things in his favor, but most of all, I can’t let go of the fact that working hard on relationships is important to him. Not that I’m thinking we’d have anything past a first date, but I respect anyone who isn’t going to run scared when things get tough.
“Okay,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.
“Okay?” Hendrix says, eyebrows lifting in surprise.
“Okay,” I affirm.
“What’s your phone number?” he asks, pulling his phone from his pocket. I watch as he types in my number. My phone rings, and I move to pull it free, but his hand wraps around my wrist and stills me. Hendrix places his phone against his ear and waits a moment, then speaks to my voicemail. “Hi, Stevie. It’s Hendrix. Leaving this voicemail for you to listen to later in case you start having doubts and try to weasel out of our date.” His eyes are locked onto mine, his mouth curved into a boyish smile. “Just listen to this message as a reminder that something happened in the stockroom tonight that made you change your mind about me. Something that made you decide you could slice time out of your hectic schedule for a date. Remember what that was.”
He hangs up and winks.
I try not to be enchanted, turning sideways to slide past him. “Shoot me a text and let me know your availability.”
“I already know my availability,” he says as he follows me to the door. “I have tomorrow night off, then the night after that I have a home game. We can go out tomorrow, or I’ll get you a ticket to the game on Thursday, and we can go out after.”
“I have to work,” I reply automatically, reaching for the doorknob. Because I’m here almost every night.
“But do you really?” he asks, nabbing my hand before I can open the door. “You’re the owner. I’m sure you can find someone to cover for you.”
I’m not about to get into it with him that I pour so much of myself into this business, so I don’t have to put myself in the dating world. My mom abandoning me might have left an indelible mark, making me wary with more than a few trust issues. Instead, I merely say, “Let me look at the schedule, and I’ll let you know.”
I turn for the door again, but Hendrix pulls me back until my attention is on him. “Is it too forward if I kiss you?”
Cocking an eyebrow at him, I say, “That’s pretty vanilla to ask permission, especially when not but two minutes ago, you were promising you could make me scream.”
Hendrix laughs, pulls my hand to his mouth, and brushes his lips over my knuckles. “I know. I like keeping you off-balance.”
He releases my hand, reaches past me to the door, and opens it. Hendrix motions me through and I precede him out. Once the door is closed, he bends down to put his mouth near my ear. “It has been a real pleasure getting to know you tonight, Stevie.”
I shiver over the way he rolls out the word pleasure like it’s a promise.
Then he walks away without a backward glance.
Shaking my head in equal parts amusement and consternation since that didn’t go at all how I’d planned, I move back behind the bar.
My dad stares at me with one eyebrow lifted. “I don’t like him.”
“Why not?” I ask, grabbing his empty mug and moving to the tap to pour another.
When I return it to him, he says, “He’s too pretty.”
My gaze moves past my dad’s shoulder back to Hendrix, now talking to Stone and Harlow. I wonder if he’s telling them what went down in the storeroom.
Turning my regard back to my dad, I say, “He’s not too pretty.”
He’s actually remarkably handsome with his dark shaggy hair that looks windswept, expressive brown eyes, and lips that are too full to be disregarded. I wonder what they’d feel like, and the bad girl inside me thinks I might learn the answer to that question.
My dad twists his neck to look over his shoulder, stares at the players for a moment, and then looks back to me. “Did he make a move on you in the storage room? Because I could rearrange some parts of his face.”
Leaning over the bar, I pat my dad’s arm. “You’re cute. And no, he was a perfect gentleman.”
Although if he knew the promises Hendrix made that involved screaming, my dad would kill him right now.
“Are you going out with him?”
“I agreed to a date.”
“You let him know that I have lots of guns and I have broken men’s bones before.”
“I’ll let him know,” I promise with a smile.
CHAPTER 4
Hendrix
Stevie sips her water and I take that moment to study her in the candlelight dancing across her face. She sure looks different from last night. Gone is the Harley tank top, and in its place is a black fuzzy sweater. Still wearing jeans, but these are dark and paired with high-heeled boots rather than her biker boots. The eye makeup isn’t as dark and dramatic, but her slate-colored eyes are just as mesmerizing.
In fact, it’s like a lighter version of the rocker chick, and I like it just as much.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asks, taking the folded linen napkin and placing it on her lap. Her fingernails still sport the black polish, but she’s wearing a delicate silver ring set with an amethyst stone on her middle right finger. It’s feminine and flirty.
“Just noticing the subtle changes between bar owner Stevie and date-night Stevie.”
“What can I say?” she quips, shifting in her chair to cross one leg over the other. “I’m multifaceted.”
“I could’ve told you that before I even picked you up tonight and first saw the changes, but moving along to my next observation… I wasn’t prepared for your bear of a dad to open the door when I picked you up.”
Stevie laughs, smoky and deep. “He was there installing a new ceiling fan in the bedroom, and it’s funny you call him a bear because that’s his nickname.”
“You’re kidding me. Bear?”
“He’ll answer to that or John,” she quips.
A waiter appears and we look his way. “Would you like to see a wine list?”
I glance at Stevie in question.
“I’d rather have a beer,” she says.
“Same,” I reply.
The waiter looks slightly offended since this is an upscale restaurant, but we put our order in for two IPAs and listen to the specials.
“Anyway,” I say, returning to my curiosity about her dad. “Why did he look like he wanted to pound me into the ground?”
Her shoulder lifts in a half shrug, but she smiles mischievously.
“If I don’t have you home at a reasonable hour, will I be killed or just my legs broken?”
Stevie chuckles. “I’m an adult, Hendrix. I’m even allowed to stay out all night if I want.”
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Twenty-five. You?”
“I’ll be twenty-six in a few months. But I also get the impression your dad doesn’t care that you’re an adult. He’s going to be overprotective no matter your age.”
Stevie’s smile softens, awash with tenderness. “He’s been that way my entire life and I wouldn’t change it for the world. But to ease your mind, pretty sure your life and bones are safe. He just looks tough.”
“What about your mom?”
Stevie’s tiny burst of laughter is mirthless. “That’s a completely complicated question and one that’s not worth our time discussing.”
“I think anything you want to discuss is worth my time.”
Those eyes focus intently on me as if she can’t quite figure out what the game is. “What is this?” she asks.
“What’s what?”
She motions with her hand. “What is this going on tonight? Is it a date, a hookup? I don’t get why you’d think what I have to say has any worth.”
I frown, leaning forward and crossing my arms on the table. “It’s a date. I don’t understand how you could even be perplexed.”
“Because this time twenty-four hours ago, you had a girlfriend. It seems weird that you’ve brought me to this expensive restaurant, and now you’re asking questions that make it seem like you’re genuinely interested in getting to know me.”
“Okay,” I say, leaning back from the table, creating space between us. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to make you think anything other than I just wanted to go out with you. Or why you can’t understand that I find you interesting and beautiful and would indeed like to know more about you.”
Stevie takes a breath and holds her hands out in a silent gesture that seems to say, Let’s stop a minute and back up.
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “It’s just… I don’t want to be a rebound.”
“You’re not.” I don’t know how to say it any simpler or more assuredly than that. “I agree the timing isn’t the best, but honestly I checked out of that relationship—if you can even call it that—a long time ago. I’m more than happy to tell you anything you want to know about it.”
The waiter returns with our beers and frosted pilsner glasses. He pours and sets them before us and then asks, “Would you like to order?”
I shake my head. “Haven’t even cracked the menus open.”
He bends at the waist slightly. “Take your time. I’ll check back.”
When he’s gone, Stevie says, “I just want you to know, I’m not looking for anything serious.”
“Can’t say that I am either.”
“And not really looking for a hookup,” she says, a bit of challenge in her tone.
“Wasn’t on my agenda.”
“Although a hookup is preferable to a relationship,” she clarifies, which really muddies things.
“I have a really good idea,” I say, picking up my beer and lifting it toward her. “How about we just start off with a good meal and a few beers and reevaluate where we are at the end of the evening?”
And I’ll never forget this moment because if I thought Stevie was beautiful before, she knocks the breath out of me now. Her smile engages every bit of her face—full lips, gleaming teeth, glittering eyes that are both relieved and playful—and I am lost.
She lifts her beer, taps it against mine, and says, “I’ll drink to that.”
I don’t say it out loud, but the one thing I know with certainty is at the end of the evening, I won’t need to reevaluate anything. I know I’ll want to see her again.
We sip our beers, and then I suggest, “How about we figure out what we want to eat, even dessert, so we don’t have to interrupt conversation again except to give our orders?”
“That sounds good,” she says, and we take a few minutes to peruse the menus. The waiter must be watching us like a hawk because we no sooner close them than he’s there.
We both order rib eyes, finding our first thing in common, and once the waiter is gone, Stevie lifts her glass. “I still need a full beer in me to answer your question about my mom. Tell me about your family.”
So our date begins without any expectation other than agreeing to see how we feel at the evening’s end.
My family is great, so it’s no hardship to talk about my parents—Mick and Tonya—as well as my mom’s sister, Rory, who is like a second mom to me and dotes on all her nieces and nephews.
“Trust me,” Harlow says with an incline of her head. “She needed to be dumped. She was one of the most unpleasant people I’ve ever known.”
“Then why was he with her?” I ask curiously.
Harlow shrugs. “You have ten minutes with him. Maybe you should ask.” I scoff, because I don’t care about his personal life. “Although I suggest you continue the flirting you two had going on. It was fun to watch.”
This time, I roll my eyes, because the last thing I could ever be called is a flirt. I mean, sure, I’ll turn on the charm with my customers when I’m behind the bar, but that’s part of my job—and it increases tips.
Still, I did find myself engaging with Hendrix as we moved around the pool table, analyzing angles and calling shots. I know the booze in him probably buoyed his natural charisma, but damn, he’s fun to be around. Playful, witty, and actually quite the gentleman, despite his obvious interest in me as a woman.
“I want my ten minutes now.” I turn around to find Hendrix behind me, his eyes cutting briefly to Harlow. “And I want them to be quality, which means we’re not talking while you’re working behind the bar so we need someplace quiet.”
I twirl around, noting the still thirty or so patrons, and then nod toward the jukebox. “I can’t make it quiet in here.”
He grins devilishly as he hands his pool cue to Harlow and takes my hand. “Luckily, I’m an observant guy.”
To my shock, Hendrix leads me through the bar to the small hallway that branches off to the bathrooms on one side and the stockroom on the other.
It’s the stockroom door handle he grabs, pulling me in behind him. I glance back once into the bar area and note my father watchful but unmoving. He knows I can handle myself, but I can tell you Hendrix just landed a point against himself for pulling me into a private place. Not my problem though, especially since after he gets his ten minutes, I’ll never see him again.
The door closes and Hendrix looks around, taking in the rough wooden built-in shelves around the perimeter filled with supplies, as well as beer cases stacked in the center. Using his hold on my hand, he tugs me over to a lonely stool in the corner. It has a slight tear in the seat, which is why it’s in here.
He releases me and admittedly, I’m charmed when he presses down on the stool top, testing for stability. It holds strong because the rip is the only defect, and then he’s got me by the shoulders, spinning and pushing me down gently onto it.
Hendrix reaches a hand up to one of the wooden shelves, casually tucks his other hand in his jeans pocket, and crosses one ankle over the other. “Okay… since I only have ten minutes—”
“Starting now,” I say, glancing at my watch.
He powers on without missing a beat. “You should know my ultimate goal is in securing a date with you. It would help if you could tell me what hesitations you have in agreeing to such a thing. Like… for example, if you’re not attracted to me, there’s not much I can do about that, and I won’t waste our time.”
“It’s really that I’m too busy to—”
“Aha,” he says in triumph. “So you are attracted to me.”
“I didn’t say that,” I exclaim as I stand from the stool, trying to hold back the twitch of a threatened smile.
“You didn’t not say it either.” He smirks, moving very quickly out of his casual lean. He backs me up into the shelves, putting his hands on the wood at my shoulders, caging me in. “Looked like you were going to escape.”
“Just don’t like having to look up at you,” I counter, still needing to tip my head to look him directly in the eye because he’s so tall. “And back to your original question, the main reason I don’t want to go on a date is that I’m too busy.”
“I’m busy, too, but we can find time.”
“Well, you did just dump a girl today, so you probably have more time than I do.”
“I didn’t dump her on a whim, you know.”
“And you’re already on the prowl,” I point out.
“Not prowling.” He moves in a bit, dips his head a little closer. “And my relationship with Tracy was severely broken. I should’ve ended things a long time ago.”
I hear a bit of disappointment in his tone, and that makes me curious. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because it takes effort to make a relationship work and I tried my damnedest. I’m not one who gives up easily and I don’t ever want to have regrets. Now, I definitely might have hung on too long trying to change things, but I won’t wake up tomorrow with any remorse for finally calling it quits.”
God, I can never let him know that right there would convince me to give him a try. One of my pet peeves is quitters. People who run when things get too hard, and that stems directly from my mom abandoning me because “having a kid was just a little too hard.”
Still, I’m stubborn and unwilling to let him know that meant anything to me. “We wouldn’t be well suited. You’re all preppy polos, and I’m a biker babe.”
Hendrix laughs, truly amused by my description. “Going to have to do better than the way we dress as an excuse.”
“It’s not just the way we dress,” I snap in defense. “You’re just… too… vanilla.”
If he found me funny before, he thinks I’m fucking hilarious as his bark of laughter is loud and deep. His humor wells up from his belly, and he laughs so hard, tears form in his eyes.
Shaking his head, still chuckling, he reaches a hand to tug on a lock of my hair just above my shoulder. “It’s cute you think I’m vanilla.” His eyes lift to meet mine, and his voice drops an octave. “If that’s a true concern, I’m willing to disprove that theory right now. I could have you screaming out my name in far less than ten minutes if you gave me the go-ahead.”
“Less than ten minutes, huh? Not a lot of lasting power, buddy.”
“I didn’t say I’d be screaming in that time frame. Only you would be. Trust me, I’ve got a lot of ways to get you there.”
God help me, but that hit me right between the legs and my throat is so parched my words come out in a rasp. “So, you’re all about a hot hookup then, huh?”
“Did I say I wanted a hookup?” His eyes twinkle with humor, but there’s still a low simmer of heat deep within. “I believe I asked for a date, but we can make it what you want.” Hendrix’s voice drops even lower with a sexy rumble. “I’m very willing to please.”
And I have no doubt he’d deliver if I let him.
I think about the opportunity before me. It’s absolutely true that I work very hard and don’t have a lot of free time, but it doesn’t mean I don’t date. Granted, it’s been a long damn time since I’ve been on one and I might have gotten into a bit of a rut. But the question is, should I give Hendrix a try?
He’s gorgeous, and Harlow wouldn’t have let me take this bet so far if he wasn’t a decent guy. It’s true I think he might be a little vanilla, but the way he confidently challenged me makes me think I might be misjudging him.
All things in his favor, but most of all, I can’t let go of the fact that working hard on relationships is important to him. Not that I’m thinking we’d have anything past a first date, but I respect anyone who isn’t going to run scared when things get tough.
“Okay,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.
“Okay?” Hendrix says, eyebrows lifting in surprise.
“Okay,” I affirm.
“What’s your phone number?” he asks, pulling his phone from his pocket. I watch as he types in my number. My phone rings, and I move to pull it free, but his hand wraps around my wrist and stills me. Hendrix places his phone against his ear and waits a moment, then speaks to my voicemail. “Hi, Stevie. It’s Hendrix. Leaving this voicemail for you to listen to later in case you start having doubts and try to weasel out of our date.” His eyes are locked onto mine, his mouth curved into a boyish smile. “Just listen to this message as a reminder that something happened in the stockroom tonight that made you change your mind about me. Something that made you decide you could slice time out of your hectic schedule for a date. Remember what that was.”
He hangs up and winks.
I try not to be enchanted, turning sideways to slide past him. “Shoot me a text and let me know your availability.”
“I already know my availability,” he says as he follows me to the door. “I have tomorrow night off, then the night after that I have a home game. We can go out tomorrow, or I’ll get you a ticket to the game on Thursday, and we can go out after.”
“I have to work,” I reply automatically, reaching for the doorknob. Because I’m here almost every night.
“But do you really?” he asks, nabbing my hand before I can open the door. “You’re the owner. I’m sure you can find someone to cover for you.”
I’m not about to get into it with him that I pour so much of myself into this business, so I don’t have to put myself in the dating world. My mom abandoning me might have left an indelible mark, making me wary with more than a few trust issues. Instead, I merely say, “Let me look at the schedule, and I’ll let you know.”
I turn for the door again, but Hendrix pulls me back until my attention is on him. “Is it too forward if I kiss you?”
Cocking an eyebrow at him, I say, “That’s pretty vanilla to ask permission, especially when not but two minutes ago, you were promising you could make me scream.”
Hendrix laughs, pulls my hand to his mouth, and brushes his lips over my knuckles. “I know. I like keeping you off-balance.”
He releases my hand, reaches past me to the door, and opens it. Hendrix motions me through and I precede him out. Once the door is closed, he bends down to put his mouth near my ear. “It has been a real pleasure getting to know you tonight, Stevie.”
I shiver over the way he rolls out the word pleasure like it’s a promise.
Then he walks away without a backward glance.
Shaking my head in equal parts amusement and consternation since that didn’t go at all how I’d planned, I move back behind the bar.
My dad stares at me with one eyebrow lifted. “I don’t like him.”
“Why not?” I ask, grabbing his empty mug and moving to the tap to pour another.
When I return it to him, he says, “He’s too pretty.”
My gaze moves past my dad’s shoulder back to Hendrix, now talking to Stone and Harlow. I wonder if he’s telling them what went down in the storeroom.
Turning my regard back to my dad, I say, “He’s not too pretty.”
He’s actually remarkably handsome with his dark shaggy hair that looks windswept, expressive brown eyes, and lips that are too full to be disregarded. I wonder what they’d feel like, and the bad girl inside me thinks I might learn the answer to that question.
My dad twists his neck to look over his shoulder, stares at the players for a moment, and then looks back to me. “Did he make a move on you in the storage room? Because I could rearrange some parts of his face.”
Leaning over the bar, I pat my dad’s arm. “You’re cute. And no, he was a perfect gentleman.”
Although if he knew the promises Hendrix made that involved screaming, my dad would kill him right now.
“Are you going out with him?”
“I agreed to a date.”
“You let him know that I have lots of guns and I have broken men’s bones before.”
“I’ll let him know,” I promise with a smile.
CHAPTER 4
Hendrix
Stevie sips her water and I take that moment to study her in the candlelight dancing across her face. She sure looks different from last night. Gone is the Harley tank top, and in its place is a black fuzzy sweater. Still wearing jeans, but these are dark and paired with high-heeled boots rather than her biker boots. The eye makeup isn’t as dark and dramatic, but her slate-colored eyes are just as mesmerizing.
In fact, it’s like a lighter version of the rocker chick, and I like it just as much.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asks, taking the folded linen napkin and placing it on her lap. Her fingernails still sport the black polish, but she’s wearing a delicate silver ring set with an amethyst stone on her middle right finger. It’s feminine and flirty.
“Just noticing the subtle changes between bar owner Stevie and date-night Stevie.”
“What can I say?” she quips, shifting in her chair to cross one leg over the other. “I’m multifaceted.”
“I could’ve told you that before I even picked you up tonight and first saw the changes, but moving along to my next observation… I wasn’t prepared for your bear of a dad to open the door when I picked you up.”
Stevie laughs, smoky and deep. “He was there installing a new ceiling fan in the bedroom, and it’s funny you call him a bear because that’s his nickname.”
“You’re kidding me. Bear?”
“He’ll answer to that or John,” she quips.
A waiter appears and we look his way. “Would you like to see a wine list?”
I glance at Stevie in question.
“I’d rather have a beer,” she says.
“Same,” I reply.
The waiter looks slightly offended since this is an upscale restaurant, but we put our order in for two IPAs and listen to the specials.
“Anyway,” I say, returning to my curiosity about her dad. “Why did he look like he wanted to pound me into the ground?”
Her shoulder lifts in a half shrug, but she smiles mischievously.
“If I don’t have you home at a reasonable hour, will I be killed or just my legs broken?”
Stevie chuckles. “I’m an adult, Hendrix. I’m even allowed to stay out all night if I want.”
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Twenty-five. You?”
“I’ll be twenty-six in a few months. But I also get the impression your dad doesn’t care that you’re an adult. He’s going to be overprotective no matter your age.”
Stevie’s smile softens, awash with tenderness. “He’s been that way my entire life and I wouldn’t change it for the world. But to ease your mind, pretty sure your life and bones are safe. He just looks tough.”
“What about your mom?”
Stevie’s tiny burst of laughter is mirthless. “That’s a completely complicated question and one that’s not worth our time discussing.”
“I think anything you want to discuss is worth my time.”
Those eyes focus intently on me as if she can’t quite figure out what the game is. “What is this?” she asks.
“What’s what?”
She motions with her hand. “What is this going on tonight? Is it a date, a hookup? I don’t get why you’d think what I have to say has any worth.”
I frown, leaning forward and crossing my arms on the table. “It’s a date. I don’t understand how you could even be perplexed.”
“Because this time twenty-four hours ago, you had a girlfriend. It seems weird that you’ve brought me to this expensive restaurant, and now you’re asking questions that make it seem like you’re genuinely interested in getting to know me.”
“Okay,” I say, leaning back from the table, creating space between us. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to make you think anything other than I just wanted to go out with you. Or why you can’t understand that I find you interesting and beautiful and would indeed like to know more about you.”
Stevie takes a breath and holds her hands out in a silent gesture that seems to say, Let’s stop a minute and back up.
“Sorry,” she murmurs. “It’s just… I don’t want to be a rebound.”
“You’re not.” I don’t know how to say it any simpler or more assuredly than that. “I agree the timing isn’t the best, but honestly I checked out of that relationship—if you can even call it that—a long time ago. I’m more than happy to tell you anything you want to know about it.”
The waiter returns with our beers and frosted pilsner glasses. He pours and sets them before us and then asks, “Would you like to order?”
I shake my head. “Haven’t even cracked the menus open.”
He bends at the waist slightly. “Take your time. I’ll check back.”
When he’s gone, Stevie says, “I just want you to know, I’m not looking for anything serious.”
“Can’t say that I am either.”
“And not really looking for a hookup,” she says, a bit of challenge in her tone.
“Wasn’t on my agenda.”
“Although a hookup is preferable to a relationship,” she clarifies, which really muddies things.
“I have a really good idea,” I say, picking up my beer and lifting it toward her. “How about we just start off with a good meal and a few beers and reevaluate where we are at the end of the evening?”
And I’ll never forget this moment because if I thought Stevie was beautiful before, she knocks the breath out of me now. Her smile engages every bit of her face—full lips, gleaming teeth, glittering eyes that are both relieved and playful—and I am lost.
She lifts her beer, taps it against mine, and says, “I’ll drink to that.”
I don’t say it out loud, but the one thing I know with certainty is at the end of the evening, I won’t need to reevaluate anything. I know I’ll want to see her again.
We sip our beers, and then I suggest, “How about we figure out what we want to eat, even dessert, so we don’t have to interrupt conversation again except to give our orders?”
“That sounds good,” she says, and we take a few minutes to peruse the menus. The waiter must be watching us like a hawk because we no sooner close them than he’s there.
We both order rib eyes, finding our first thing in common, and once the waiter is gone, Stevie lifts her glass. “I still need a full beer in me to answer your question about my mom. Tell me about your family.”
So our date begins without any expectation other than agreeing to see how we feel at the evening’s end.
My family is great, so it’s no hardship to talk about my parents—Mick and Tonya—as well as my mom’s sister, Rory, who is like a second mom to me and dotes on all her nieces and nephews.
