Clutch_A Rock Bottom Novel
Page 10
That maddening grin crosses his lips again. “You’re right,” he growls, “Coffee isn’t strong enough. I know a bar. It’s a bit of a dive, but I know the guy who owns the place.”
I study his face, wondering if he’s just not going to take no for an answer. But if I’m being honest, a drink sounds good. Enough alcohol will drown the pain I’m feeling. I trace the line of his powerful brow. His dark brows slash low over his eyes. There’s something mesmerizing about his amber colored eyes with their forest green outer circle.
He’s every inch the brooding, intense, tall dark and handsome type I generally fall for. My brain is screaming at me, warning me to say no, that this can only end badly and have I learned nothing these last few months?
“Sure,” I say.
“It’s a short walk,” he says. “I’m Tate, by the way.”
“Ray,” I say and his eyebrows lift. “Short for Rachael.” Falling into step beside him, I abandon my car with a silent promise to come get it tomorrow.
“So what do you do?” I ask him, needing to learn some fact about this intense stranger I’m on a casual date with.
“I travel,” he says simply.
I sense he doesn’t want to talk about it, but I’m not satisfied with that answer. “I mean what do you do. For a job.”
“I travel,” he says, he says again, a hint of humor in the words.
“Like a truck driver?” I ask, annoyed he’s dodging the question. The cracked sidewalk is lined with moss that reminds me of his eyes and I glance up at him. He’s watching me, as if trying to figure me out.
“No, I’m an investor.”
I nod, getting it loud and clear. He doesn’t have a job. “I’ve got this dead end job I’ve been plugging away at for years. I took some vacation time to come home,” I say, hating my life. I’m grateful to have a job, but not satisfied feeling like I never accomplish anything. It’s all stagnate. A slow march to old age and death without even a worthy story in between.
Inside the bar, warmth and the scent of steak and depression hit me. Tate slips his hand in mine and I bristle at the touch. Or try to be upset about, that is. His touch gives the same zap I get from touching metal carts in supermarkets. And judging by the look he gives me, he feels it too.
I stand there, frozen in place as he looks down at me. Finally, we make our way to a seat.
“Hungry?” he asks, picking up a menu.
“Thirsty,” I say suggestively, hating myself. I’m here with a stranger and a broken heart and I’m hitting on him. “Have you ever hit rock bottom?” I ask him as a waiter drops off a couple beers like Tate sent a signal I didn’t see.
He studies me, his eyes serious before he picks up his beer. I pick up the other one and take a sip. He sets his down, his body language changing. He turns toward me, his knees wide, his hands before him as his elbows rest on his thighs. The serious expression on his face extends to his words. “I don’t think so. I’ve had some bad moments, but never one where I didn’t see a way out.”
I take another deep drink of beer and study the bottle. “I wish there was a way out.” I take another drink.
“What is so bad you have to run from it?” He asks and I look up at him with an are you serious expression.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” I say, thinking this must be the weirdest date I’ve ever been on.
“So start at the beginning,” he says as the waiter brings another round.
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About the Author
Gabriel Love is a firefighter with a talent for wordplay. He’s no stranger to heat and loves bringing fire to his romance novels. His best ideas come during his daily five mile run on the treadmill, though he searches for inspiration everywhere. He’s a sucker for anything sweet, sexy, and has a secret passion for star-crossed lovers.
You can connect with Gabriel online: Email: writegabriellove@gmail.com
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