by Finn, Emilia
“Okay.” I nod like an idiot and remind myself I’m the nerd who still doesn’t know how to speak to women in the daylight. “Our dinner will be in the dark.”
A slow grin spreads across her face. “Yes it will. And most of the world will be asleep.”
“Just us?”
Katrina climbs out of my booth with a grunt, fixes her jeans, re-ties her hair and fixes the scarf. She’s radiant, and that’s terrifying. “Just us, in the dark, no distractions. But no promises either, DeWhit. No commitment. I’m just there for the free food and filthy talk.”
17
Katrina
I told no one about my pending date with the man I’m crushing on.
Damn me and my stupid girl crush!
I brushed Stefan’s inquiries off with the typical we were just talking. I declined Meg’s girl’s night invitation and said I’d rather go to bed. I told my son I’d drive straight home after work and toss my sweatpants on. My daddy asked if I’d like to sleep at his place, like a slumber party for something fun and new, but again, I declined, claimed I was too tired and pretended I wasn’t freaking the hell out in my mind.
I understand now what they mean when someone says they’re screaming internally. The gritted teeth, the eyes, the straight lips and clenched jaw. It’s the act of pretending everything is completely normal, but inside, I’m freaking the EFF out.
I declined all of those invitations with smooth efficiency, and now here I am, it’s eleven-fifty-five, I’m dressed, spritzed on a little perfume, perfected my lipstick, wore skimpy panties, and I have a whole list of people I lied to so this could happen.
I watched Zeke Douglas for years through high school. He was the bad boy set on being a bum, and I was the good girl who dreamed of two minutes and a ride in his car.
Which, evidently, I got.
It wasn’t even a cool car.
But because of my ridiculous crush on that tool, I forgot the rest of my high school experiences. Experiences like dating, sneaking out, flirting with boys, and girl’s nights at The Shed, a local party spot that every other high school student in this town got to experience.
I got just one night of bad choices, one night of rebellion while my dad was busy and not paying as much attention as usual, and what am I left with? A child, an unhealthy addiction to work and doing everything for myself, and not one single date.
Not one. In my whole life.
Now I’m standing at the door with butterflies battering my stomach and an insane need to check my makeup for the billionth time. Like this is a blind date and tonight is the first time he’ll see me, like he hasn’t seen me at my absolute worst in that diner, like he doesn’t know what I look like when I’m pissed, or sad, or scared.
Tonight is a first for me, even if it’s at midnight and not what anyone would consider conventional. But it is what it is, and my nerves want to eat me up and spit me back out.
I still have a few minutes to wait, and standing here is making me sick to my stomach, so I make my way back to the couch and sit down with shaking hands.
Shaking hands!
I’m being ridiculous, but I can’t stop it. I’m not a teenager anymore, but I can’t convince my heart to cool its shit. Taking out my cell, I scan my texts: one from Mac that assures me he’s being good, and if I find the energy after work, I should go out and dance.
I truly don’t understand my kid.
I have another text from Bobby Kincaid, assuring me Mac is locked in, and I have no reason to worry.
Another from Meg, who suggests I should use my free time to fuck a certain security expert.
And then a final text from Eric: see you soon.
He sent that ten minutes ago while I was fixing my lipstick, which forced me to jump and ruin my work, then bite off a string of curses that would make even my father blush. At twelve on the dot and just a second before my nerves strangle me to death, a soft knock at my door brings my head up. It’s the middle of the night, and my apartment complex is both cheap and shitty. That means all of my neighbors will know I have a visitor. They’ll know I’m a dirty whore who’s having a raging sexual affair with a man who tells shitty jokes and wears an even shittier hat.
“Oh God. Please don’t be wearing the hat. Please don’t be wearing the hat. Please don’t be wearing the hat.” I move across my apartment in high heels and hold my stomach before it explodes, then I peek through the security hole just to make sure it’s not Zeke set on ruining something else for me. I smile when I catch sight of Eric in jeans, boots, a plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, and a white shirt beneath that. His dog tags hang against his chest, and ink stretches down his forearms and up the side of his neck.
I haven’t asked him who Gemma or Callie are yet.
For starters, my commitment-phobia forbids me from asking such a personal question. To ask would prove I care. It would show my heart, and I don’t have the luxury of making myself so vulnerable. But on top of that, the only time I might have had the chance was when he was fucking me. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t really want to discuss other women while we’re doing that.
But deep in my heart, the part that aches and bleeds for him, I know it’s important. I mean, isn’t every tattoo? Who are these women that he might put them on his skin for all eternity?
Oh God.
I swing the door wide and stop him with a hand on his chest when he wants to steamroll ahead. “Have you ever murdered a date? Is this midnight date thing something you’ve done before?”
Eric’s laughing eyes scour my body and eat me up like a physical caress. He’s wearing a hat, but not the weird fur-lined, earflap hat that makes me wonder why he’d purposely make himself look like a dork. It’s just a baseball cap, midnight black, and pulled low so his eyes are shadowed and make him more mysterious.
“Have I murdered a date?” His lips twitch. Damn him for being this handsome while the rest of the world sleeps. “At midnight?”
“Yes, but don’t use that as a loophole. Have you murdered a date, ever? At any time of the day or night.”
“No.” Prying my hand off his muscular chest, he pulls me in until we crash together. If it weren’t for him holding me up, I might fall from my heels and land on my ass. But of course, that’s why he did it. Bending his neck, he comes in for a kiss as though this is our millionth date and not the first. His tongue slides over my bottom lip, suckles until I grant entry, and then slides in until my eyes close and my hands clutch at his strength. Pulling back slowly, with shadowed eyes and a tick to his jaw, he makes me want to stay right here and possibly relocate to my bed, because his strength is the only thing keeping me upright.
“I’ve never murdered anyone, ever,” he whispers. “Male or female. At any hour of the day.” He pulls back just a little. “Care to explain why you asked that?”
“Nope.” Pushing back until I’m steady on my feet, I reach back inside to grab my purse. Dropping my cell and keys inside, I step into the hall and pull my door closed. “Where are we going?”
He pulls me under his arm and crushes a kiss to my temple as we walk. “It’s a surprise. You look beautiful, by the way. Truly beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Warmth rushes to my face and makes me feel like an idiot. “I can work fast when I have to, and I really didn’t want to come out smelling like diner food.”
“But I love diner food,” he chuckles. Making our way down the stairs and out into the parking lot, he leads me toward a black truck that looks about seventy times more expensive than my little beat up car. “I won’t keep you out late; I know you still have to work tomorrow. I promise.” He beeps the truck lock and swings the passenger door open.
As soon as I’m sitting and pull the belt on, he leans in and presses his lips to mine until my nerves turn to a warm puddle of goop. He forces my lips open, nips at my sensitive flesh until I whimper, and messes my hair when he slides his hands in to hold me captive.
Stepping back with a smug grin, his eyes dance while I
try to find my balance. “That’s better.”
“What?” My heart stumbles. “What’s better?”
He shrugs. “You seemed nervous. Now you’re not.”
My eyes narrow as my wildly beating pulse is forgotten. “I see your suave version is here tonight. Dork by day, smooth as cream once the sun goes down.”
“I’m just me, and you’re so beautiful you were making me nervous. Now your sass is coming out, which means neither of us are nervous. You ready to go?”
When I only huff, he closes my door on a laugh, walks around to the driver’s side and slides in, then we head across town and over the train tracks. His music plays low, so Hoobastank’s drum beat is soft and matches my pulse. Between each change of gear, Eric’s hand comes back to my leg; it’s possessive, but not in a bad way. There’s no one here for him to assert his dominance over; there’s no one to make a claim in front of. It’s not the annoying type of possession that Zeke continues to demand, but a softer kind, where he’s silently telling me he’s here, that he wants to touch me, that he craves me.
That he values me.
Moving up the hill and around gentle bends, we climb for a few minutes, then stop at the top of Lookout Hill and park near the edge to look out over the only town I’ve ever known. I never considered leaving here. Not once in all my thirty years did I think I could pack up and skip out.
Opening his door, he climbs out without a word, makes his way to the back and shuffles things around. Picnic or shovel? Picnic or shovel?
I turn in my seat in a panic and try to see him in the dark. “Eric, are we having a picnic, or are you sorting through your ropes and lime?”
He chuckles but says nothing. Closing the back and moving straight past my door, he moves to a grassy patch in front of me and sets down a heavy basket. Whipping a blanket open and letting it drift to the ground, he kneels and pulls out containers of food. Tupperware after Tupperware, then wine glasses, a bottle of white, and a loaf of fancy bread.
Standing, he studies the layout with his hands on his hips, and when satisfied, turns back to me and comes to my door. Slowly pulling it open, he stands over me with a playful grin and offers a hand. “Is there a reason you’ve become obsessed with nighttime murderers?”
I accept his hand and slide out. I leave my purse behind, knowing my cell ringtone is on loud, so if someone needs to find me – like Mac – I’ll be able to hear. I step onto gravel in my sexy heels, but kick them off within three steps with a huff. Eric watches with affectionate eyes, and though I see the million what the fuck is she doing? questions running through his mind, he says nothing. “I might have watched too many cold case shows lately,” I answer, “and almost all of them include a dude in a trapper hat and a midnight drive. You’re starting to freak me out.”
“I didn’t even wear my hat tonight.” He chuckles and helps me onto the soft blanket, waits for me to lower down, then he follows and sits so my back rests against his chest. I meant to sit on the opposite side and hoover up a bunch of wine and food, but now I’m resting against him and not entirely unhappy about it. “I promise not to murder you.” He peppers kisses on my temple. My forehead. My neck. “Unless you choke on my fat cock, in which case, that wasn’t my fault. You knew the risks going in.”
“You’re a pig.” I dig my elbow into his thigh and smile when he squeaks and moves my arm away. “What did you bring to eat?” I cross my ankles and lean back. I’m entirely too comfortable already, and hearing his heart beat just by my ear comforts me. “I hardly ate anything since lunch, so I’m starving. If your answer is dick, I’m taking your truck to the drive-thru and leaving your ass here. If you’re lucky, the trapper hat killer might go easy on you.”
Chuckling, he slings one arm over my shoulder and stretches until our fingers interlock, then he reaches out with the other and brings the picnic basket closer. “I brought fried chicken. It’s cold.”
“I like it best when it’s cold.”
“Yeah?” He pauses and smiles. “Me too. That’s when the spices have had time to get deep into the meat. I also brought dipping shit: carrot sticks, celery, healthy shit, and a nice hummus dip.”
My stomach loudly rumbles and makes him laugh. “Katrina likes hummus and healthy shit. Check. I also got a nice white wine, to have with the chicken and healthy shit.”
“And bread.” I lean toward the aromatic loaf and uncover it. “I smell garlic.”
“Mmm, I love fancy bread. I might have been Italian in another life. I brought little pizza scrolls, because they’re easy and look fancier than they are, and for dessert, cheesecake cups.”
“You made cheesecake?”
He snorts. “No, the supermarket made them. They were in the fridge section in a pack of four. I threw them in my freezer all day, so by the time we’re ready for them, they’ll be nice and cold.”
“You thought of everything.” I lean back and make him hold my weight despite his efforts to open and pour wine one-handed. “I love this.”
Lifting a glass, he hands it to me with a gentle kiss on my temple. This isn’t one-night-stand material. This is way more. This is breaking all of my rules and scares the shit out of me. This is the part where everything falls apart. I’ve seen this show before, and right at the moment I allow myself to relax and enjoy something, it’ll all fall apart.
But when I take a hesitant sip of my wine… nothing happens. The world doesn’t burn down, and Eric doesn’t flip personalities and declare this all a giant scam. If history were to repeat itself, this is the part where he’d ask me for money, or tell me he just lost his job, so he needs a couch to sleep on just for a few days. But that doesn’t happen. The worst Eric does is kiss my temple, nuzzle my hair, and whisper that I’m beautiful.
So I take another sip.
Most girls say the one-night stand is where they toss their inhibitions aside. They tell their friends how romantic he was, how chivalrous, how respectful, even if it’s not true. They paint him to be a hero among men, if only to have a moment in the spotlight and their friends gushing about how lucky they are. It’s an innocent lie, an ego-boosting lie, but a lie nonetheless.
But here I sit with my hero, and I’m actively doing the opposite: I’m tossing my rules aside and allowing this man to romance me when I really shouldn’t. It’s both terrifying and amazing. It’s contradictory, and I’m the type of woman who loathes such a state.
“See the lights?” he murmurs in my ear. He nods across town toward a parking lot lit up like it is a royal compound. “That’s the gym. And I got a text a few hours ago that it’s in lockdown and everyone is safe and happy. Cruz secured that place up tight since his girl works there. Cameras everywhere, alarms that come out to every Checkmate phone, plus the cops, plus the Rollers.” He presses a kiss to the warm skin behind my ear. “It’s safe; he’s safe, and nobody is getting in or out. Not even the trapper hat killer.”
“You knew I was worried?” I smile. “About Mac, that is. Not the trapper hat killer. He’s right here.”
Moonlight sparkles off his eyes as he sips his wine and grins. “Of course. I don’t think you’re worried something truly bad would happen. You trust the Rollers. But I figure you’re worried the kids might get a bug in their asses and try to sneak out.”
“Maybe. A little,” I admit. “Though logically, all of their sneaking is to each other. And since they’re all together in that building, there’d be no reason to sneak away.”
“Exactly.” Pulling a container open, Eric places the hummus by my leg and offers another container with vegetables to dip. “I knew it wasn’t a total worry for you, because the kids are together. They’re probably causing a scene inside and driving the adults crazy, but bringing you up here could only help. You see it’s calm and everything is fine, so now you can relax a little more. You can be with me and not somewhere else in your head. It’s win-win for us both.”
“Thank you.” I take a carrot stick and slide it through the dip. Crunchy and fresh, and super r
efreshing for a middle of the night meal.
“You hear from Zeke recently?”
I scoff. “Not for a few days. And definitely not something I want to talk about right now. I’m on my first real date, and talking about my ex isn’t really something I want to do.”
“Hold up.” Eric’s heart races beneath my ear as he takes my wine and sets it aside with a snap. He pulls my face around with rough hands so my neck twists and our eyes meet. “Your first real date?”
“Hmm?”
“Sitting on the ground in the middle of the night eating carrot sticks is your first real date?” His light eyes blaze. “Are you fuckin’ serious right now?”
“Uh… I am, but you make it seem cheap.”
“It is cheap!” He throws his hand up. “The only thing I paid for was the cheesecake cups and the wine. Your first real date cost me twenty-three bucks. Total!”
“So?” I sit up and scowl because he’s ruining it. I knew I shouldn’t have taken that second sip. “I’m enjoying this, Eric. Why isn’t that good enough?”
“Because you need a fancy restaurant, fancy wine, candlelight. Jesus, Katrina! Put your heels back on and feel fancy for a night. This is why Mac is always trying to sell you off. You’re allowed to feel expensive for a night!”
I roll my eyes and lie back on the blanket. Screw him for ruining my body pillow, and screw him again for not kissing my hair anymore. “Expensive is overrated. I’d rather be comfortable, without shoes that pinch my toes, while I eat yummy food, talk with an intelligent man who intimidates me because he makes me feel dumb, and stare at the stars while we search for ours.” I grab his hand and pull him down so we lie shoulder to shoulder and our feet touch the grass beyond the rug. “We could be sitting in an overheated restaurant while we people-watch and eat weird meals. Or we could be here, praying we don’t see a shooting star.”
“Katrina…” he growls.
“If you laid the two options out on cards, I’d choose this every time. I’d rather have quiet and privacy over a weird server who keeps asking if we liked our meal. I’d prefer to snack on yummy food and stare at the stars. If you’re not happy with this, then take me home and leave me with the cheesecake cups. I’d rather sit in my building parking lot alone and get fat on cheesecake than have you make my date shitty.”
