by J. L. Berg
“Good. Make sure it happens again.”
My mouth fell open as she walked away, laughing, her large hips swinging as she went.
“Don’t forget, Kate! Drinking is for the young! And that still includes you!”
Well, she wasn’t wrong.
The downside to my impromptu run to Starbucks earlier this morning was that I felt compelled to drink every last drop of my venti iced Americano on the way back to my second-floor apartment that was situated just on the outskirts of town.
By the time I made it into the parking lot, two things were happening.
I had to pee, and I was buzzing with caffeine.
Great.
So much for going back to sleep.
Quickly making my way inside, I didn’t bother waiting for the elevator, choosing to tackle the stairs instead. Within minutes, I was through my door and raiding my kitchen—after making a pit stop at the bathroom.
In my haste to make it to work on time, I’d skipped breakfast, and by the way my hands were shaking from the onslaught of coffee, I was pretty sure I was going to blast off into space.
Finding some milk and a box of cereal, I grabbed a bowl and curled up on the couch.
It didn’t take long for Loki to find me—or the milk rather.
Loki was my rescue kitty. I’d picked him up about a year ago after a particularly bad date. The guy had looked at his watch a grand total of forty-three times and yawned twice. It had barely lasted through the entrees. After crying myself to sleep, wondering why I even bothered, I’d headed out the next day to buy groceries, and instead, I’d come home with Loki.
He’d been the one and only man in my life since.
He was also a pain in the ass.
But, according to my married and committed coworkers, that was an accurate description of most males, so I guessed I’d done my job correctly. Of course, most husbands didn’t use furniture as a scratching post either.
After a second bowl of Lucky Charms, I settled in to watch a couple of movies for the rest of the day. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a day off. Renee was right; it had been a while.
People with lives probably took time off.
They probably took actual lunch breaks and flew on planes to go on trips.
I was sure they at least didn’t spend their days off lying on the couch, watching Netflix. Alone.
The caffeine slowly began to wear off around two o’clock, and my eyes started to feel heavy. It took nearly three full rings for me to realize the sound coming from my coffee table was my phone. Rubbing my tired eyes, I quickly hit mute on the TV and froze as I stared down at the display.
Killian Townes.
Holy…
He’d asked for my number last night, and I’d reluctantly given it to him.
He was gorgeous and charming—everything that made a woman go weak in the knees. So, what did he want to do with me?
Honestly, I had thought I’d never hear from him again. Certainly not less than twenty-four hours later.
Should I answer it?
I continued to stare at the phone, listening to it beckon me, waiting for me to respond.
It finally fell silent.
I guessed I didn’t have to make a choice after all.
A twinge of sadness found its way into my chest at that moment, but I tried to ignore it. I didn’t have time for good-looking strangers with lightning-quick reflexes and mesmerizing eyes.
I had a career and a…cat.
And…
The phone chirped once more, causing me to yelp.
Looking down, I found myself grinning.
One new message.
As I was no longer tired, my agile fingers went to work, bringing the voice mail to life.
“Hi, Kate…Katelyn. Do you like to be called Katelyn better? Both are beautiful. I’m rambling, aren’t I? I drank a lot of coffee. Anyway, this is my roundabout way of asking you out to dinner. I’m hoping you’ll call me back and say yes. I’m also hoping you might have a place in mind since I’m new to town, and so far, my knowledge of food around here doesn’t really go beyond my hotel. Thanks. I mean, good-bye. Talk to you soon.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his awkward attempt to ask me out.
It was a vast difference from the suave guy I’d met the night before, as if there were two distinct sides to Killian. This new, slightly clumsy side oddly appealed to me. Flashy guys were much more Jane’s style. She preferred her men tall, dark, and rich.
Me?
Maybe it was time for me to figure that out.
“You’re going on a date?” Jane nearly screamed.
When I’d called her in a blind panic, she’d just arrived home, sounding as fresh and awake as she looked in the picture she’d sent me early this morning.
“Yes, and I have no idea what to wear. Why didn’t you prepare me for such an event? I don’t have date clothes. I don’t even have fun clothes. I hardly have clothes that are acceptable for this century!”
Her casual laughter had me sending daggers through the phone—if that was possible.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” she instructed. “Go downtown. There’s this amazing boutique I love to visit whenever I’m in the area.”
I rolled my eyes. “This sounds expensive.”
“Kate, have you forgotten you’re a rich woman now?”
My stomach attempted to do a back handspring in my belly. “No, I haven’t forgotten. I’m aware, but that doesn’t mean I want to flaunt it. Especially in a small town.”
“Fremont isn’t that small.”
“Small enough,” I huffed. “If I suddenly started traipsing around town, throwing around cash like I was one of the Kardashian sisters, don’t you think, eventually, someone would get suspicious?”
“You know,” she said, “you’re right. They’d see those fancy clothes on you, and a lightbulb would suddenly go off. Then, they’d all show up at your apartment—all of them, every single townsfolk—with pitchforks, ready to kill the evil woman who wrote all the dirty words they all secretly devoured and loved.”
I shook my head, trying to keep from smiling. “Not all of them were so secretive about their devotion. My coworkers can’t stop talking about it.”
She laughed. “That must be really awkward for you.”
“It is. You have no idea. Especially when they go into detail about reenacting the scenes with their husbands.”
“Whoa. Even that one scene with the—”
“Yep.”
She let out a slow, appreciative whistle. “Props to your coworkers. I didn’t know they had it in them.”
“I wish I didn’t know. Anyway, I feel like we’ve gotten seriously off topic. My date with the incredibly handsome mystery guy from the bar?”
“Mystery guy? What’s so mysterious about him? You know his name and occupation. You already know he’s hot. What else do you want to know for a first date?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but honestly, I couldn’t think of anything.
“Exactly, Kate. This is the time to learn all of that. Ask questions; be curious and open. If you find you don’t like him at the end of the date or you two aren’t compatible, at least you got a nice dinner out of it.”
“You make it sound so easy,” I grumbled, picking out a dress from the back of my closet. It wasn’t hideous. Simple silhouette. Nice color.
“It is easy. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all these years. I know you haven’t really dated much since—”
“Don’t,” I said, stopping her mid-sentence. “We’re not turning this conversation into the typical poor-Kate conversation.”
“I just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” I said in a convincing tone. I stared at my reflection in the large mirror in front of me. “I swear.”
We hung up after that, and I promised to give her a full report of the evening the following day.
As I held the plum-colored dress up to my small frame, I felt the f
amiliar twinge of guilt that came whenever I told a lie.
Because the truth was, I was far from happy.
The restaurant I’d recommended over the phone with Killian was a far cry from the loud and energetic club we’d met at the night before.
Duos was tucked away on the outer edge of downtown, away from the few bars and nightclubs the college kids and younger crowd liked to frequent. It catered to couples—hence the name—and had an ever-changing menu of farm-fresh fare that I’d always wanted to try.
Problem was, I’d never had anyone to go with.
Jane had offered to be my date on a handful of occasions when she came to visit, but I’d always declined, saving it for that rare occasion when I might actually have a plus-one.
It was the perfect opportunity.
Killian had offered to pick me up, and although I appreciated the gesture, I’d suggested meeting at the restaurant instead. The idea of pacing around my apartment, waiting for him to arrive, only to have him step into my personal space, freaked the hell out of me.
Plus, it was out of the way.
“Always practical,” Jane had protested, hating the idea.
But it worked, and it gave me the advantage of being able to dart out at a moment’s notice should the date go belly up. Considering my track record, it was a definite possibility.
Being the sensible person I was, I arrived exactly fifteen minutes early, taking a few seconds to check my makeup in the car. I usually didn’t wear much. Being blessed with clear skin and bright, vivid green eyes, it didn’t take much to play up my features. A bit of blush, a little mascara, and I was good to go. But, tonight, I wanted to look more than my ordinary self. So, I’d applied eyeliner and a pale lipstick that paired well with the color of my dress.
I looked pretty damn good.
Killian must have agreed because, the moment I stepped into view, after walking the short distance from my car to the restaurant, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Do you always arrive early to everything as well?” he asked as his eyes took me in.
I took some time to do the same. I wasn’t disappointed. That same blue gaze I’d gotten lost in the night before followed my own, and I felt a chill go up my spine. His tall, lean frame reminded me of an Olympic swimmer, and I instantly wondered what he had going on underneath that jacket and tie.
“Unless I’m hungover from doing tequila shots, yes,” I finally answered, my voice cracking, leading to my utter embarrassment.
He laughed, tiny crinkles forming around the corners of his eyes. “Sorry about that. If it helps, I was hurting myself this morning.”
Nodding, I replied, “It does actually. Thanks.”
“So, you ready to do this?” he asked, holding out his hand.
Reaching out, my fingers barely touched his, sending a jolt of heat straight to my belly. “Only if you are.”
“Oh, I’ve been waiting for this for what seems like forever,” he replied, leading me toward the double doors.
Before I had a chance to comment on his odd choice of words, the hostess greeted us, her exuberant, friendly smile erasing any previous thoughts I’d had, and she escorted us to our table. Killian, ever the gentleman, pulled out my chair and waited for me to be seated. It was unnecessary but thoughtful all the same.
After our water glasses were filled, the hostess left us with our menus, and then, there was nothing but silence.
Oh God. This is the part where we have to talk.
Say something, Kate.
Anything…
“So, why this place?” Killian asked, placing his menu on the table to give me his full attention.
I sighed in relief. I was never a great conversation starter.
I shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to go here. It always felt like the perfect date place, you know? Even the name suggests it. But I could be totally off base,” I said, taking a glance around at the several doe-eyed couples holding hands and sharing desserts. “Oh, crap. I was totally off base.”
He laughed. He’d obviously caught on to the lovefest happening around us. “It definitely seems like this is a place for—”
“Anniversaries? Special birthdays? Or when you really want to hide a certain type of jewelry in a piece of cake?”
“Yeah, all of that.” He grinned.
“I’m so sorry. I should have known,” I said, resting my head in my hands.
“What are you talking about? This is great. Haven’t you ever gone to a restaurant and pretended it was your birthday?”
I looked at him, completely clueless. “No. Who does that?”
“Everyone does that! You mean to tell me, you and your high school friends never went out and ordered cheap appetizers and then did Rock-Paper-Scissors to see whose birthday it would be?”
“No, I wasn’t a delinquent in high school.” I laughed.
“Well, let me introduce you to the dark side, sweetheart.”
A mixture of unease and excitement raced through my veins as I leaned forward in my seat. “We’re going to pretend it’s your birthday?”
“No.” He smirked. “That’s too easy. We’re going to celebrate our anniversary. But it’s got to be a big one. What do you think would be believable? Ten?”
I was speechless.
“No, you’re too young. Five will work, don’t you think? Most couples still like each other at five years. Okay, but we’ve got to make it believable.”
“Believable?”
“Absolutely. So, hold my hand, like the other couples in here and every once in a while, we have to laugh and make those eyes at each other.”
“What eyes?” I asked, looking around for an example, as if I were completely on board with this crazy plan.
“You know, the eyes. The ones you make when you’re so head over heels in love, you can barely keep from ripping each other’s clothes off.”
“Oh, right,” I answered quietly. “Got it.”
Something flickered in his gaze just then—a question maybe—but he let it go when he saw the waiter approaching.
“Good evening, folks. Welcome to Duos. Is this your first time dining with us?”
“Yes,” Killian said, taking the lead.
His right hand casually reached across the table, placing it on my left. I tried to appear as calm and collected as he looked, but lying was not something I was good at.
Believe me, the irony was not lost on me.
“My wife and I are celebrating our wedding anniversary.” He smiled. “Five years. Can you believe it?”
The waiter smiled warmly, his gaze moving between Killian and me. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” we both replied.
As the waiter took down our drink orders, Killian gave me a wolfish grin, most likely waiting for me to slip up.
But I didn’t. I let Killian fondle my hand, and I kept my cool as his fingers moved over my wrist, making a swirling pattern over the delicate skin there.
Yep, I kept my cool even though I was sure I might combust at any given moment.
Who knew the wrist could be an erotic zone?
Definitely something to research for book number three.
Another jolt of fire went straight to my belly, and I squeezed my thighs tightly together.
Yes, definitely something to look into…
WHAT HAD STARTED AS A fun little game to bring this timid beauty out of her shell somehow turned into a wrestling match.
And I was the one about to lose.
Katelyn O’Malley was nothing like I’d imagined.
What had I imagined?
I wasn’t sure exactly.
I’d diligently done my homework—reading Scandal not once, but twice—before I’d hopped on a plane to Oregon. I’d thought the novel would give me insight to this perplexing woman I was about to meet.
It hadn’t.
Not one bit.
If anything, it’d created a thousand more questions.
At first
, cracking her ironclad shell seemed like a daunting task. She had come off dry and dull.
God-awful boring.
But boring women didn’t do tequila shots until two in the morning.
Boring women didn’t lie to waiters for free wine and dessert.
And boring women definitely didn’t make me feel this way.
Needy. Desperate. And fucking horny as hell.
Even the way she licked the chocolate off her fork was making me shift uncomfortably in my seat.
This was a job.
Get your head in the game.
“You were pretty good at that,” I said, trying not to stare at the way her pink tongue darted out to grab the last bit of mousse from the tip of her finger.
“Good at what?” she asked.
“Lying.”
She let out a choking cough, patting her chest with her palm. “I’m not a good liar,” she argued.
“Really? You seemed to have everyone around us fooled, including that charming elderly couple who offered their congratulations on their way out.”
“That really was sweet.” She smiled, a touch of whimsy in her gaze. “Did you see the way they held hands? I’m pretty sure he even grabbed her ass when she walked past him to go to the restroom.”
I laughed. “My kind of guy.”
“I just wonder what it’s like—to be that in love after all that time,” she said, bending forward and resting the curve of her chin on her hand.
“How do you know it has been a long time?” I asked. “Maybe they got married late in life.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Why?” I asked, curious how she’d reached that conclusion.
“There was a familiarity in the way they touched. The way they leaned into one another, the way they walked. It was as if they’d been doing so forever.”
I studied her for a quiet moment, recalling the intensity of her words and the passion in her voice. It was the first time since meeting Katelyn O’Malley, I could actually see a sliver of Laura Stone, the author, somewhere inside.
“I do believe you are a bit of a romantic at heart,” I replied.
She smiled sweetly. “Maybe a hopeless one.”
My hand reached out to hers, a needless gesture since we’d already achieved our goal for the evening and sold everyone on our false marital status.
