by Meg Maguire
“I’m going to wrap up some work. Meet you out front at seven-thirty?”
He nodded, gaze lingering on her mouth or chin. “See you then. Stay thirsty.”
She got absolutely nothing done. She scrolled through the Boston bachelorette database but didn’t take anything in. Maya wandered in just before it was time to go, collapsing dramatically into Jenna’s chair.
“Have fun at work?” Lindsey asked, shutting down her programs.
“This has got to be, like, illegal child labor.”
“Beats flipping burgers, right?”
“If you say so.”
As she locked the office, Lindsey heard Rich’s unmistakable, staggered footsteps coming up the stairs, punctuated with the tap of his crutches. She smiled as he appeared, hoping she looked cool and blasé.
“Thanks for the lift.”
“Sure thing.” He led them toward the exit and Lindsey held the door. “My sister practically drives past here when she’s doing her internship. Hey, there she is.” He nodded to an old silver sedan parked along the curb.
Rich opened the passenger side, and as Lindsey did the same with the back door, he shot her a look. “Don’t. Change of plans.”
“Huh?”
He leaned in to address his sister. “These are the girls who just moved in upstairs, Lindsey and Maya.” He turned back. “This is my sister, Diana.”
Lindsey stooped to offer a wave and a smile through the windows at a pretty, round-faced young woman with curly black hair. Diana mouthed, “Hey.”
“You mind giving Maya a lift home? Lindsey and I are going to grab a drink. We’ll catch a cab later.”
Apparently, Diana was game, as Rich hopped back and waved to tell Maya to have a seat.
Lindsey was confused, but prepared to adapt. “You have your keys, right?”
Maya rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
Good, let her be annoyed—whatever killed the illusion that life with Lindsey was going to be some thrill-a-minute adventure in urban living. “See you later, apparently. Thanks, Diana.”
“Sure thing,” she called, and Maya slammed the door.
As they pulled away, she turned to Rich. “Change of plans, huh?”
He smiled. “I’ve been waiting ten months for this drink. Realized I don’t want to waste it in the neighborhood bar, getting interrupted by everyone I’ve ever met coming over to say congratulations.”
“That’s fair. Where to, then?”
Rich flagged a cab as it approached, the gesture effortless, as though vacant cabs tailed him like pilot fish. “Someplace where nobody even knows what MMA stands for,” he said, putting the Cheers theme in Lindsey’s head.
As they climbed into the back he asked, “You know of a place like that?”
She gave the driver the name of an upscale bar where she and Jenna had held a couple of Spark happy-hour mixers. She was suddenly glad she’d dressed nicely. Rich would look woefully out of place, but if she knew this man at all, he wouldn’t give a crap what anyone thought of him.
The bar was on a side street a block from the park. Rich paid the driver and Lindsey held the door to the bar open so he could swing himself inside.
It wasn’t even eight, but the dim lighting and sophisticated atmosphere made it feel like two in the morning.
“Here okay?” Rich led them to a booth for two in the front corner. A touch romantic, plus good people-watching through the window if they found they had nothing to talk about.
“Perfect.”
The waitress dropped off cocktail and tapas menus, gaze lingering on Rich. Lindsey knew that look, and it had nothing to do with him breaking an unspoken dress code. That was the look of a woman who wouldn’t mind taking body shots off most any part of the male landscape poorly hidden behind Rich’s T-shirt. “I’ll be right back for your orders.”
Rich scanned the drinks list. “I have no clue what most of these are. You order for me.”
“Oh?”
He closed the menu. “Surprise me.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
“Go nuts. Whatever you get me, I’ll drink.”
Liking this game, she perused the list, weighing her two choices—embarrass the hell out of this oft-obnoxious man, or order something decent and maybe impress him. Or the third choice, order him something exceedingly strong and have her way with him. In the end, she ordered a pint of expensive imported beer and a cosmo.
“Thanks for this,” she told him as the waitress left. “I hadn’t realized it, but I needed a night out. Away from my sister, mean as that sounds.”
“Hey, my sister was a teenager once. I can sympathize.”
She opened her mouth, but suddenly there were no words. One good look at that handsome face, lit by the candle flickering in a glass cylinder at their sides, and her insides went all squishy, brain turning to goo. Never mind the stitches. Never mind the accent or the sheer brutality of Rich’s job. He looked like the most gorgeous, sophisticated thing she’d ever seen.
He raised an eyebrow, amused by her scrutiny.
“Sorry. I spaced out.”
“Long day?”
She nodded as the waitress appeared with their drinks.
Rich eyed his beer. “You let me off easy.”
Lindsey grinned and swapped their glasses, sliding the cosmo in front of Rich.
He frowned. “Oh, come on. It’s pink.”
“I know,” she said, faking commiseration. “I hate those things. But my beer looks fantastic, doesn’t it? It’s Danish.”
He smiled—the sexiest, snidest, pursed-lip smile she’d ever seen—and narrowed his dark eyes.
“Payback for the freaky bedroom rumor you started with my client.”
“Fine.” He lifted his glass, implying a toast. Lindsey reached out, urging his pinkie coyly to the side.
“There you go. Very prim.”
She could sense him suppressing a smile. “You really make a man fight for his dignity, don’t you?”
“And you really like fighting, don’t you?”
The grin broke through. They tapped glasses and sipped and Rich made a face. “Jesus. Are all girly drinks this strong?”
“Yup. And the sugar doesn’t help. Here—we’ll share.” She set her glass between them and he did the same. They traded tastes of each, and it took only a few minutes and half an ounce of vodka for Lindsey’s lips to loosen enough to demand, “Is this a date?”
Rich nodded.
She bit her lip.
“Here,” he said, pushing the cosmo toward her. “Finish that and ask whatever it is you’re dying to.”
Feeling a touch giddy, she did. As she set down the empty glass she asked, “If Jenna’s text hadn’t wrecked everything that night...”
His brow rose.
“Would you have tried to...come upstairs with me?”
“Maybe. If you’d given me some signal I was welcome to.”
“Oh.” Lust wriggled in her middle at the thought of Rich Estrada’s mouth on hers, his mind on whether or not he might get invited up to take things further.
“Would you have?” he asked.
She shook her head. “My ex-boyfriend was upstairs.”
“Oh, right. And if he hadn’t been?”
“I dunno. I’ve never done that. Invited anyone up for, you know. A one-night stand.”
“Never?”
Why exactly did it sting to have him confirm that’s what it would’ve been? It never could have been anything more, not with him leaving Boston so soon after, not with her own singlehood being so fresh and complicated. Not with the two of them playing in such vastly different leagues.
Whatever, let it sting. No need to overthink it.
“Never,�
� she confirmed. “I was with the same guy for all those years. On and off, but mostly on. And even when we were off, I never did much more than go on the odd first date. It’s hard to get psyched up to move on when you’re moving on from somebody who feels like...I dunno. Like such a part of who you are.”
“I can see that.”
Making out with you was the closest I’ve come to sleeping with a man who’s not Brett since I was... God, she hadn’t felt a different man’s hands on her body since she was eighteen. Since her first boyfriend, the one Brett had never approved of back when they’d only been friends. The only other guy she’d slept with.
It made her curious. About Rich. How his palms would feel, sliding down her sides, hips, thighs. How he’d smell, how he’d sound. What he’d say.
And who knew what he’d be into?
Panic shunted lust aside as she realized all the security she’d had with Brett was lost. Surely a man like Rich drew lovers like moths. He was only a couple years older than her, but their lives were so different. All at once Lindsey felt like a blushing virgin.
“Sorry,” he said, snapping her from the thought. “Shouldn’t have brought him up.”
She shook her head. “No, no. It’s not that. Just the vodka starting to work.” Just way ahead of myself, worrying you’re into sex stuff I’ve never even heard of. What a waste of a date with the most gorgeous man who’d ever deigned to flirt with her. She eyed their dwindling glasses. “I think we need another round.”
“I know exactly what we need,” Rich said, and snagged the waitress’s attention. “We will have...” His gaze skimmed the menu. He pointed to something Lindsey wasn’t meant to see, and the waitress nodded, heading for the bar.
“What did you just order?”
“A taste of unfinished business.” He leaned back, a smile curling his lips, eyes narrowing.
She knew what that must mean, and smirked when the waitress returned with a bottle of champagne and set two flutes between them.
Rich spared the woman the rigmarole of opening it, motioning for her to let him. If it violated any safety policies, she ignored that fact, making Lindsey wonder if Rich appreciated the ease with which he got women to give him whatever he wanted. And just how easily Lindsey herself might be persuaded to do the same—let him strip the foil from her body and pop her cork with a deft, practiced hand.
She watched his arm flex as he unwound the wire, triceps twitching as he squeezed the cork free. Lindsey clapped as he poured, and this time an articulated toast couldn’t be avoided.
She held up her glass. “To...” To whatever happens when we leave here. A wistful notion that—considering she lived with her sister, and he with his sister and mother—ought to have been a prayer and not a toast. Privacy was at a premium in Lynn.
“To our five glorious minutes in the back of a taxi,” Rich announced.
“The ones from last fall, or ones I don’t know about yet?”
He grinned and they drank. “That is a very good question. And I’ll just let you wonder about the answer.”
Lindsey laughed. “You’re not a subtle man, are you?”
He shook his head, splashing more fizzing wine in their glasses. “Whether you’re getting hit on or plain old hit by Rich Estrada, you will know it.”
No wonder she was already reeling. Nerves had her itching for some warning she could offer, to cut him off at the pass—nothing’s going to happen between us in the taxi tonight. But why wouldn’t it?
She wanted that, insecurities or not. She was single, so was Rich. And they liked each other. If things went too far and they did have a one-night stand, it wouldn’t be some shameful mistake. She’d get to watch him fight on TV in six months or a year, and maybe think, That man gave me the best sex of my life. And if he didn’t? If it turned out flash and swagger and an insane body couldn’t hold a candle to what a lover of five years could do to her...? Well, that would make getting over him that much easier.
For a couple of minutes, they didn’t say a word. Rich was studying her, squinting with something softer than mischief. She returned the look, until it began to feel too intimate, too scary, and she turned her attention to the street.
“I think you’re real pretty,” Rich said, matter-of-fact.
She met his stare. “Thanks.” I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
“I meant what I said, about thinking about you while I was on the road.”
“I’d have guessed the ring girls would be more than happy to keep you distracted.” She realized as she said it, her stupid, glib armor was coming on, deflecting his compliments. She wished she could take it back.
“You probably didn’t think about me,” Rich said. “Sounds like you were pretty busy while I was away. Stomping on your cockroach.”
She pursed her lips. But he’d given her another chance to return his sincerity, his flirtation, and she wouldn’t waste it. “No, I thought about you. About what happened in the cab.”
“Oh?”
She stared at his fingers, curled around the base of the glass’s stem like a napping cat. “I...I think what happened...”
He sipped his champagne, waiting as she got the words out.
“It changed everything with my ex. I’d forgotten I could feel that much, just from a kiss. That I could feel that with another guy. I think it was the final nail—realizing I was missing out on feeling that stuff as long as I stayed with him.”
Oh, God, why had she just said all that? Did that sound completely clingy and feely and psycho? She met Rich’s eyes, scared of what trepidation she might find there.
His expression was hard to read, and for a few breaths he just blinked at her.
“That probably came out wrong,” she murmured.
“I hope not. I liked how it came out.”
Her blush was hot, sizzling in her cheeks and flushing her neck. “It sounds dumb, since all we did was kiss. But I don’t know...I just hadn’t felt that in so long. It made me sad that he couldn’t make me feel that anymore.” She paused and sank back against the seat. “Sorry. We’re supposed to be on a date. I’d never advise my clients to start yammering on about their exes on a date.”
He smiled. “Do I look like I know anything about dating etiquette?”
“When you’re wearing a suit? Yes, you do.”
“Right now I’m wearing a stinky old T-shirt, so trust me, I don’t give a shit what you’re talking about, as long as I get to watch your mouth while you’re saying it.”
The blush again, and Lindsey bit her lip. Rich mimicked it, seeming to find her endearing when flustered.
“You’re different tonight,” he said. “Usually you knock everything I say aside like I’m chucking rocks at you.”
“Do I?” She knew she did. Sarcasm was her defense mechanism, and men like Rich put her on guard. She didn’t know how to handle him any better than she might a charging bear. “I’m a little drunk.”
He smirked, noting she’d yet again blocked his flattery with a flick of her snarky gauntlet. “It’s a good look for you.”
But under the banter, something had shifted. This wasn’t the Rich she knew from around the office. No bravado, no persona. There was no crowd for him to play to, only her. She’d met this Rich exactly once, in those quiet moments after his fight. She felt naked, knowing Rich could spot her flimsy armor so easily. There was no intimacy unless both people stripped away their defenses, and right now, looking into those dark eyes, she felt unmistakably bared. And it scared her. She didn’t know if she could feel this way with a man, unless it was more than simple sexual attraction. Her gaze escaped out the window once more.
Rich filled their glasses and asked, “You think your sister’s going to make it to September before we scare her back to western Mass?”
Was she reliev
ed or disappointed that he’d shifted the conversation, closing the shutters on that connection she’d felt? She wasn’t sure, but she rolled with it. They sipped the champagne until it was gone, talking about their sisters, about the future of the gym, about Lindsey’s clients. Her anxiety receded as they fell into an easy rapport.
When the last of the champagne was gone, she checked her phone. No calls, but— “Jeez, it’s after ten.”
“Time flies.”
“We should probably head home soon. I have to be up at seven.”
“I have to be up at five, but you don’t see me rushing to get my slippers on. Hey—I got an idea.” He sounded a bit drunk. That didn’t bode well for her own state, given they’d been drinking at the same rate, yet their size discrepancy was probably equal to a middle-schooler.
“What idea is that?” That you take me home to your bed and ravage me?
“Let’s go to the gym and whale on stuff.”
Close enough. She was eager to keep this high, liberated feeling going.
Knowing they might prove famous last words, she uttered them all the same.
“Sure. Why the heck not?”
7
THEY WOUND UP walking back to Chinatown—slow going with the crutches, but only ten minutes’ journey. The air was fresh, the evening breeze cool and the night electric, enhanced by Lindsey’s tipsiness and Rich’s proximity. Simply being seen with him made her feel sexy. It was thrilling, borrowing a taste of his spotlight.
She unlocked the foyer’s front door.
“Hang up here a sec,” he said. “I’ll make sure the coast’s clear.”
“Good thinking.” There wasn’t anything seedy about their actual plans, but they were decidedly strange. She didn’t relish explaining to Mercer or some other trainer.
“Clear,” he called, and Lindsey headed for the steps, excitement spiking.
She kicked off her flats at the base of the stairs. Rich rummaged in the equipment closet, returning with the cotton tape and gloves. Lindsey remembered how to do the wrapping—she’d practiced at home with a pair of tights, nerdily enough. She secured her gloves and got into position in front of the nearest bag.
