by Ann Aguirre
“I was trying to boost your confidence. Apparently I’m not very good at it.”
“No, it was great. I’ll take ‘too hot to hire’ over ‘sadly unqualified’ as the reason I don’t get the job.”
“But you will,” he said. “They’d be crazy not to want someone so smart and capable handling their front desk.”
“Thanks.” Before I could think better of it, I put my hand to his unshaven jaw and leaned in to kiss his cheek.
Rob surprised me by taking the kiss on the mouth. So warm, sweetly chapped and rough against mine, and it took all of my self-restraint not to nip his lower lip, begging for more. In the end, it only amounted to a peck, but my heart raced like I’d run half a mile and my cheeks felt hot.
He was smiling when he pulled back, his breath misting against my skin. “For luck.”
Oh. My. God.
My imagination went nuts, and I spent the drive envisioning what a real kiss from Rob would be like. Just the little touches were driving me crazy, teases that I never expected to bear fruit. My knees were still jellied when we arrived at the car dealership fifteen minutes later.
Rob aimed a stern look my way. “Don’t move.” He ran around the truck and lifted me down. “Those shoes are sexy as fuck, but you’ll turn your ankle getting out.”
They were chunky-heeled retro-pinup shoes, similar to Fluevog, but less expensive. As he wrapped his arms around me to lift me down, he was definitely checking them out, along with the curves of my calves. Unless it was wishful thinking, he was more physical than he had been before breaking up with Avery. I had no idea what was going on, but...hells, yeah. More, please. Breathing him in, I fought the urge to press closer. It would be a wonder if I could answer any questions inside.
“Don’t worry, Lauren. You’ve got this.”
“Thanks. See you soon.”
Picking a careful path across the car lot, I stepped into the glass-fronted space and wiped my feet on the mat. The showroom was enormous with a couple of brand-new cars inside. A woman smiled at me from the front desk, and I headed her way.
“May I help you?”
“I have an interview with Mick Davies.” Checking the time, I added, “In ten minutes. I’m a bit early.”
“He’ll appreciate that. I think he’s in a meeting with the sales team at the moment. You can sit over there if you like.” There was a round table with magazines on it, probably used by the salesmen when chatting with prospective customers. “Would you like some coffee? Water?”
“Water, please.”
She brought me a paper cup and I sat down with it, pretending I wasn’t supernervous. In my life, I’d had two jobs—one as a cashier at Teriyaki King and the other as a receptionist in the fine arts department. I worked at TK for two years, more like three months in reception, so in this market, they probably had people a lot more qualified sending résumés. Sipping my water, I paged through a car magazine and tried not to sweat.
At promptly one o’clock, the salesmen returned to the floor and a supertan guy came out behind them. He looked like the proverbial used-car salesman, down to the shiny suit and poor quality hair plugs. His white teeth probably glowed purple in UV lighting, and his skin made my spray tan look natural. I kept my smile in place. Dealing with the public was easy; though I hated people socially, professionally, it was easier to pretend. Because y’know, money. Not that I saw myself doing this forever. Once I got my computer science degree, I’d be done with retail-type employment forever.
“Miss Barrett? Thanks for coming.”
When Mr. Davies elevator-eyed me, it was fairly horrible. I pretended I didn’t notice.
“My pleasure. I’m looking forward to hearing more about the job.” I almost said position, but pervdar hinted he was the kind of guy who would leap on even a mild double entendre.
Yeah, somebody more qualified probably wouldn’t take this job.
“Excellent. Let’s go to my office and talk. Shelly, hold my calls.”
“Of course.” I caught an eye-roll from Shelly on the way past. Uh-oh. In a burst of foreboding, I wondered why she’d given notice. Hopefully not because of Davies.
Let it be a better job offer.
The manager’s office was a shrine to lost youth, a combination of old sports trophies, sales plaques and pictures of hot women. I suspected he wasn’t dating any of them currently, as they were obviously old photos. But they still lined his walls in a testament to what he valued, and that was apparently T&A.
“The dealership is open from ten to eight, Monday through Saturday, and twelve to five on Sunday. We’re looking to replace Shelly, though Lord knows it’ll be tough. The girl’s a peach.”
Girl. Since Shelly was thirty if she was a day, I was offended on her behalf. But I didn’t show it. “I understand. What hours would the successful candidate be working?”
“Nine-thirty to five, Monday through Friday. My niece fills in for nights and weekends.”
“That would be fantastic.”
“I saw on your résumé that you’ve completed some college. Will you be going back?”
“Not in a way you have to worry about. I plan to take online classes and I can do that at night and on the weekends.”
He smiled at me. “Sounds like we’re made for each other.”
Oh, God, no.
Somehow I managed not to show my distaste. “This job could work out very well. What are the primary responsibilities?”
Davies ran through the list of requirements, mostly first-customer contact, heavy phone work, support the sales team as needed, light clerical work, some scheduling. It didn’t sound like anything I couldn’t handle, so I relaxed a little. He asked me the usual questions and I gave my best answers. The pay was nine bucks an hour—not amazing, but decent for a town like Sharon. Cost of living wasn’t bad here, and I’d be at my mom’s house as long as she didn’t get sick of me and demand I move out.
In the end, he shook my hand, then escorted me back to the front desk. “We have a few more applicants to interview. I plan to call the lucky girl next week.”
Not the “successful applicant,” I noted. His tone pretty much guaranteed that if a guy applied, he was out of luck.
“Thanks, I’ll be looking forward to it.” Too much? From his grin, apparently not.
Exhaling a long breath, I hurried out to the parking lot, where Rob was waiting. He hopped out and installed me on the passenger side, then ran back around.
“How did it go?”
“Well. I think. I won’t know for sure until the phone rings.”
“It will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I can’t imagine any guy not calling you when he has the chance.”
A flood of warmth washed through me because I was 90 percent sure he wasn’t just talking about the job. If I wasn’t crazy, this was subtle, low-key Rob flirting. “And why’s that?”
He paused for a long moment, his gaze steady on mine, and he seemed to weigh his words before coming to some conclusion that made him smile wryly. “Because I think about it all the time.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Calling me?” I felt like it was wise to confirm.
Rob started the truck and pulled out of the parking lot before answering. “Yeah. The urge usually kicks in late at night.”
“I’m not sure if you know this about me, but I definitely have an impulse control problem. What’s your number?”
“I don’t remember,” he confessed, gesturing toward the dash. “It’s on my phone somewhere.”
Taking that as an invitation, I picked it up and was amused to see it had no password protection. I’d bet anything Avery used to scroll through this, making sure he had no dirty secrets. I went to the information screen and memorized the number, th
en added him as a contact in my list. Afterward, I sent a quick text.
There, now you can call me.
“Problem solved,” I said. “I hope you drunk-dial me. I can only imagine how much fun that would be.”
He slid me a smile lightly spiced with wickedness. “That’s not my style.”
“What is?” Any more, and I might literally hyperventilate. This pencil skirt was going straight to the top of my favorite outfit list.
“I guess you have to wait and see.”
“Now that’s just cruel,” I mumbled. “I thought you were a nice guy, Rob.”
“Nobody’s good all the way to the bone. You know that.” He angled the truck back through Sharon, but instead of heading for my place, he turned toward the small downtown.
“Where are we going?”
“You look too pretty for us to go straight home.” His voice was matter-of-fact, and that made me appreciate the compliment even more. “I thought I’d buy you lunch, unless that’s not okay for some reason?”
Come to think of it, I’d been too nervous about the interview for breakfast, and it was past two. “No plans, except for helping this guy fix up his house later.”
“Does that loser ever take you anywhere nice? Or is it work, work, work, all the time?”
“We’ll see,” I said with what I hoped was a mysterious smile. “And he’s not a loser.”
To my astonishment, he parked at the Grove, the swankiest place in town. The restaurant was situated at the back of a wooded drive, hence the name. Like twenty years ago, the owners bought an old Victorian and restored it completely. Downstairs, it was gorgeous—I knew girls who went there before prom—and upstairs, there were six bedrooms available for romantic weekends. Apparently the place did fairly well, despite the obscure location.
As usual, Rob was in jeans and flannel, but I doubted they’d say anything during lunch. If they did, I didn’t want to eat here anyway. The hostess proved me right with a broad smile, leading us to a corner table nestled in front of the windows, where we had a beautiful view of the wintry garden—very postcard picturesque with the trees iced over and snow piled up.
“Have you been here before?” Rob asked.
I shook my head. “To be honest, I didn’t date much before I went away to school.”
Realization spilled over me like hot coffee. Shit. Now he thinks I think this is a date. Is this a date? Should it be, so soon after his breakup? Sweat broke out between my shoulder blades, and I feared taking off my jacket. Between the white blouse and the job interview, I was probably a puddle of perspiration swaddled in librarian clothes.
It occurred to me that being his rebound girl might not be the best idea, but I couldn’t bring myself to object. There are exceptions to every rule, right? And part of me felt like it would be better to get a few weeks with Rob than nothing at all.
No reason to freak out. It’s just lunch.
“Too picky for the local talent?” he guessed.
I laughed. “Sure, let’s say that.”
Before he could ask, the waiter came over to fill our water glasses and deliver menus. There was no possible way I could’ve been more relieved. I took refuge behind my menu, trying to decide what to order. The Grove did food like mushroom risotto, grilled salmon, fried quail, beef tartare, chicken confit and potato gnocchi. To start, they had cheese-and-fruit plates, ceviche and chickpea hummus, along with various soups and salads. There were no prices listed, which made me nervous, especially since I’d just helped Rob make a budget. Yet my eyes still went straight to the dessert menu, where I proceeded to salivate over butterscotch caramel pudding, salted dark chocolate fudge and honey pistachio cake.
“Do you know what you’re having?”
“I think so. You?”
He nodded, lifting a hand for the waiter with a confidence that was both surprising and hot. “We’re ready to order. The lady first, please.”
“The squash soup to start, followed by the shrimp and grits.”
“Anything to drink?”
“Just water, thanks.” While Rob wouldn’t thank me for thinking of his wallet, I figured this should deduct three or four bucks from the bill.
“And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the warm vegetable salad and the smoked pork tenderloin. Water for me, too.”
The waiter used an iPad to tap in our food choices. “I’m sending this to the kitchen right now. While you wait, I’ll bring you some homemade bread and herbed butter.”
“That sounds incredible. Am I drooling?” I wiped the corner of my mouth, only half pretending. “I was too uptight to eat anything this morning.”
“Is that normal?” He didn’t sound like he was judging me, only curious.
“Before I meet new people or go into some new situation? Unfortunately, yeah. Before I learned better coping mechanisms, I used to throw up a lot. Not eating is preferable.”
“I’d say so.”
“Once I survive the ordeal, I eat everything in sight. I call this relief feasting. I also suspect the skipping of meals and then eating like a Roman senator is why I can’t shake the extra weight.” Not that I was trying, honestly. Fiddling with my laptop, eating whatever was easiest and avoiding workouts didn’t exactly qualify as healthy. That said, the renovations at Rob’s house were definitely making me stronger.
“Huh?”
Oh, crap. Now he probably thinks I’m fishing for a compliment. There was no way this would sound anything but clumsy. “I need to lose about twenty pounds.”
Okay, thirty, if you listen to certain stupid weight charts.
“In what world?” He scowled openly, dark brows drawn together. “You’d lose all the oomph and most of your bam.”
A giggle slipped out before I could stop it. I hadn’t made that noise since I was thirteen and Rob offered me a ride home. “Tell me, is the oomph up front or is that the bam?”
He grinned, the broadest smile I’d ever seen from him. Oh, my God, he has a dimple. “It’s your body. By now, you should know all about your oomph and bam. I shouldn’t have to explain these things to you.”
Green light means go. Time to flirt like I mean it.
“Then I guess I’ll have to go home and practice in the mirror until I work it out.”
His eyes blazed like there was light shining behind him, but the waiter came back with a bread basket and tiny crocks of butter. Too bad, I wanted to hear how he’d have replied. He had himself under control by the time the guy walked away, but there was a new focus to his gaze, and the intensity of it sent a shiver through me.
For a few seconds, the table was silent except for his drumming fingers, muffled by the fine linen. “I have to ask...are you winding me up? Because I’m here, you need an ego boost, you’re lonely or—”
“No,” I cut in. “I wouldn’t do that to anyone, but definitely never to you.”
“You say that like I’m special.”
I have to tell him. The thought nearly sent me straight into a panic attack.
When I was eleven, Nadia and I went to the Y to swim. That first time, she was fearless, immediately running toward the high dive despite the clearly posted No Running sign. I followed slower, weighed down by my ruffled floral bathing suit, earplugs, nose plugs, goggles, both our towels and a book, in case I wanted to take a break. She went up the ladder like a shot and just launched into space. The summer was nearly over before I got the courage to climb, and I was never a good swimmer. Too much uncertainty, bobbing bodies, unbreathable water.
I still remembered the terror screaming through my veins while everyone shouted for me to jump. On the way down, I nearly peed myself, and I didn’t dive so much as fall. The water stung like a bitch as I went under, and Nadia had to drag me out of the deep end. I cried in a snotty ball for ten minutes afterward.
Until now, that was the worst fear I ever knew. My throat tried to swell shut, but I spoke through it, and my voice came out weird. “To me, you always have been.”
“Don’t get mad at me, okay? But I have to ask.”
“What?” Now I was really worried.
“Is it possible you’re kind of...fixated on me? Because of your dad, and what happened when we went to see him? Transference, whatever. This might not be healthy.”
The rage surprised me. If I’d had a glass of wine, I’d have thrown it at him, old-school-movie style. Water just didn’t have the same impact, plus he was my ride home. While grinding my teeth, I counted to a hundred. I was whispering fifty when Rob realized how upset I was.
“Lauren—”
The starters arrived. I stared at my soup until I could speak without freaking out. “Nadia says I have daddy issues, yeah. And I’m sure she thinks that’s funny. It’s not so funny to me because she still has her dad. He’s always been around. Always. He’d never let either one of you guys down.” Tears prickled in my eyes, but I refused to give in. “How many of your games did he miss when you were playing?”
“None,” he said quietly. “Not ever.”
“Exactly. Yeah, you saw me during a weak moment, but I don’t equate you with my father. You’re four years older than me, not twenty. I suspect you just don’t think much of yourself, so you can’t figure out what I’d see in you. And I’m kind of done saying that you’re awesome because it pisses me off when you don’t believe me. So let me make one thing superclear.... I have never, never—not once—thought of you as an older brother. In my head, you’re the dream guy who’d never look twice at me, even if I was dancing naked on the table.”
His blue eyes smoldered like the heart of a flame, as if he was picturing it. When he spoke, his voice was rough and deep. “Three things. First, if you’re ever dancing naked on a table, I better be the only other person in the room. Second, please don’t stop being sweet to me. I’m just starting to think maybe some of it might be true, and I’m not ready to lose that. Third, and this is the important bit, so listen up—if I’d known your crush survived getting to know me, I’d have broken up with Avery weeks ago. See...I’ve wanted you since you were eighteen and I probably shouldn’t have been checking you out.”
