Ten first dates, p.2
Ten First Dates, page 2
He was too drunk to take this any further than making out. He was aware of that. But this was pretty damned good. He knew he wasn't going to be getting over her anytime soon, and this was going to be a very nice memory to keep with him until he saw her again.
Because, dammit, he was gonna have to see her again.
Maybe when he was sober he could make some sense out of the fact that he wanted her so badly when she wasn't at all what he was looking for.
The strap of her dress slipped lower on her arm, the front of the dress falling away from her breast. Okay, so that had required a tiny bit of a tug from him, but then he was lowering his mouth, dragging it over her jaw, down her sweet neck to that delicious collarbone, where he gave her a little nip, before continuing down to first circle her nipple with his tongue, then give it a little suck.
This time when she gasped his name, it was not quiet.
He felt her hands go to his fly and the button and zipper give. Her hand tucked into the front of his pants. Her palm skimmed along the flesh that was so hard it was nearly painful before he finally came to his senses.
He grasped her wrist, halting her stroke.
He just held her still, breathing hard for a moment before lifting his head and pulling her dress back up—though not before drinking in the sight of her naked breast. Then he pulled her hand from his pants and pressed it against his chest, staring into her eyes.
“I'm too drunk for this,” he said roughly.
That seemed to take her a moment to process, but she pressed her lips together and nodded when she did. “Dammit. Okay.”
He let go of her hand and zipped his pants. Then he braced his hands on the wall on either side of her head, keeping her between him and the building.
Still, she did not seem intimidated by the move. She just stood staring at him, still breathing a little hard.
“What do you like to watch on TV?” he asked, repeating his question from a few minutes earlier.
He wasn't sure why that was what he chose to say. Or, rather, he had an inkling of why, but it wasn't entirely clear. Kind of like every other thought he'd had since he'd stupidly taken that fifth drink of moonshine.
“I don't watch much TV at all.”
Another knife to the heart.
“So, no baking, no pets, no TV.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Pretty much.”
“And your level of interest in any of those things in the near future is....” He’d let her fill in that blank, though he had an idea of what her answer would be.
“Very low.”
He studied her for a long moment. There was definitely something there. The idea of not seeing her again just didn't feel right.
“Even lasagna?”
“I live a pretty full life without making lasagna now. I'm not sure that I have a burning need to change that. I mean, I'm not necessarily anti-lasagna. But I am pretty sure I'm anti-making-lasagna-myself,” she admitted. “That seems like a lot of work. And I'm guessing there are about a dozen restaurants that make and deliver great lasagna in New Orleans.”
Yeah. He could take her to one of those. Or have her over to his place and have some delivered.
He didn’t want to do either of those things.
Not because he didn’t want to see her again. Not because he didn’t want to eat lasagna with her. But because those weren’t the main points here.
“Do you even like enchiladas or lasagna?”
“I'm more of a burger girl, I’ll be honest.”
He sighed. “Max,” he said.
“Yes, Spencer?”
“You are so not my type.”
CHAPTER TWO
Max didn’t seem shocked by that revelation. “You don’t like burgers?”
“Love burgers. Burgers are not great delivery food. Buns get mushy, tomatoes and lettuce wilt, fries get cold.”
“Well, you need to not get the lettuce and tomato. For one thing.”
He sighed. “I'm not a big delivery guy anyway. I like sitting down to meals cooked in my own kitchen. Growing up, that was the way my mom made everything better. We’d walk in the door, the whole house would smell amazing, we’d sit down to awesome food, and it was a reminder that no matter what bad shit happened outside the door, there was calm and care inside.”
Wow. Okay, so that had been a pretty good explanation. Despite the moonshine.
Max seemed to think about what he’d said for a moment. Then she said, “But you don't cook.”
“No, but my girlfriends do.”
She clearly did not have a response for that.
Spencer wasn't sure what to say in follow-up.
He was currently single. That had been true for about a month. His mom had saved him by cooking for him several times, but he'd been going out to restaurants, and he had resorted to some takeout and delivery. But it wasn’t nearly as good.
He should probably hire a housekeeper or an assistant or just someone to stop by at the end of the day and put dinner in the oven for him. He could do that, he supposed.
His gaze dropped to Max’s lips.
He could definitely do that.
Though he’d really like to still have the cuddling-on-the-couch-with-a-dog-while-watching-TV-after-dinner part that he found so nice and comforting.
But he also loved sitting on the balcony with a beer. And reading in bed. Lots of relaxing, appreciate-the-little-things activities. It wasn’t all about the food.
Maybe he should tell her that he always did the dishes and made incredible margaritas and gave amazing foot rubs.
“So, you should know—”
“So, I guess—”
They spoke simultaneously and were interrupted by the sound of a cell phone ringing.
Spencer frowned as Max dug in the pocket of her dress and withdrew her phone.
He hadn’t even realized the dress had a pocket.
And it was midnight. Who was calling her now?
She glanced at the screen, then back at him.
“Well, I need to take this. It's been very nice dancing and making out with you and figuring out all of the reasons why we definitely should not date. I do admire a guy who knows exactly what he wants, though. So good luck finding your dream girl.”
Then she ducked under his arm and strode several feet away to take the call.
Spencer stood frowning at her back.
He should let her walk away. He should definitely say, “Well, clearly this isn’t going to work out, thanks for clearing that up so maybe now I can stop thinking about you.”
Instead, when Max tucked her phone back into her pocket, he called, “You okay?”
She spun, clearly surprised that he was still there.
“Yeah, just need to head back to New Orleans.”
“You are not driving. You’ve had too much to drink.”
“I ordered an Uber.”
“Hang on, and I'll take you.”
She laughed. “You're way too drunk to drive me.”
“I'm not gonna drive you. My brother will take us. Wyatt lives in New Orleans and will be going back there anyway. He knew he was driving home tonight, so he hasn't been drinking at all.”
“No, that's okay. The car’s only two minutes away.”
Spencer scowled. “Dammit, Max. Let me just go get Wyatt.”
“Spencer, I'm fine.”
“It's midnight. You're gonna get an Uber back to New Orleans alone?”
“That was the plan all along. I got down here with an Uber. I expected to drink a little, so I knew I wouldn’t be driving myself home.”
“Just hold up one minute. Wyatt’s just inside. He's going back to the city anyway.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “I get myself from point A to point B alone all the time. You're sweet to worry, but I'm fine.”
“I'm not done with you.”
Okay, that sounded a little demanding. Bossy even. And was it true? He was the one who had just laid out all the reasons she wasn't right for him. Why wasn't he done with her?
She propped a hand on her hip. “Listen, the making out was great, and I had a good time, and I'll admit I was kind of hoping to see you tonight, but not only do I not bake, but now, knowing that it’s actually on a list of things you require in a girlfriend, the chances of me ever doing it have gone down to zero.”
“Knowing what will make me compatible with someone is a good thing. It saves time and heartbreak. Knowing what you need in a partner and what you are looking for in a relationship is a mature way to approach dating.”
“Mature? Okay.”
He could sense the eye roll even across the distance in the dark.
“Aha!” He pointed at her and then had to correct when his finger wanted to point too far to the left of her. “You do care that I have a list of things that mean I can't date you.”
She shook her head. “That's not what I'm saying.”
“Admit it. It annoys you that I have some things I want that you can't give me.”
Her brows arched. “Well, I'll admit annoyed is something I'm feeling. Maybe not for exactly the same reason that you think.”
“Are you annoyed that you know I could give you an amazing orgasm, but you can’t give me brownies?”
Okay, that didn’t sound good. Fucking moonshine. That was absolutely not the way he would've phrased that if he’d been totally sober.
“Actually, you know what?” she asked. “I think that you should cling to that list of criteria. I think that you should be absolutely unwavering in those requirements. I think that you should not even speak to women who cannot make brownies or enchiladas. And I think you should definitely start with me.”
Just then, a car pulled up, and the window rolled down. “Max?” the driver asked.
“Yep,” she answered. She turned back to Spencer. “Bye, Spencer.”
She got in the car, and it pulled away before Spencer's brain could slosh through the moonshine fast enough to say, “Dammit, Max, wait!”
With a growl, he turned on his heel and marched into Ellie's bar. “Wyatt!” he bellowed.
Everybody on that side of the bar, mostly the Landry family, gathered around the big table toward the back corner, quieted and pivoted toward him.
“Where the fuck is Wyatt?” Spencer demanded.
“Right here, holy shit.” His brother stood up and pushed forward. “What's going on?”
“I need to go to New Orleans.”
“’Kay. I'll be ready to go in a little bit.”
“We gotta leave now.”
“Why? What's going on?”
“Max just left. I have to go after her.”
It was about then that Wyatt seemed to realize how drunk Spencer was. A knowing smile graced his little brother's face. “I see. Why didn’t you just go with her?”
“She didn't invite me. She said she could go alone.”
“Then maybe we should let her go alone.” Wyatt clapped him on the shoulder. “Come over and have a drink with us. Or maybe some coffee. Water?”
Spencer shrugged his brother’s hand off. “I need to be sure she's okay. She got a sudden phone call and needed to take off. It's midnight.”
“But she didn't want you to go with her, bro. I think you need to let her go.”
Spencer frowned. “I just want to make sure she's okay.”
Wyatt's eyes narrowed as he studied Spencer’s face. The brothers were close. It was just the two of them, and they were only a couple of years apart. They'd grown up as more than brothers. They were best friends. No one knew Spencer better than Wyatt.
So Spencer’s answer was, apparently, good enough for Wyatt. “Okay, let's go.”
“You just gonna leave?” This came from Zeke, one of their many cousins.
“Gotta make sure the girl’s okay,” Wyatt said with a shrug as if that should be explanation enough.
And really, it should be.
“Do you want me to come?” This came from Caroline, Max's best friend.
“No, I've got it,” he said.
“Did you upset her?” Caroline asked.
Spencer opened his mouth to reply and then thought about the question. Had he upset her? Yeah, maybe a little. But he didn't think that's why she left. That was more about the attitude with which she’d left.
“I've got it, Caroline,” he said, rather than answering her question directly.
He felt protective of Max, and he had no idea why. She had never given any indication that she needed protection. She was incredibly intelligent, very good at her job, and completely confident in everything she did, including putting him in his place.
“Do you know where she's going?” Wyatt asked as he started his truck.
“I know where she lives.” And now he was really hoping that she wasn’t heading to meet friends at a bar or to someone’s place for a booty call.
Especially that last one.
She’s not your type. You don’t want to date her.
Yeah, that’s what he’d thought. Until he thought about her heading to the city at midnight to meet someone else.
Wyatt waited until they got on the main highway before he said, “So this girl got under your skin quick.”
Spencer had known his brother would not just let this go.
The thing was, it didn't seem quick. Max Keller had been niggling at the corners of Spencer's consciousness ever since he’d met her.
“You ever kissed a woman and thought, oh, shit, I shouldn't have done that, but at the same time known that you could never have lived a full life without having kissed her?”
Wyatt looked over at him. His eyes were wide. “I have not. Jesus, how much moonshine did you have tonight?”
Spencer stared at the dark highway in front of them. “I'm guessing you’ll kiss a woman like that someday. You come back and tell me how crazy I am when that happens.”
Wyatt chuckled. “You’ll be my first call, brother.”
Spencer couldn’t wait.
Wyatt glanced at him again. “This is interesting.”
“What is?”
“Seeing you all worked up over a woman. I’ve never seen this before.”
“It’s an ego thing,” Spencer informed him. “I’m not used to women who can resist me. I just want the one I can’t have.”
He really wished all of that was true. He wanted Max Keller to be intriguing just because she was the un-gettable girl. Maybe that was part of it. Impressing a woman like Max seemed to be a feat. A worthy one, no doubt. But where did this desire to take care of her come from?
He suddenly had a vision of her propped up against the pillows in bed—his bed—but in pajamas, an oversized comfy shirt and pants, nothing skimpy or silky, with a book propped on her knees. She looked up at him as he came into the room and gave him a sweet, slightly sleepy smile. And his heart felt full.
That was what he wanted. Her, safe and happy, at home.
Jesus. He scrubbed a hand over his face.
He knew where that whole image and desire came from. He needed his home life to balance out the darkness he saw at work. It was as simple and as complicated as that. He was just surprised that it was such a big deal with this woman.
A woman who didn’t even want a dog.
The dog—or lack thereof—was symbolic. And he needed to keep that in mind.
“Sure, it’s an ego thing,” Wyatt said, clearly not buying it.
“You don’t think I have an ego?”
Wyatt laughed. “Sure you do. But this seems…not that.”
Spencer was done talking about this. “Shut up. Turn here.”
He directed Wyatt to Max’s townhouse, and he parked down the block in the shadows of the other buildings.
There were lights on in the windows, and Spencer realized that he might have to just assume she was here. If she was here, she’d arrived several minutes ago.
“I’m going to go in.”
“In?” Wyatt asked. “Like in her house?”
“Yeah. I have to be sure she’s there. And maybe say I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for stalking her, or did you do something before this?”
“I told her she wasn’t my type.” He frowned at his brother. “I’m not stalking her.”
“You followed her home even after she told you she was fine without you,” Wyatt pointed out. “Wait, you told her she wasn’t your type?”
Spencer ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”
“No wonder she didn’t want you to come home with her.” Wyatt shook his head. “So, is it true?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why are we here stalking her?”
“I’m not stalking her.” He moved to open his door. “I’m going up there to make sure she’s okay.”
“No, you’re not,” Wyatt said firmly. He pulled his phone out and dialed. “Zander, have Caroline call Max and see if she’s home.” He paused. Then sighed. “Because we’re at her house but Spencer’s too drunk to go talk to her. Just call and be sure she’s here and okay so he’ll go home.”
Spencer knew that was a better idea than him going up to her door.
He still wanted to go up to her door.
Two minutes later, Wyatt said, “Thanks. Yeah, he’s fine too.” He glanced at Spencer. “Well, kind of fine. His head is gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning, but I think maybe he’ll deserve it.”
Spencer sighed. His brother’s lack of sympathy was not appreciated.
But Wyatt was probably right on all accounts.
“She’s home, and she’s fine,” Wyatt reported as he disconnected.
Spencer’s eyes were on her townhouse and the light in the window he assumed was her bedroom. She was home. Safe.
Of course, she wasn't propped up against the pillows in his bed, and there wasn’t a dog greeting her on the other side of the door—and he knew with one hundred percent certainty that her place did not smell like enchiladas—but at least she was home.
“Can I take you home now?” Wyatt was already shifting the truck into drive.
“Yeah. Okay.”
The thing was, he wasn't going to be greeted at the door by a dog either. And his apartment wasn't going to smell like enchiladas.
