He looks at a keychain with my name on it that’s hanging from a tack on the frame of my mirror. On the backside is a picture of me taken last year. “What’s this from?” he says, picking it up.
“My boss surprised us with a trip to an amusement park. There was a booth where you could make keychains like that.”
“Is it sentimental?” he asks, running his finger across the picture.
What an odd question. “No. It’s just an overpriced keychain.”
“Can I have it?”
I feel my face contort with confusion. “Are you a serial killer or something, collecting trophies from your victims?”
He looks at me very seriously. “Would that be a deal breaker?”
I shrug it off. “Not really. Still better than the last guy I went out with.
His smile cracks. “So can I have it?”
“Have at it.”
He attaches it to his keychain, then
puts his hands on my bed, and pushes on the mattress. It gives a little squeak in return. “So is this where all the magic happens?” he says with a wag of his brow.
I look him straight in the eye, trying to pull off the whole cool, calm, and collected look. “Apparently, for me, magic only happens in hotel rooms.”
He looks taken aback for a moment. A bit shy when he smiles. He clears his throat and lets out a quiet laugh. “Should we go get drinks now?”
For some reason, when he asked to come in, I didn’t think we’d actually make it to the bar. It’s disappointing in a way. I want him all to myself. But then again, I don’t mind being seen with him either. It’s an ego thing. Like hunters gunning down the buck with the largest horns. I can strut around in front of all the girls like, “bitches, look what I caught.”
“I’ll just grab my coat,” I say.
It’s no surprise that he drives a truck. From all the outdoorsy photos on his Instagram account, he’d have a hard time trekking through the wilderness and on dirt roads in a sedan. It suits him. Rugged, masculine. I like the way he drives with one hand draped over the top of the steering wheel while the other rests on the center console. He radiates confidence.
“No subway today?” I say.
I don’t know why he would want to drive the freeway from San Pedro County, maneuvering the icy roads, and sitting in traffic when the subway is a straight shot and would cut off about 15 minutes of travel time. It’s cheaper too. A big truck like this must cost a fortune in gas.
“I never take the subway,” he says. “Can’t stand the smell or being packed in with strangers like sardines.”
“Then why were you on it yesterday?”
He bites his bottom lip. “Yesterday was different. My truck was in the shop.”
His truck is new and top of the line from the looks of the leather, sunroof, and navigation system. So why would it be in the shop?
There was a change in his voice when he said it. A slight rise and fall of his words that didn’t sound as smooth and natural as it had when he’d spoken before. I don’t know him well enough to say he was lying, but if that were Stephanie, I’d call her out on her bullshit.
He takes me to an upscale restaurant with a bar in an adjoining room. I didn’t know this place was even here. It has a breathtaking view of the river and its snowy banks. Inside is just as beautiful with a waterfall sculpture and saltwater fish tank that covers the entire wall behind the bar.
From the looks of things, it has an upscale clientele too. Women wear tight designer dresses and stilettos while I’m in my sweater and boots, prepared for the snowpocalypse. Damn it. I should’ve just toughed it out and took my chances. I am definitely not dressed right for this place. There’s probably a dress code and I’ll be kicked out. I wish Heath would’ve told me where we were going and what kind of place it was before we left. More than likely I would’ve tried to talk him out of it, but if that failed, I would’ve at least worn a shirt with some sparkle.
“Do you want to sit at the bar, or would you rather get a booth?” he asks.
The bartender—he’s probably called a mixologist at a swanky place like this—wears a man bun and tux, mixing brightly colored drinks. He smiles and nods at Heath like they’re old friends. I feel so out of place. I’m more of a beer and burgers kind of girl and I’m afraid it’s painfully evident to all the women in the bar who look at me with judgement in their eyes.
Is this where he brings all his dates and I’m just ‘Ms. Saturday night at the moment’? That sick feeling is back. I really wish I didn’t feel so wishy-washy when it comes to him. It’s giving me whiplash.
“The bar is fine,” I say.
We sit at the end of the bar. The place is packed. The ratio of men to women is off kilter, the women dominating the scene. And they’re all beautiful and sexy. Each one of them with great figures. And they’re all looking at Heath. Even the ones with dates. They don’t even try to hide their interest. I’m fairly certain that any of these girls would happily leave their current dates to spend a night with Heath. One woman in particular seems overly aggressive. She takes the stool beside him, scooting closer than I find appropriate.
“Callista, this is my friend Corbin,” Heath says, introducing me to the bartender. “We went to school together.”
I smile and shake Corbin’s outstretched hand. I feel that jealous tick start to ebb with something else to focus on. So maybe I’m getting paranoid for nothing. When you’re with a guy as hot as Heath, it’s difficult not to.
“Can you believe Heath used to be the ugly one?” Corbin says.
I look at Heath, not convinced. “Oh really?” I say.
“Buck-tooth, braces, acne. He was teased relentlessly. I was always coming to his rescue.”
“It’s true,” Heath says.
I can’t help but laugh. “I can’t even picture that.”
“He definitely couldn’t have dated a girl like you.”
Heath laughs. “Okay, that’s enough of that.”
“All right, I’ll stop embarrassing you,” Corbin says. He looks at me. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Jack and Coke, please.”
They both stare at me as if I’ve said something mystifying. “What?” I say.
Corbin shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m just grateful to have one less cosmopolitan or appletini to make tonight.” He gives Heath a sly look. “If you’re not careful, I might just steal her away from you.”
Heath leans toward me. I don’t know if the protective gesture is on purpose or just a reflex. “You’ll have to fight me for this one,” he says.
My face grows hot and I force back the childish giggle trying to get out of me.
“It would be worth the broken nose,” Corbin says with a wink.
When I look back at Heath, the girl who’d been sitting next to him has moved even closer, leaning in to hear our conversation. I catch her eye and she smiles. There’s nothing friendly about it.
An argument at the end of the bar breaks our
eye contact. Two men in sleek business suits go back and forth, talking loudly and passionately about some case they’d been working on. Lawyers, I’m assuming, or something in the legal field. Telling by the slur in their words and the way they keep repeating themselves, it’s clear they’ve had a few too many. When they start to get handsy, pushing at each other, Corbin motions to Heath.
“Speaking of fighting, you want to help me take care of this? I’ve got a full house to attend to.”
Heath grumbles and looks at me. “Sorry, he always makes me play bouncer when I stop by.”
“It’s fine,” I say.
While he goes to break up the fight, I sip my drink and watch the show the two drunk guys are putting on. I guess it doesn’t matter what kind of bar it is. When there’s alcohol involved, things are going to get rowdy.
The woman who’d been sitting next to Heath, the same one who’d given me that backhanded smile, moves into Heath’s chair.
“That seat’s taken,” I say to her even though I’m certain she already knows that.
“I’ll only be a second,” she says, her voice thick with some kind of accent.
She’s gorgeous. Long wavy hair, dark Latina skin, and curves I would kill for. Her tongue wraps around the skinny straw in a bright pink drink rimmed with blue sugar.
“So you’re the No-O, huh?” she says.
I let out a long sigh. Not this again.
Her gaze travels the length of my body as if she’s sizing up the competition. She doesn’t look too intimidated and her sudden smile lets me know she doesn’t see me as a threat. I am really not in the mood for this. I just wanted to spend another amazing night with Heath.
“Yep, I guess that’s what the kids are calling me these days,” I say, exasperated. I don’t try to hide my irritation. I want her to know she’s intruding.
“Is he as good in bed as everyone says he is?” she asks.
Jesus, lady. Do I have to literally tell her to fuck off for her to get the hint?
“Better,” I say childishly, using the kind of voice I used to use on the playground when I had something that everyone else wanted, but I wasn’t about to share.