More Than Want You (More Than Words 1)

“Yep. At twenty-five, I sometimes feel like the grandma of the classroom, but I prefer doing school in the mornings after yoga, when I’m fresh. Night school is for bitter workaholics.”

I smile. “You mean like me?”

She cringes. “You went to night school? Sorry…”

I shrug. “No offense taken.”

“You’re driven, aren’t you? You probably finished your degree in four years.”

“Actually, I finished a bachelor’s and a master’s in four years while growing a full-time real estate business.”

She looks shocked. “Did you ever sleep?”

“It’s overrated, and another one of those things I’m not very good at. That’s fine. I have more important things to do.”

Her expression says she can’t imagine what but she politely doesn’t say so. “So, Maxon, the workaholic real estate agent who puts me to shame academically, what do you do for fun?”

Interesting question. “Besides close big deals? Well…I like a good game of pool. I read a lot.”

“Fiction? It’s a good escape. I read tons. And I love self-help. I’m reading this book called Riding the Wings of Joy about finding inner peace and—”

“Not what I meant.” I laugh. “One of my favorite books is Master the Close about killer sales techniques. I also read a lot of trade mags about turning lookers into buyers, that kind of thing. I also need to keep up with the latest in landscaping, staging, marketing… I’m always reading. Any edge I can get over the competition is one I’ll take.”

I plant that seed. I’ll give it time to germinate in her head. Tomorrow, I’ll see if I can harvest it.

“So no meditation for you, I guess,” she teased.

“How do you keep your mind still that long?” I really can’t imagine.

“It’s an art. I learn every day new ways to exercise self-control.”

It sounds like a crock of shit to me. My base instinct is to crush competitors and seduce beautiful women. I don’t see any reason to change that.

“Fantastic,” I assure her.

She laughs. “You’re a terrible liar.”

The owner of the downscale bar trips over a couple of cords as he stumbles his way to the mic and grabs it. “Keeley Sunshine again, everyone.”

While the audience applauds, the vivacious beauty beside me chugs down the last of her Crown and Coke. “Gotta go. If you’re still here when my last set ends…we’ll see.”

“I’ll be here.”

Once Keeley hits the stage, I return to the table to find Britta gathering her purse. “You’re leaving?”

She nods. “I can’t sit here and watch you pick up yet another woman you’ll probably never be serious about. I know you believe in the work-hard-play-hard thing, but when are you going to truly give a relationship even half that much effort? You wasted years pretending with Tiffanii. Invest in your heart for once. Fall in love. Care about someone who can love you back. Worry less about closing the deal and open yourself to someone who can share your life. Or you’re going to wind up bitter.”

Like my old man. And my brother. I’ve heard this speech. Britta brings this up more often these days, especially when we’re away from the office and she’s had a glass of wine or two. “I don’t see you till-death-do-us-parting.”

“I tried. God knows I did. I couldn’t want forever more than Griff.”

Instantly, I feel contrite. She’s right, and if my bastard of a brother hadn’t broken her heart so utterly, she would have loved him until she died. I volunteered to break every bone in his miserable body on her behalf. At the time, it would have made me feel good. She refused to let me. In her words, if he didn’t care enough about her to stay, then she didn’t want him feeling obligated to hang around.

“You were right to let him go, Britta.”

“Damn right I was. And I started dating again within a few months. I’m still open to something serious. I think this thing with Makaio is leading somewhere. He’s a good guy.” She shrugs. “If it doesn’t work out, at least I’ll know I’m not alone for lack of trying. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Then she’s gone, pushing her way out the door and into the night.

Rob tosses down some bills to pay the check. “You owe me, buddy.”

I nod absently. “What’s with her?”

“You know Britta. She might be younger than us but she’s a mother hen. She thinks you’re wasting your life alone. If it makes you feel any better, she’d like to see me on the matrimony train, too. In her words, I either love Alania or I don’t. So I should move forward or move on. Maybe she’s right.” He pauses. “About both of us. G’night.”

I frown, puzzled. “Night.”

Calling for another martini, I toss their words around in my head and focus on Keeley. I’m a man of my word, waiting through two more sets of sensually dipped songs, everything from the Peggy Lee classic “I’m a Woman” to Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” to “Can’t Feel My Face” by The Weeknd. I love that she’s both musically eclectic and well-versed. Tunes are something we have in common. I’ll do my best to dazzle her later at my place with killer views and my deep playlist. Maybe that will impress her. I’m not sure my…ahem…sparkling personality did that earlier.

Finally, she tucks her mic onto the stand for the final time and gives the enthusiastic crowd a playful little curtsy. The ovation becomes a standing exercise in adulation. She looks thrilled.

“You killed it,” I assure her when she heads my way.

“It’s really a rush. I wasn’t sure if I could do it without the vocal track in the background to keep me on key. But once I stopped worrying about it and just relaxed, everything came together.”

“You’re a natural.”

“I’d love to make a living at this, but who does? I’m hardly going to be the next Adele, so…I’ll focus on finishing school. But before the last set started, Gus, the guy who owns this place, asked me if I’d be interested in playing again, so I’ve got a gig on Saturday night.” She shrugs. “It will be fun if nothing else.”

“That’s great. I’m sure you’ll do well. You’ve got something.”

“You’re saying that to get in my panties,” she challenges with a grin.

“Well…yeah. But I actually mean it.”

Her smile becomes a laugh. “Fair enough. So what’s next?”

“I thought I’d feed you, then take you back to my evil lair, ply you with good booze, then seduce you.”

“It sounds like you really thought through that plan. I’ll be way more amenable to seduction after some protein, veggies, and sugar. If you want a sure thing, I’m partial to crème brûlée.”

“Aren’t you helpful, aiding me in your own downfall?”

“Right?” She nods. “I just need to grab my purse from the back.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Minutes later, she appears with a slouchy hobo bag that I think is meant to be some shade of brown. The tab to the zipper is missing, so the purse hangs open, but she’s offset all that by tying a colorful scarf at the base of the handle and dangling some little charms off the loop of the shoulder strap. I’ve got to give her style points.

“Japengo sound good? I hear the crème brûlée is killer.”

“So this isn’t a run through the convenience store for Boone’s Farm, followed by the Taco Bell drive-thru? Impressive.”

“You describing your last date?”

“Basically. So you really are a gentleman. Or more determined to get laid.”

“Probably both.” I smile. I’m not sure closing the deal with Keeley is going to be as easy as she makes it sound, but I can be persistent and persuasive.

Tomorrow is soon enough to tell her I want her to distract my brother.