The man made “innocent little ice cream cone” into a filthy promise. His green eyes danced.
She wanted to shrink into herself, so Olivia set her shoulders back and made herself stand taller. But her gaze still fell to rest on the apple. “That’s because it doesn’t feel innocent. Not to me.”
He shifted and her eyes rose, and now his face didn’t look amused at all. “Doesn’t that make it important then?”
It did. Too important. But she’d be damned if she’d say that. “I’m not an eighteen-year-old girl out spreading her wings. I need to be reasonable.”
“I’d say you’ve got more than enough reasonable. You said you wanted to be fun.”
“I do, but—”
“Try it, then.” She had no idea how his gaze could get any warmer, but it did. “I can make anything fun, Olivia…even you.”
Excitement leapt through her. She should’ve felt insulted, but she only felt the anticipation. The possibility. “You’re just a kid. You don’t understand—”
“I’m nothing like a kid,” he said, his voice suddenly low and quiet. And she knew he was right. She knew it. But there was something so bright and pure about him. Something that said he still enjoyed being in the world, unlike the rest of the miserable population just making their way through. That was what drew women like moths. It was certainly drawing her.
Olivia crossed her arms and looked to the side, sweeping her gaze over the empty chairs, the dark carpet, the sickly gray of the walls that glowed under fluorescent lights. This place was the biggest part of her life and the thing was…she’d never even wanted it. How sad was that?
“Coffee,” she said.
He raised one eyebrow. “Coffee? All right. Coffee’s pretty fun, but…”
“Just coffee. I have plans later.”
He conceded with a gracious wink. He didn’t even complain when she told him she’d meet him at the café. In fact, his smile implied that he knew exactly why she’d said it. Not because she was going to drive straight to the Denver art museum afterward, but because she was afraid of what would happen if he drove her home again.
In the end, she had a surprisingly nice time. Jamie was easier to talk to than she’d expected. Oh, sure, talking to strangers was part of his job, but when they dared to step into political waters, he was thoughtful and informed. And he made her laugh. They sat on a shady patio. Olivia had a skinny latte. Jamie had an iced caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream.
When he walked her to her car, she felt as nervous as a teenage girl. With good reason, because when she opened her car door, she was caught between the door frame and the car, and Jamie leaned close.
“Can I call you?” he asked.
“Jamie…” She couldn’t keep this up, but she couldn’t resist forever.
“Just say yes,” he whispered. And then he kissed her, and her mouth was too busy to say anything at all.
HE’D LEFT HER WITH A KISS. One damn kiss and nothing more. But even that made him smile. He’d never tell Olivia this in a million years, but dating her definitely felt more…grown-up than he was used to. Less like a hookup and more like time with an interesting woman. Not that he wouldn’t hook the hell out of her given the opportunity. That one kiss had left him hard as a rock. Granted, it had been a long, deep, wet kiss.
“Hell, yeah,” he murmured as he pulled into the brewery parking lot. He walked around the whole building before going in, to be sure all the doors and windows were secure and the sidewalks were clean, but when he walked through the front door, he was still lost in thoughts of Olivia.
“Where the hell have you been?” his brother, Eric, asked before Jamie’s foot was even across the threshold.
All the pleasant warmth suffusing Jamie’s muscles snapped to ice. “I told you I’d be in later on Thursdays from now on.”
“You said you’d be in at four. It’s almost 4:30.”
Jamie felt his blood swell. Heat rose to his skin. He wanted to snap back. He wanted to yell that he’d put in sixty-two hours last week and he’d fucking come in thirty minutes late if he felt like it. There wasn’t even one customer in the front room, for God’s sake.
But he couldn’t say that, because the last thing he wanted was for Eric to start asking questions about where Jamie had been, or why he’d suddenly decided to take Tuesdays off instead of Mondays, or why he needed to come in late on Thursdays. So Jamie used all his strength to hold those words in and simply muttered, “Sorry.”
Eric looked surprised. Maybe he’d been angling for a fight. But he gave in gracefully and said, “All right. Sorry I snapped at you.”
Was it really that easy? They fought like cats and dogs most of the time, which was why Jamie was keeping his ideas secret until he had them fully fleshed out. If he didn’t have everything in perfect order, Eric would shoot the plan down before the first words left Jamie’s mouth. In fact, he’d already shot this particular plan down once, but Jamie wasn’t giving up.
“Anything going on today?” he asked Eric.
“Wallace finally got in that Mexican chocolate he was waiting for. He’s going to try another round of the spicy chocolate stout.”