But after he shut the Jeep down, instead of getting out, he turned to her
“First, honey, do not get caught in this fairy godfather gig Cisco has going on. He is absolutely a motherfucker.”
Her face fell and he hated that.
But he was not lying, and men like Cisco had three paths: they got caught and went to prison, they got dead, and for the rare, they retired.
Axl wanted to protect her from the first two, and he wasn’t fired up about Cisco—doing what he did—being in her life whatever time it took him if he was destined to make it to the last one.
“He seems nice,” she said.
“He likes you. If he didn’t like you, you would one hundred percent not say that.”
She rubbed her lips together.
He continued talking.
“But that’s a bummer. So we’re moving on. The second thing you gotta know before we get out of my car is that dress, Hattie … ” He allowed his eyes to wander down then up again, and looking in her pretty brown eyes done up for him, her big mass of long, dark curly hair framing her face and falling all over her bare shoulders, he finished, his voice gruffer, “You look beautiful in that dress, baby.”
“Thank you.”
There was something deep in those two words, deeper than normal when receiving a compliment.
Heavy.
But he had a feeling, if he tried to tease it out, knowing it probably had to do with the fact her father treated her like garbage, it’d be a bummer for the both of them, so he asked, “I open doors for women. You got a problem with that?”
She smiled. “One hundred percent no.”
He returned her smile, added leaning her way to touch his lips to her neck, getting the scent of her perfume, which was girlie and flowery, but subtle, and as with everything that was Hattie, he liked it.
He got out, moved around the hood of the car, helped her out and walked with her toward the restaurant.
Baker District was hip. Nighttime, it could get busy.
Once he tucked Hattie’s hand through his arm, spreading her fingers over his biceps, keeping his over hers, she took his cue and walked close to him. Her shoulder to his. Her hip brushing his. Her perfume doing a number on him.
That was when he noticed it.
People looking at them as they passed.
He knew what they saw.
He liked what they saw.
He got off on what they saw.
Like his dad, Axl had gone prematurely silver in his late twenties.
His father called it the Pantera Curse.
Axl thought it was the shit, being twenty-seven and people treating him like he was forty-five.
Then again, except in the army, and after, he hadn’t been shown a lot of respect by people who were meaningful in his life.
When he’d shared with his father it didn’t bother him, Sylas Pantera said, “Kid, you never want to lose the advantage. Not with anyone. You want them underestimating you. Not the other way around.”
First, Axl hated his dad calling him “kid.”
It wasn’t a nickname, familiar and loving. It was said to put him in his place, even if, when they’d had this conversation, if he recalled, Axl had been twenty-nine, and he still called him that, and Axl was thirty-four.
So yeah, he hated that.
And second, Axl did not view life as one competition after another.
He wanted people to be honest with him. He wanted them to respect him. He expected to give that first back at all times, earn the last, and return it if it was deserved.
So now, he knew the feeling he felt with the people glancing their way as they passed them, Axl walking with a beautiful woman in a sexy-as-fuck dress and arguably sexier shoes to a nice restaurant, knowing that woman on his arm was adorable, talented, loyal and a fighter.
That feeling was, he’d earned this.
He’d earned her.
And it felt fucking great.
His life philosophy in action.
Aim high.
And excel.
They went into the restaurant, were seated and given menus.
Hattie ordered BW’s rum-based Butter Beer cocktail (and he totally could have called that, for fuck’s sake, Butter Beer?—fucking adorable). He got the rye-based Edward Henry Masterman.
And the second the server wandered away after they’d ordered, she pressed into him where they sat thigh to thigh at the back of a curved booth, and she whispered in the direction of his ear, “It’s so romantic here.”
He pulled back a couple inches, caught her eyes but said nothing.
Still, she heard him, and he knew it when her lashes dipped, he sensed she was about to pull away, and then she seemed to make a conscious decision not to.
She lifted her gaze to him.
And knowing she’d just beat back the shyness, the instinct to retreat, Axl felt deserved a reward.
So he bent in and fitted his lips tight to hers.
He only touched them with the tip of his tongue before he pulled away.