Shane (Mallick Brothers 1)

“Baby,” he said, leaning across the table slightly and it took a lot of determination not to shrink back. “I’ve gotten in your pants. And I didn’t need to bring you to a fancy restaurant to do it. And I wouldn’t need to to get in there again. I brought you here so we could talk. If I wanted less talking, we’d be back at my or your place right now… not talking.”

“Why do you want to talk to me?”

“Because I find you interesting. You got something. I don’t know if it’s the ‘fuck you’ you have scrawled over your forehead or the fact that I know it’s there to cover up something else, or the fact that you get on with my family all but effortlessly, or that you’re the hottest piece I have seen in a long ass time. Or maybe it’s all that wrapped up. Whatever it is, I’m into it. And maybe, for once in my life, I’d like to get in your head before I get into your pants. That clear enough for you?”

Yes, well, okay then.

I liked that a little too much. I think I liked it especially because it was not the norm for him. I was the exception, not the rule. It was hard to feel special if you were just a chick a guy like him picked up in a bar, knowing you were just one of many and wholly interchangeable. It was a whole other thing to realize you, for God knew what reason, were the one to make him want more than that.

“Can I get you folks something to start with?” the waiter asked.

Oh, God yes. Anything, literally anything that I could shove into my mouth to make conversation more difficult.

With that, we got the antipasto and a caprese salad to share and I insisted I needed the time between ordering that and it arriving to look over the extensive menu. I didn’t, because the second I saw baked ziti, I was sold. But I made a show of looking it over and bouncing options off of him for opinions. From there, things went a little more smoothly, talking about the food, the restaurant, the other good places in town, and even his family.

By the time the check arrived, I was riding a warm wine buzz, was seriously wishing the material of my dress was a little more forgiving of a giant carb-filled meal, and really, really convinced that not only was Shane trouble because he was hot, he was trouble because he was just genuinely likable. Sure, he was a dick sometimes and a little blunt and hard-headed, but, well, that was my thing. I liked men who knew who they were and were that way unapologetically. And to find out that he wasn’t just a brute, but also very attached to his family, involved with the goings-on in the town, and not completely dim-witted, yeah, my panties were positively screaming for me to take them off already. Hell, right there in the restaurant would even do.

“So you have fun bullshitting me all night?” Shane asked with a disarming smile as he placed his hand at my lower back to steer me away from the table.

My step faltered and I scrunched my brows together at him. “We were talking! That was what you wanted.”

“Lea, we were two minutes from discussing the God damn weather.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong there. I really was starting to grasp for straws for tame topics. “I’m not great at small talk,” I said, and it was true.

“I didn’t say we had to talk small. You could have given me more. You didn’t. That’s on you, not me.”

“Maybe I don’t like to show my cards to someone who might use them against me.”

“Lea,” he said, grabbing my hips and turning me to face him, pressing my back against his truck. “What the fuck have I done to you? I mean, really. I’m doing shit pretty by the book here. You don’t like this, fine. Tell me that. You just want to fuck, I can give you that. Otherwise, what are we doing here? It’s one or the other, isn’t it?”

“One or the other, what?” I repeated, voice a little breathless. This was mainly because I was finding it hard to breathe properly with him so close.

“You’re either casual with someone or you’re working toward something more than that.”

“You want to work toward something more than that?”

“Jesus, alright, never mind. I’ll let it drop,” he said, releasing me, moving me to the side, and yanking open my door. He held out his hand and helped me up, but it lacked the sweetness that it had before, seeming to only be done because it was necessary to keep me from falling on my face.

“Where are we going?” I asked a couple tense, silent moments later as we drove in the wrong direction.