You just never knew.
The most stand-up-appearing guy could be an absolute slimeball.
And a strip club owner could have a heart of pure gold.
“Pepper turned it up a notch tonight, I noticed,” I remarked.
“Babe,” he said.
Then he said no more.
I turned to him, and after his chat to me and that brotherly hug, I couldn’t quite keep the earnestness out of my voice.
“She’s really sweet. And I know she has a kid and some dudes balk at that, but I’ve babysat her often, and Juno is everything.”
“Pepper’s also got a dickhead ex who fucks with her whenever he can and makes opportunities if they aren’t available, and as such, she’s not feelin’ lettin’ another guy in her life right now, but more, into her kid’s life. We haven’t set something up and it’s not about her kid. I want kids. I want lots of kids. Kids are kids. They’re in your life, you love ’em like your own. So it’s not about Juno. It’s not about Pepper. It’s not about her dancing. It’s what Pepper needs in her life at the present and that’s not me.”
“Wow, Pepper has shared a lot.”
“I got the sense she didn’t want me to think she was blowing me off,” he muttered.
“That’s Pepper. She’s thoughtful,” I told him.
He glanced at me and I saw a hint of the flash of his white smile before he looked back to the road and asked, “You’re not gonna give up, are you?”
“No,” I answered.
“Evie, darlin’, I’m not gonna be that stalkery guy who pushes shit with a woman when she’s not in that zone.”
“Auggie, something I’m learning, you can get caught up in your life and not realize what zone you need to find until life forces you to pay attention.”
He was silent a beat before he said quietly, “Point made.”
We didn’t dive deeper into that the rest of the journey back to Mag’s.
Auggie had the code to get into the underground garage, and as he drove to guest parking, I saw my Prius, its trunk looking good as new, parked next to Mag’s humongous truck.
Something about that gave me a delicious shiver.
Auggie escorted me up and used his key to let us in.
The condo was dark, except for the light of the TV, which shined on Mag, who was stretched out on his side on the couch, up on an elbow in some throw pillows.
His eyes were on us.
Auggie walked me to the living room area, stopped us and stated, “She’s safe home. Now after watching her and Lots and Pepper dance, I’m going home and washing my eyes out with soap.”
Mag grinned and said, “Owe you.”
“Yeah, you do,” Auggie replied, turned to me, kissed the side of my head again then bid, “Later,” pivoted, and walked back out the door.
I heard the lock go.
“He still has his key,” I told Mag.
He grinned, this time at me, and then murmured, “C’mere, baby.”
Seeing him stretched out like that in the light of the television, I could no sooner stop myself from walking to him than I could stop myself from eating a Toll House cookie fresh from the oven, no matter how hot it was and knowing it would burn my tongue.
I dropped my bag and the envelope of cash on his coffee table on my way and watched him shift before he executed a cool move, which included him pushing up, grabbing my hand, tugging me down so I landed on him but somehow ended up mostly under him.
It was far from lost on me how good it felt, having his weight on me.
But I’d just danced, it was three o’clock in the morning, and in order to let Auggie off the hook, I hadn’t showered, just toweled down and cleaned my makeup off before I put my clothes back on and we took off.
I was tired, not exhausted.
But I’d just danced, I felt icky, and I didn’t want to go where Mag was clearly taking me.
I also had this niggling disappointment he was intent to take me there.
I’d thought he’d stayed awake to make sure I was home safe, which was sweet.
It seemed he did.
But also, so he might get himself a little somethin’-somethin’.
“So,” he murmured, his gaze moving all over my face and hair, and I knew what that meant.
Then he surprised me.
His eyes came to mine and he asked, “Gert?”
“If you pass inspection, she’ll love you.”
“She treats you right, I already love her.”
He wasn’t going to make a move.
He was talking about Gert.
He was being Danny.
God.
What was I going to do with Daniel Magnusson?
“So what’s the drill after you dance?” he asked. “Are you jazzed and need to chill out watchin’ TV or somethin’ or do you just crash?”
I noted in those choices he did not offer a heavy make-out session, which would probably lead to a little somethin’-somethin’.