He threw back his head in laughter. “I think you need a new job.”
“I’ve been looking, and I hope to find something soon.” I sighed. “I might go back to school. Being a PA wasn’t what I planned.”
“I see. What was the plan?”
“I wanted to be a teacher. But my mom got sick and I left school to help her. When she passed, I was lost for a while. I couldn’t find my path or make any decisions. This job came up five months ago, and I took it.”
He covered my hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mandy.”
I blinked away the sudden moisture in my eyes and cleared my throat.
“She was a dancer. I always loved to watch her performances.”
“Explains the great legs.”
I chuckled. “I got her legs, but not her coordination. She moved like the air. She used to tease me that I was born with two left feet.”
He met my eyes, his gaze intense. “I like how you move.”
I had no idea how to reply to his statement.
I looked down at the table. “I still miss her.”
“I’m sure you do.” He was quiet, and I could feel it as he studied me. “But you’re ready to move on from your job?”
I met his gaze. “I think so. I’m never going anywhere there, and I think I’m ready to move forward.”
A smile played on his lips. “I arrived just in time, then.”
I tried to hide my own smile.
I failed.
He stood and excused himself. I watched him walk away, unable to help noticing that his ass was spectacular. High, round, and firm. I wanted to grab it and see what it felt like under my hands. I was certain it would be perfection.
When he returned, he smiled widely as he slid back into the booth. “That’s taken care of.”
I frowned. “Problem?”
He shook his head and smirked. “Not anymore.”
“I don’t understand.”
He grinned. “Nothing to worry about. Something regarding work I had to take care of. Now, I can concentrate on the task at hand.”
“Eating dinner?”
He cocked one eyebrow at me. “Getting to know you and making sure you want to see me again.”
I had to laugh as I picked up my glass. His friend was correct—he had great taste in wine. It was smooth and full-bodied. Sort of like Mitch.
He never stopped. His questions were endless, his humor contagious. He was droll and amusing, disparaging about himself without being too serious. He told me funny stories of his friend Joseph who he had known his whole life, his sister Kris, and his mom and dad. He kept me in stitches with his wicked imitations of when they would get into trouble and his mother would start to yell.
At one point, I left the table to go to the ladies room. As I washed my hands, I studied myself in the mirror, unsure what it was that he found so attractive. Brown hair, green eyes, and a figure much too curvy to be called slim was all I saw. However, he seemed to disagree. Every time I glanced up, he was staring at me, his frank appraisal making me warm. His eyes followed my movements, watching my fork transfer food to my mouth. He studied my hands when I used them to emphasize a point. More than once, he reached out to touch my hand or arm, even leaning over the table to push a stray curl behind my ear.
Not one prone to physical contact, I was shocked to discover I liked his affectionate gestures.
When I arrived back at our table, he stood in one of his old-fashioned gestures, waiting until I slid into the booth. I shivered a little at the contrast in temperatures. The restaurant seemed chilly compared to the restroom. He frowned, and before I could object, slipped his suit jacket off and leaned over me to drape it around my shoulders. He slid in next to me, sitting so close, our thighs pushed together. Casually, he leaned his arm on the back of the booth, his warmth soaking into my side. His jacket was smooth, and his scent surrounded and enveloped me.