Shelby’s smile falters slightly and I mentally kick myself for refusing the invitation she’d eloquently extended to me. One day I’ll get this shit right.
“I understand, but just so you know, you get to make all the rules of the date.”
That’s only appealing if I can get Shelby to participate too.
“What about women?” I ask impulsively. “Are they being auctioned off too?”
Her green eyes cloud; I can’t read the emotion, but I don’t back away from my question.
“Yeah, I’m one of them.”
“Do you think that’s wise? There’s a lot of guys out there who would do something to hurt women.”
She tilts her head to the side. “I lived in Houston, I think I can take care of myself, Sully.”
“Be that as it may, I’d need to meet the person who gets the date with you, or you’d at least have to tell me something about it, to set my mind at ease.”
This time when she looks at me, there’s a sparkle in her eye. My gaze travels down to where her tongue peaks out between straight, white teeth to lick her plump, pink bottom lip.
“I was thinking something that involves chairs and handcuffs.”
Suddenly I know I have to be at this auction, I have to be the one who wins the date with her. And call me crazy, but maybe she remembers a lot more from the night at the Christmas party than I gave her credit for.
Chapter 5
Shelby
He’s speechless.
Sully keeps opening his mouth and then shutting it. No words come out, even though his throat is working so hard his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. The tension between us is slightly awkward, and I do the only thing I can think of.
Invite him to lunch.
“I was about to head over to The Café. You wanna join me?”
The question seems to pull him from whatever stupor he was stuck in.
“You sure? I just worked out, and I don’t smell the best. I was gonna take a shower at the station, but I had to get outta there.”
“I’ve smelled you worse than that before,” I remind him. “I am the one who helped you after the kid in the downstairs apartment puked on you.”
His face flashes red before a smile tilts up the side of his full lips. “For a while I was able to forget that happened. Thanks for bringing it back up, though.”
“You’re welcome.” I grin.
Grabbing hold of his arm, I start us walking toward the direction of what will be our lunch. My body recognizes his, and before I know it, I’m squeezing his bicep, admiring the firm muscle.
Wondering about all the other parts of him that are hard too.
When we get to the door, he opens it, holding it for me, and then a couple of older ladies. It makes my heart jump, the way he gives them a smile and acknowledges them with a nod of his head.
More than anyone I’ve ever met, Sullivan Baker is a good guy.
“Go ahead and sit wherever you want to, I’ll be with you in a second,” Leigh says as she sees us.
“Booth or table?” I look up, letting him make the decision.
He nods over to the booth across from where we stand. Sliding in, I immediately grab a menu so I don’t have to meet his eyes.
Sully doesn’t. He gets the same thing every time he comes here. Me? I like a little variety in my life.
I’m making a show of perusing the menu when he clears his throat. His big hands are spread across the table, and he leans in, his voice low.
“Did you mean what you said out there?”
Slowly, I put the menu down, licking my bottom lip. “Which part? I said a lot of things.”
Dark eyes the color of whiskey stare back at me. An intensity I’ve only seen in him once before making them flare a deeper brown than normal.
“The part about chairs and cuffs.” His voice is pitched so only we can hear it. “I thought you didn’t remember.”
For a few moments, I don’t know what to say to him. It was easy to tease, especially when I wanted to shock him. But here? Right now? He’s putting me on the spot. “I remember,” I whisper. He probably can’t even hear me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Apparently I was wrong, and Sully has ears like a bat. I’m saved when Leigh comes to take our orders and put the drinks she knows we always get in front of us. For as long as I can, I make a big production out of putting sugar in my tea and stirring it around, tasting it so that I’m sure it’s to my satisfaction.
“I’m waiting.”
He’s impatient, reached the end of his rope. He wants my explanation now.
“I don’t want to have this conversation here,” I hiss across the table. “Not where anyone could eavesdrop.”
“Then we’ll take our food to go, we’ll sit in my car, and you’ll tell me what I want to know.”
Swallowing roughly, I manage to nod. Funny how I’ve waited for him to ask me about this for so long, but now that I’m faced with the opportunity to lay it all out on the line - I’m shy. He gets up, signaling to Leigh.
There’s no telling the excuse he’s making, and when her gaze flits over to me, I want to ask. The expression on her face is one of amusement.
Nothing we did with one another was amusing.
Before I know it, he’s carrying a to-go bag of food over to our booth, along with two plastic cups. Sully doesn’t sit down; he takes matters into his own hands, pouring our drinks, and nodding to me. “Let’s go.”
This is who I’m used to, this man who takes charge and pushes ahead. It’s who he was that cold night in December, and I long for more of it. We don’t talk as we leave The Café. He points to his car, and together we walk swiftly. Me trying to keep up with his long legs, and him looking like he’s fleeing from the devil himself.
Not even five minutes have passed when I find myself in his passenger seat, our food spread out on the console, holding my sweet tea in my hand.
His voice is hoarse, choked, almost like he’s having trouble swallowing. “I’m gonna ask you again, Shelby. Why didn’t you tell me you remembered?”
Grabbing a fry, I dip it in ketchup before bringing it up to my mouth.
Stalling.
I’m one hundred percent stalling.
“Stop licking the fucking ketchup off your lip and tell me.”
His tone is a warning that goes straight to the spot in between my thighs.
“I didn’t tell you because you never mentioned it. When you didn’t mention it,” - I stop for a second, running my fingers through my hair so that it covers part of my face - “I thought you regretted what happened.”
“I thought you regretted it,” he accuses.
“I didn’t.”
“I didn’t either.” His hands grip the steering wheel. “Now what do we do about it?”
That’s the thousand-dollar question.
“What do you want to do about it?” I ask softly.
Sully runs his hands through his hair, before bringing them back down onto the steering wheel. His thumbs beat a rhythm only he can hear, but I still watch intently. Waiting to see what he does, dying to know what he’s going to say.