She can’t be as great as she seems. I mean, no one is this perfect.
She lays the menu down on the bar top with a smack. “Okay. I’ve decided.”
“What am I having?”
We lock eyes and there’s silence for a moment as sexual tension swirls between us rising to an almost catastrophic level until she clears her throat. “You’re having three different tacos, beans and rice. And we’re having nachos as an appetizer.”
I nod. “Cool.”
Her pink lips cover the edge of the margarita glass and she sips it, leaving the residue of her lip gloss on the glass. “You’re very easy,” she says. “My brothers would have been like, ‘screw you.’”
“I’m not your brothers.”
“I’m well aware.” She chuckles.
Again, silence falls between us and my fingers itch to touch her thigh that’s resting only millimeters away. I clench my hand. She’s my co-worker and I can’t cross that line.
“What are you writing about this week?” I ask just to give us something to talk about and occupy my brain from thoughts of what she might look like naked.
She side glances me while taking another sip of her margarita. “And have you steal my idea?”
“How can I steal your idea when I write for the opposite sex?”
She looks me over like she’s trying to do an honesty test with just her eyes acting as judge and jury. I kind of like the way they stop at waist level and then slowly draw up my chest until our eyes meet once again. From the pink on her cheeks, I’d say she likes what she sees.
“You could spin it to work for you.” She shrugs.
“Fine. I’ll tell you first. I’m doing the ten best hoodies for fall.”
“Hoodies? In July?”
“Yes, hoodies for the fall.”
She haws and tilts her head like okay, but clearly doesn’t think it’s a good idea. Costco is already selling snowsuits, so it’s not like I’m getting ahead of myself.
“This is the part where you tell me what you’re doing…”
She smiles and sips her drink again, twirls the glass in her hand, the ice clinking together. “I’m doing five ways to be a better friend.”
“This coming from experience? You have close friends?”
She seems like the type. The kind of girl that has a group of lifelong best friends. I only have Dylan and lately it’s felt like Sierra won him when we broke up. I don’t blame the guy, he tried to keep the peace but knowing Sierra she doesn’t make it easy.
“I’ve grown apart from some, but most of them are in the city.”
“But yet you live in Cliffton Heights now?”
She giggles, shaking her drink which I figure out is a distraction technique. “I reconnected with a friend a month or so ago and it was like old times. It all seemed to fit, you know?”
“You miss the city?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes, but I do like the small-town feel.”
“Cliffton Heights is small town?”
She pushes me in the shoulder, and I tip a bit on my stool but recover quickly. “Compare it to New York City and yes, it’s small town.”
“So violent.” I rub my shoulder like she hurt me.
“Sorry, reflex from having three brothers. It was a way to get them to pay attention to me.”
I pick up my beer. “How do you like the magazine so far?”
She nods. “No complaints except for the guy next to my cubicle.” She rolls her eyes in dramatic fashion and I just know the smile on my face looks cheesy as hell.
“Yeah? I bet he’s like the hottest guy you’ve ever seen.”
She shrugs. “He’s all right.”
I shake my head and take a pull of my beer. “Just all right?”
“I haven’t quite figured him out yet.”
“I bet he’s a great guy you should spend more time with. You know, to get to know him better.”
The waiter finally comes back and takes our order, which I’m thankful for. I could use the breather to remind me not to flirt too much with her.
He walks away and we start a conversation about our families. She tells me all about her three brothers and their significant others. How there’s a baby coming from her oldest brother and she’s sure to be shoved out of the picture. The love and affection she holds for her family is obvious throughout the conversation. The jealousy that’s always present whenever I hear about someone with a normal childhood strikes but it’s not as jarring as usual. I’m happy she never had to grow up the way I did.
“What about you?” she asks.
“What about me?”
“What’s your family like?” She tilts her head to the side, waiting for my answer.
This is where it always goes south with the woman I’m interested in. Because she doesn’t want to hear the stories of my mom using food stamps to buy groceries. The sighs from people behind us when we had to have the cashier take products off because we didn’t have enough money. She wants to hear stories about sibling arguments and Christmas traditions. I’m not sure receiving a gift from a rich family who thought they were doing good out in the suburbs is what she’s expecting.
“I have a younger sister. She just graduated from NYU.”
Her eyes widen. “That’s awesome. What was her major?”
“Education.”
“Great profession.”
Except it makes no money. Not that being a writer is filling my bank account right now, but I wanted her to pick something more secure financially.
“Her first job is at a small catholic school. Pay is horrible.”
“Happiness isn’t about money.” She tsks with her finger like she’s my mother.
Except my mom never told me that.
“You can’t survive without money. A big heart doesn’t put food on your table or a roof over your head.” I sip my beer knowing I need to leave the bitterness from my childhood buried, at least for our first time out together.
“That’s extreme, but I did leave my job in finance to write and I did it because I was unhappy.”
Shit, I knew she was different. But to throw away a life where you might never have to worry about money for one that is unstable in today’s market is a big gamble. No one wants print anymore. Newspapers, magazines, they’re all becoming obsolete. “I’m not sure if that’s stupid or brave.”
“You sound like two of my brothers.”
“Not all three?”
A big smile warms her face. “Dom, the married one with the baby on the way, he had a big revelation this past year. He pushed me to make the change and so far I’m happy I did.”
I knock her shoulder with mine. “It’s only day one.”
She holds my gaze and shivers scatter along the back of my neck. “I know.”
Yeah, I need to listen to my gut more often. I think staying at the tech magazine would’ve been much easier.
Chapter Seven
Blanca
Ethan is either a serial dater or he’s taken classes on how to charm a woman because I’ve never felt more listened to, more understood, more wanted—and he hasn’t even laid a single finger on me. I think he’s trying to mask it but the desire in his eyes makes my skin burn. The way his gaze holds mine while I’m talking. His eyes soften when I talk about my family, roll when I talk about my evil ex-boss, and light up when I make a corny joke. He’d win me over with all of that, but it’s his eyes when I’m not speaking that have me ready to pull him into an alley and kiss him senseless.