He places a hand on his chest and puffs it out. “I knew you loved me.”
“You’re my work husband. It’s only fair I treat you right.”
“That settles it. We should just quit the dating scene and marry one another. The Little White Chapel has a drive-through. We could be husband and wife by dinnertime.” He waggles his brows, and I hit him with the folder. He pretends it hurts as he rolls off the desk and takes a standing position.
“Enough of you. Out of my office while I finish up. I have a date I have to get ready for, and I’d like to sneak out early.”
Tom walks to the door, grinning with those gentle eyes. “Take a look at the contract and let me know if anything is off. Maybe you and I can grab some lunch tomorrow?”
“That sounds great. And I’ll let you know what I think of this.” I hold up the folder he brought in and lift a yellow highlighter in the other. He knows I adore a good highlighted document.
“Have fun tonight.” There’s a kindness to his smile while his eyes seem more serious. “But not too much fun.”
I give him the finger and laugh as he sees himself out.
Tonight, I have a hot date in Sin City. Hopefully, it all goes well.
Chapter Five
Paul is standing on the sidewalk when I pull up to Valducci’s. His hands are tucked inside his pockets as he watches me approach, and then he holds the door open like a gentleman.
So far, so good.
I walk inside the small Italian restaurant on the outskirts of downtown Vegas. There’s an accordion player walking around the room and what seems to be a waiter and busboy in every corner. We ask for a table for two, and the hostess tells us to wait by the bar as they prepare our table. The bar has three barstools that are already taken, so we stand at the corner ledge.
“One glass of Johnnie and a …” Paul scrunches his face, trying to remember what I ordered the night we met.
“Jack and Seven, please.” I lean an elbow on the mahogany bar top and turn to my date.
We start off by talking about something easy—the weather.
“There’s some wicked heat out here,” he says as he plays with the collar of his shirt.
I agree. “Makes me miss the beach. There is nothing like going to Pacific Beach after work and dipping your toes in the water.”
“You can always swim in a pool. There’s plenty here.”
“You’re right. I just miss the ocean. The sounds, the smell, the way the waves tickle your ankles when you’re out for a walk. You can take a girl out of Cali, but you can’t take Cali out of the girl. Where are you originally from?”
“Indiana. Where I think we have some of the best beaches in the Midwest.”
I twist my mouth, confused. “Your state is surrounded by land.”
“Oh, no. We have that little sliver right up north on the border of Lake Michigan. Sure, they might not be fancy ocean beaches, but you’d be impressed after a day of hiking, sitting on the dunes, and watching the sunset.”
“That does sound lovely. I’ve never been to a lake beach before.”
“Perfect stillness. The absolute best.” He pauses as he looks up in the air, toward the ceiling, and grins. I look up to see what he’s gazing at, but there’s nothing there. Then, as if he’s been broken from a spell, he shouts, “Go Hoosiers!”
His fist pumps in the air as he widens his eyes, looking for me to make contact. I do so but in an awkward kind of motion.
“I take it, that’s a sports term?” I ask.
His closed fist flies to his heart like I just stabbed him. “Indiana University. Men’s basketball?”
I shake my head and raise a shoulder to my ear. “So, it’s a team?”
“More than that. It’s not a mascot or an animal or a thing. It’s about being part of a family. It’s a way of life.” There’s a concerned expression in his eyes at the fact that I have no idea what he’s talking about.
I smile and find relief that the bartender has approached with our drinks.
“I suppose that makes me a San Diegan. Or San Diegonite? San Diegonian?” I lift my glass and hand him his. “Cheers!”
I take a sip of my drink and am about to ask him about his work when the front door to the restaurant opens. A woman walks in. She has platinum-blonde hair, a red sundress, and legs that go on for days. Behind her is a man. His tall build is accentuated by the denim clinging to his strong thighs and the form-fitted black T-shirt that hugs his well-defined body. And his skin, so smooth and dark, highlighted by the deepest shade of green in his eyes.
My breath hitches at the sight of Nicolás Antonio Santiago.
He places his hand on the small of the woman’s back as they walk up to the hostess. She must be telling them the same as she told us because she’s now pointing toward the bar. Nic looks over toward us. When his eyes land on mine, they widen, as does his grin, in a delightful surprise.
“Evette.” My name rolls off his tongue like a smooth song. “You took my recommendation.”
I feel my cheeks redden, which is just silly because he hasn’t done anything. He’s just being cordial. “I heard the service is great.”
I’m rewarded with a wink, and my smile feels too big. Paul clears his throat, so I turn and quickly introduce him.
“Paul, you might remember Nicolás as the bartender from Lounge 702 the other night.”
Nic’s brows rise at the sound of his full name on my lips.
“Yeah, man. Nice to meet you.” Paul extends a hand.
Nic shakes it with a firm tug that has Paul stretching his fingers out as he pulls it back and places it in his pocket.
The blonde shimmies in her heels, waiting for her introduction.
Nic places his hand on her back. “This is Arianna.”
With the four of us introduced, Paul and I move to make room for Nic and Arianna.
“Is this a first date for you as well?” I ask them as Arianna adjusts the top of her dress to keep her bra from popping out. She gives me a nod in reply. “Where did you meet?”
“Dancing at a disco. I was on top of a speaker when it fell over. This strong guy was there to catch my fall.” She places a hand on Nic’s bicep as he orders their drinks.
“That’s so romantic,” I muse, picturing the scene in my head. It’s like the opening meet-cute in a Hallmark movie—without the booze and techno that was most likely at the event.
“We started talking, and you know, one thing led to another.” Her eyes look side to side as she dances with her words. Nic hands her a glass of wine. “So, here we are! I should know better than to be dancing on speakers though. Back home, Friday nights are reserved for tailgating, not belly dances for crowds.”
Paul chimes in, “Same for me. Hoosiers are passionate about pregame parties, so there’s always one to go to. Actually”—he laughs—“I think the tailgate is more important than the actual game.”
He’s still chuckling as Arianna puts her wineglass down and looks up at him with wide, openmouthed shock.
“No way! You’re from Indiana? Hold on. Big question for you. Are you IU or Purdue?” she asks as if Paul would know what she’s talking about.