Kind of. No dating, no romance, no long-term stuff. He could deal with that. They were back in the same position they’d been in after That Night.
Except she’d been softer when he’d convinced her to give him a second date That Night. This coolness, this toughness, had been missing then. A stab of regret went through him. A broken piece to spackle.
So he’d take this time to spackle over some of the damage he’d done. Temporary or not, he could shower her with reliability and kindness. “I’m not looking for anything long term either,” he said. He wasn’t anti-love. He’d had some fairy-tale romances modeled for him. However, the thought of loving someone the way Lulu had loved Aleki or Annabelle had loved Joe—it filled him with anxiety, not anticipation. “I would like to be with you again, on your terms. So we have a deal?”
Her agreement came slowly, though he’d acquiesced to every request she’d made. “Yes. The contract will be for five meetups, in locations I choose, since I know the city better. Have they uploaded your debacle of a date yet?”
“Not yet.”
“Okay, well, we can figure out the release schedule over the next couple of days. It should be fast, within a few days of each other. I’d say back to back, because people do like their binges, but keeping them waiting a little might not be a bad thing. Gives us time to shoot footage and edit and whatnot. Are you okay if this takes off? Goes viral?”
“Do you think it’ll go viral?”
“Anything you put on the internet—a tweet, a picture, a video—has the capacity to go viral.”
A hint of unease moved through him. The last time he’d been in the public eye had been ten years ago, and the internet then wasn’t what it was today.
It was fine. He simply wouldn’t read the comments. “A lot of attention would be good for Matchmaker. And Crush.”
“Great. We can start on Wednesday. That gives us a couple days to get the contract ironed out. My legal team should have something over to Matchmaker by tomorrow morning.”
“A contract?”
“Of course a contract.” She squinted at him and drained the rest of her drink. “Oh honey, who does business without a contract?”
“The part about my ass won’t be in it, will it?” he joked.
Her eyes grew heavy lidded. “Nah. Your ass is off the record.”
His body tightened. For a second, he could forget they were in a dimly lit hipster bar in Los Angeles. Right now, they were back in Cayucos, in that dimly lit dive bar where they’d first met.
She pulled out her phone, opened the camera, and set it on the table, propped up against the menu holder, and hit record. “Might as well start now. Hey. I’m Rhiannon Hunter, owner of Crush, and this is Samson Lima, the hotshot former football player for the Portland—” She paused.
“Brewers,” he supplied.
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not much of a sports ball person. Let’s agree to not talk about it too much.”
Being with someone who didn’t know anything at all about him, his family, and football was a godsend, not a bad thing. “We all have our strengths.”
“Dating’s not yours, though, right? That’s why we’re here.”
Samson let his smile turn self-effacing. He was here to be made fun of a little. That was fine. “I used to be good at it. I think? But things have changed, and I could use some help. That’s where you come in, I guess.” Their knees brushed against each other. He let his leg slide between hers. Within view of the camera, they maintained a respectable distance.
The corner of her lips twitched, but that was her only reaction. “I like this. It’s like pickup artistry, but instead of my teaching you how to manipulate women into bed, I’ll be teaching you how to just . . . be cool.”
“Bed isn’t my first priority.”
“What is your first priority?”
“Uh, I’d like to get through a date without spilling wine in a woman’s lap.”
“Or asking her if her hair is real?”
He winced. “It was so beautiful! I meant it as a compliment, I swear. Look, no need to rehash the whole thing for everyone.”
Amusement danced in Rhi’s eyes. “It’s funny. Especially because you’re this big, tough, handsome man.”
“I’m a big tough guy who hasn’t dated in a while,” he said simply. “Help me, Obi-Wan. You’re my only hope.”
She snorted. “A nerd too.”
For a second, he forgot they were recording. “Should I dial back the nerdiness?”
“Nah. I am a big fan of dialing exactly nothing back. Be yourself. Try to, like, lead with the most interesting parts of yourself. That’s my only dating advice for anyone, ever. But we can discuss all this later.” She turned the camera off. “I only wanted to see how you’d play on camera.”
“Didn’t trust me?”
“Checking to see if your mess of a date really was a fluke or a new stage fright you developed after the CREATE interview. We’ll do proper intros later.” She smiled. “I’m running late. Pay the bill and you can walk me to my car.”
It was a humid night, the muggy air forcing a trickle of sweat to run down his neck. Or maybe she caused that physiological reaction, he wasn’t sure.
She’d parked across the street in a parking garage. They rode down to the basement level in silence. He followed her to her car, a new silver Tesla nestled amid a sea of other electric cars.
His car was a six-year-old SUV sitting in his leased condo’s parking garage. He had the savings to upgrade, but he hated spending a dime more than he had to on a vehicle that got him reliably from A to B. Then again, the bigger car, while good for getting Uncle Joe around, didn’t really fit into this shiny city with cramped parking spots and high gas prices.
He opened the driver’s-side door before she could. She glanced down. “You do like opening doors for me.”
He didn’t know what she was talking about at first, and then he recalled. Back on the beach, he’d had to almost lunge ahead of her to get to the bar door, her house door. She’d teased him then. Oh, thank God, I don’t know how I would have opened things without you here. “It’s manners. I open doors for everyone.”
She braced her arm on the open door and tipped her head up to him. “You can kiss me, by the way. I’ll allow it.”
His smile was slow and real. This woman was tough and blunt and made no sense, but she was also super adorable.
He slid his arm around her waist. “Good. I’ve been dying to do that.”
He didn’t rush it, though, lowering his face to deliver a mere brush of a kiss. It wasn’t their first kiss, but the distance they’d crossed to get to this moment made it feel like it was. Her head tilted, her lower lip dragging over his. “You smell good,” she murmured.
“So do you.” She smelled like peppermint again, but there was an underlying hint of chocolate mixed in with that. Like the sexiest cool-sweet peppermint patty he’d ever come across. Samson tugged her closer, squeezing the soft flesh above the waistband of her pants.
A feather light touch drifted up over the side of his face, up to his hair. Her fingers tunneled through the strands, playing over his scalp. He shivered and followed her cues, angling his head, deepening the kiss.