“I’m not quiet about it. There’s just nothing to say. I don’t have a romantic history. I have fuck history.” His eyes grew darker, and he uncrossed his arms, leaning forward slightly as he said it. I caught a whiff of his scent as he rolled his chair just a little closer to mine.
Soap, the kind in the men’s section, and undertones of another masculine scent I couldn’t place pervaded my senses. It was heavenly, though I had a feeling this guy was no angel.
If any other man had told me that he had a “fuck history” instead of a romantic one, I would’ve been ticked off as hell, but it was different with Caleb. The way he said it was like it was a foregone conclusion or a fact of life that he had no control over.
For some reason, everything about him, from the way he smelled to the way he was looking at me, carefully watching me react to what he had said, wasn’t annoying. It was turning me on. Big time.
There was something about this moody bad boy that was drawing me in, something magnetic that I couldn’t quite ignore. I didn’t know what it was, and I wouldn’t have known how to describe it even if I did, but it was there as tangibly and definitely as the table we were sitting at. Since this was my first time alone with him, I’d never noticed it this intensely before, but I was definitely more than crushing on Caleb Larsen.
I shifted in my seat, trying to draw my attention away from the dull ache starting up between my legs and the fact that my nipples were straining against the fabric of my bra, and I focused on my questions instead.
Only, as soon as I glanced from the screen of my tablet where I’d neatly listed my questions the night before, his tongue flicked out of his mouth at the exact moment that my eyes hit his. It was nothing more than a quick swipe of his lower lip, but it felt like a hook to my gut.
Before I could think about what I was doing or consider all the reasons why it was a bad idea, words came tumbling out of my mouth like bullets, and as potentially damaging. Yet there was nothing I could do to take them back.
“Do you want to have dinner with me sometime?”
It took everything I had not to slam my hands over my mouth or to hang my head in embarrassment, but somehow, I managed. Caleb seemed, at most, mildly surprised. His chin dropped to his chest as he surveyed me. “You want to go to dinner with me?”
“Yes, you know, to see how you are in a different context. Away from all of,” I waved my hands around the room for emphasis and silently praised my great save, “this. To see how you are in an interview in a more relaxed setting.”
He was silent for another beat. Then he nodded. He looked a bit smug about it, but he didn’t bring it up. “Okay. Dinner it is. Let me call you in a couple of days to set it up?”
Inside, I was going wild. My subconscious was running victory laps while cheering about our date with Caleb Larsen, but on the outside, I maintained complete composure.
“It’s a date,” I said, then felt my cheeks heat as I realized that I’d said it out loud.
Caleb smirked, gracefully rising to his feet, and cocked a brow at me. “I thought I was an interview.”
“Yeah, of course. That’s what I meant, a date for the interview.”
He didn’t buy it. I could tell. But he had the good sense to shut up about it. Caleb said his goodbyes and walked his sexy ass out of the conference room while I was left to gather my things and my composure.
Whatever. It’s totally a date.
Chapter 7
Caleb
Kelly looked hot. I’d been amused at her, “it’s a date” comment after our interview, but she’d dressed like she’d taken it to heart. When I’d called her yesterday to suggest a little lobster joint I knew down by the beach, I’d expected her to arrive straight from work in her usual skinny jeans and tight, old band T-shirt getup that she seemed to favor.
That wasn’t what I got. And though I thought her usual style was quirky and funky—plus, she had very similar tastes to mine when it came to old music—the dress she’d chosen to wear for the continuation of our interview spoke more to my dick than my brain.
It was difficult to remember that this night wasn’t going to end with me fucking her when her cleavage sat high and proud and deep, her curvy hips swaying as she approached me at our table. The dress she was wearing was longer than most I saw on girls at clubs, more demure, but it was sexy in its own right.
It was a white and navy dress that she’d paired with red heels and bright red lipstick. Still quirky, still Kelly, but Kelly with a sexy twist.
I wouldn’t have guessed that she had it in her, but it sure looked like she did. I also didn’t really know her, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that she did.
“Hey,” she said cheerfully, sliding into the seat across from me without waiting for either me or the waiter behind her to slide it out for her. I’d already been halfway out my seat because my mama raised us as gentlemen, even if it would be hard to tell most times, and the waiter had darted for the chair, but Kelly was already seated.
Lowering my ass back to my own seat, I couldn’t help but admire how smoothly and confidently she’d pulled that off. She was no damsel in distress, this one. “Hey. You’re right on time.”
A quick glance at the clock on the wall behind her told me that she was exactly, to the minute, on time. None of that making you wait shit some women were into.
She frowned, then gave me a curious smile. “You said seven. What’s the point of agreeing to a time if you’re not going to stick to it?”
“I agree. You’d just be surprised at how many people ignore details like that.”
Kelly rolled her eyes to the ceiling and smiled when she returned them to mine. “I know. There’s no such thing as fashionably late though. You’re either on time, or you’re late.”
“Agreed. Drink?”
The waiter who’d been hovering, looking like he was wondering whether to ask Kelly to stand just so he could help her into her seat, jumped to attention and appeared between us at the table.
“Sure. I’ll have a club soda please.” Kelly ordered her drink, again not waiting on me, and she gave the waiter a kind smile and inclined her head to me.
“Belvedere. With a twist.”
The penguin-suited waiter scribbled down our orders on his notepad, nodded, and hurried away. The place I’d chosen for dinner was low-key, fancy enough to be passable and not worried about food poisoning, but relaxed enough that it didn’t make you feel like you had to sit upright or speak softly.
I hated anything more upscale than this, and as a rule, I stayed away from places like that. Kelly fished her tablet out of her duffel-sized handbag and began tapping on the screen with her stylus. Before she could ask me a question though, I jumped in. “You don’t drink?”
If she was surprised at the question, she didn’t show it. She shrugged and shook her head. “No, I drink. I just don’t drink when I’m working.”
“You’re considering this as being on the clock?”
“Of course. We said this was an interview to see how you are in a different context, right?”
“Right.” I knew she was interviewing me tonight, but somehow, I was thinking she’d also relax just a little. “If I’m in a different context though, then you should be too. Deal?”