Chapter 10
“Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” Gia asks, concern filling every inch of her face. Her hands curl against either side of my arms as she dips her head to look at me. When she’s drunk, Gia is the lovey-dovey friend—often checking in with people more than necessary, but she does it from a place of genuine care and love for her friends. But for the millionth time in a span of an hour, I’ve tried convincing her I was fine, but she still doesn’t seem to believe me.
“I promise, Gia, I’m fine,” I reassure, a soft smile on my face as I grab her hands and hold them between us. “I’m tired, and I want to go home.”
“But how’re you getting home?” she asks, her eyebrows indenting together as she sways on two feet. I open my mouth to explain that I didn’t live too far from the bar—which she’d know if she were sober—but Sam’s arm drapes over her shoulder, leaning his head against hers.
“Now, Gia, we’re not holding Daisy hostage, are we?” He flashes me an amused look, aware of how drunk our friend is.
“No, I’m not,” Gia says, crossing her arms in front of her chest like a child. I bite my lower lip and glance away to avoid laughing out loud. “How is she going to get home?”
Sam rolls his lips in between his teeth but subtly nods his head towards the exit at me.
“Call me later,” he mouths, and I press my fingers to my lips before blowing him a grateful kiss, quickly turning on my heel before Gia gets a chance to notice I’m gone. A small part of me always feels bad when I dip out before my friends, but they should know by now I’m not into these types of scenes, and keeping me out for longer than necessary may result in me doing something I’d regret later on.
Like grinding on your boss’s dick?
I stifle the urge to groan as I push the exit open and step out into the street, chilly Boston air greeting me.
“Should’ve brought a jacket,” I grumble to myself, wrapping my arms around myself before starting to head down the street. In my defense, I didn’t realize who was dancing behind me, but all I knew in the moment was how much I enjoyed the feel of him grinding with me, praising me for doing a good job learning how to dance. A small part of me should feel guilty for self-indulging a little—especially because my self-indulge happened to be my boss—but I won’t lie and say I didn’t enjoy it.
Because I very much did.
“Need a ride?”
I nearly jump out of my skin at the voice behind me, my arms flailing in front of me as my eyes widen in pure terror; the urge to scream caught in the back of my throat. I spin around abruptly, knowing I’m close enough to the bar to run back inside should I need to, but I breathe a sigh of relief when I’m met with emerald eyes that slowly make my heart race in my chest. The streetlight he stands underneath emphasizes the shape of his strong jaw, the stubble peppering along it enough to make my throat dry. Not even an hour ago, I’d felt him against my ear, praising me for dancing the way he taught me. I felt what I was doing to him, and suddenly, being under his scrutiny made the air between us dissipate.
I clear my throat and press a hand to my chest, taking a subtle step back. “Mr. Moore, you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”
He steps forward with both hands held up, a soft but amused smile on his face. “It’s Tanner,” he says, not giving me a chance to respond before he adds, “When we’re not at work, it’s Tanner. And I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I furrow my brows and rear my head slightly, looking around to find only a few bystanders hanging around the bar, casually smoking cigarettes or making out alongside the alley. I don’t feel unsafe around Mr. Moore, but I certainly don’t think us spending any more intimate time together is going to be useful, especially since I’d already grinded on him, and that was already the most inappropriate thing I’d done with a man in a long time. But still, I find myself staring at him.
Up close, Mr. Moore is a handsome man, like I suspected. His eyes are always the first thing I’m drawn to, but it’s harder to forget that plump, red lips were pressing kisses to the top of my shoulder, murmuring in my ear…
“Daisy,” he says, causing me to startle again. He grins when we lock eyes again, shifting on his feet as if he’s planting himself in that spot for a while. “I asked if you wanted a ride.”
“Oh,” I say absentmindedly, the urge to do something with my hands so strong that I nearly dig my fingernails into each palm. “No, I’m just going to walk home, but thanks for the offer.”
He rears his head back, furrowing his eyebrows as he stares at me like he doesn’t believe what’s coming out of my mouth. “You’re not walking home alone this late at night.”
“Um.” I look around to figure out who this man thinks he’s talking to. “Yes, I am.”
“No, Daisy.” He takes another step closer. “You’re not. It’s not safe.”
“And since when is my safety your priority?” I snap, instantly feeling guilty for lashing out. But I still stand firm, not willing to show that I’m feeling anything but the tough demeanor I’m putting on.
“Daisy,” he drawls, and the sound of my name coming from his lips is enough to make my stomach do somersaults. “Don’t be difficult. I’ll give you a ride home. My car isn’t that far away—maybe a few blocks.”
I stare at him incredulously, pointing as if his car is right behind him. “So you expect me to just…get in your car and trust that you’re going to bring me home?”
“Yes,” he sighs impatiently, rolling his head. “I do.”
I stare at him. “How?”
He tilts his head curiously. “How…?”
“How do I know you aren’t going to murder me or something?” I gesture around us at the half-empty streets. “For all I know, you could be a serial killer waiting for the perfect opportunity to kidnap me or something.”
His lips twitch. “A serial killer, huh.”
“Yup.” I pop the ‘p.’ “You could live a double life for all I know. For all anybody knows.”
“Trust me,” he murmurs. “The last thing I want to do is deceive you further.” A flash of guilt appears on his face before I register what he means. By the time it hits me that he’s talking about dancing together inside the bar, the cool mask slips back onto his face. “And,” he continues, pulling me back into the conversation. “If it’s this difficult trying to give you a ride home, I can’t imagine that you’d be willing to let anybody steal you into the night.”
“Depends,” I say, bobbing my head to delay the inevitable further. “Is there free candy?”
“For fuck’s sake, Daisy,” he exasperates. “I swear, the longer we sit here and argue, the longer it’ll take for either of us to get home. Just let me take you home,” he says, a bit softer this time. “It’s not safe for you to be out here alone at this time of night. It’s cold as fuck, and I want to take a shower and go to bed as soon as possible. Please.”
My eyes narrow, regarding him silently. He watches me with the same fervor, albeit slightly impatient, but I drop my shoulders and sigh.
“You do anything fucked up in that car, Mr. Moore, and I’m reporting you to HR first thing Monday morning.”
He takes a step forward, the scent of his cologne wafting in the air around us, cherrywood and amber flavors that make all thoughts in my head disappear. The casual but laziness of his gait is enough to make me take another step back, except I can’t because my feet are rooted in place.
He continues walking towards me until our chests are nearly pressed together, and I have to force myself to take a few deep breaths that only come out in staggered breaths. He dips his head down, looking at me from underneath his lashes. Such a simple gesture makes my knees wobble, but I don’t break away from his stare. “I don’t think we’ll have a problem with that, Daisy Girl,” he says, his voice sounding thicker than what it did a moment ago.
I swallow nervously, wishing I could fumble with my hands since I don’t know what to say. My throat is constricting with anxiety, yet my heart pounds hard in my chest for a different reason. There’s something so commandeering about Mr. Moore that I’m not used to in any aspect of my life. Of course, I worked for his dad for many years so you’d think I’d get a great sense of how Mr. Moore is, but their personalities are a complete one-eighty of each other. Mr. Moore is all business, even seemingly outside of work, whereas his dad doesn’t give me that same inclination at all. They’re polar opposites, yet somehow are related.
“Now I won’t ask you again,” he says, the same thickness coating in his tone. Another step forward. I take another back. “Get in my car.”
“Where’s the question?” I breathe, my eyes darting between his eyes and chest.
“Guess I forgot to ask one,” he replies, amusement filling his face. “But we can do this all night if you want, Daisy Girl. I’m not letting you walk home this late, and that’s the end of this discussion.”
For some reason, that pulls me from my dream-like state, blinking. “You can’t boss me around, Mr. Moore.”
He senses the shift, too, as if whatever shared tension between us is no longer there. He straightens his posture before taking a step back, his heated stare still focused on me. “No, I can’t,” he agrees. “But I will walk you home if you don’t get in my car.”
A small smile tugs at my lips as I walk backward, watching him take slow steps towards me.
“Guess you’re walking me home, then.”