Chapter 3
three
Storm
W hat the heck was I thinking? A man offers to take me out for a meal and I challenge him to watch me eat an entire super loaded burrito from the Coral Café. Oh well. I don’t try to hide my excess curvage or the soft pooch of my stomach. I am who I am. Even when I’m not sure I appreciate that about myself.
There’s only one open booth at the back and Quinn rests his hand against the small of my back to guide me through the maze of tables. The simple gesture startles me. I’m not accustomed to manners from a guy. Usually they just lead the way, expecting me to follow. I bet if we were headed to a regular table, he’d hold out the chair for me.
Too soon the delightful contact ends and I slip into my side of the booth. One of the long-time waitresses appears with water and gives us each a long look before smiling. “It’s nice to see a couple of regulars eating together for a change.”
Quinn’s chuckle is relaxed. “Amber, you know I usually have dining companions.”
“Oh sure. Your kids. Not the same thing.” She jabs the tip of her pen toward me. “She’s almost always alone.”
My face heats. Amber is such a mom figure, looking out for her ‘regulars’. It may be true but I don’t think I like her pointing out my aloneness. That feels desperate. And with my past track record with guys, I’m not desperate.
Tingles dance across the small of my back then skip up my spine. Except maybe for Quinn’s addictive touch. Those few moments walking across the diner created a need in me. The need to feel that way again. To see how much more he can make me feel.
I blink, shift, and attempt to ignore the interest my lady bits have in those possibilities. Shit, I just met the guy. He’s nothing more than a customer at Dad’s shop. I carefully release a long, slow breath while Quinn gives his order. People don’t take their mechanics out for dinner.
Glancing to where my tightly clenched hands rest on the table, I notice the dark stain of grease under my ragged thumbnail. With a strength of will I seldom have, I resist picking at the torn bit of nail and shift my gaze to Quinn’s hands. His long fingers are tipped with nails that are obviously professionally cared for. He has a house in a rich neighborhood. Drives a top of the line SUV. He’s definitely a lot more well off than I am.
What the hell am I doing here then? I can’t compete or even fit in with that kind of life. I need to remember he’s a customer who helped me out by finding my keys. This is just a friendly, business type meal. After tonight…
After tonight my life will be just the same as it was yesterday. And the day before. Ad infinitum.
I look up from my fascination with Quinn’s hands and both he and our waitress are staring expectantly at me. I rattle off my order and with another wide grin, Amber heads for the kitchen.
Quinn leans forward and rests his forearm on the table. “I find it hard to believe that as often as I eat here, I’ve never seen you here.”
“Different eating schedules?” I shrug.
“Hmm. Probably. With a six and a four year old, we eat fairly early.”
“Tell me more about your kids.” What I really want is for him to tell me more about himself.
The loving expression filling his face makes his dark eyes sparkle. “Emmerii is six, a first grader, and the sweetest child. She’s smart—don’t give me that look. I know parents always believe their kids are the best. Mine just are.”
I don’t want to tell him his assumption is wrong. The woman who birthed me didn’t believe anything about me other than I was an inconvenience and a burden. Dad? I’m not sure. At least he stuck around and raised me best he could. To him, I’m no different than one of the guys. I manage a grin. “I’m sure they are.”
“Don’t try to appease me. They’re both good kids. Better than I deserve. My son, Isaac, is four and like most of the kids at his daycare, can be a holy terror. Then he’ll look at me with his big blue eyes and he’s a manipulative little angel. Unfortunately, he’s a lot like his mother in that respect.” He frowns. “I don’t know the ways to show him how to face the world without manipulating others.”
“It’s not that bad, is it? Don’t most kids work at manipulating their parents? The old ‘wrapped around your little finger’ bit?”
“I suppose. It’s just that Emm is… well, she’s easy to live with and take care of. Sometimes it feels like she’s taking care of me rather than the other way around. Maybe I’m looking for too much of my ex in Isaac. Thank goodness he doesn’t spend much time with her. Supervised visits only. But when he has spent time with his mother, he comes home more disruptive and demanding.”
I’m not comfortable with the direction this conversation is headed so I ask a different question. “You know I work on cars. What do you do for a living?”
The relief in his eyes shows he wasn’t comfortable talking about anything to do with his ex-wife or his son’s behavior. One of his eyebrows arches. “You don’t know?”
Amber sets our meals in front of us then moves off. The spicy aroma of my burrito fills my senses and I sigh. “Heaven on a plate.”
“I’ve never tried one of those. It does look good. But it’s been over two weeks since I’ve enjoyed my fried chicken.”
I cut a large bite of the burrito then scoop a bit of each of the cheese and fresh toppings onto my fork and reach across the table. “Try it,” I say as I tip the bite onto the edge of his plate.
Holding my gaze, he stuffs the whole bite into his mouth. His eyes close as he chews then open again after he swallows. Watching him enjoy the burrito is one of the sexiest things I’ve seen in a long time. “That is one tasty burrito.”
“Tasty?”
He laughs and the sound rumbles through me. How it makes me feel is indescribable. I only know I want it. Again and again.
“Okay,” he points to my plate, “I’ll concede that is one of the best burritos I’ve ever tried. The spice level is perfect.”
We enjoy our meals in relative silence until I scrape the last bit of refried beans from my plate. I glance at Quinn and speak around the fork in my mouth. “Told you I’d eat the whole thing.”
His lips twitch. “You did. Dessert?”
I groan and lean back, my hands pressed against my belly. “No room. Usually, I take half of the burrito home. Because the pie here is just as fabulous.”
“My favorite is the lemon meringue.”
How perfect is that? “Mine, too.”
“How about we split a piece? I’ll have Amber package yours up to take home.”
“That sounds great. But you don’t have to?—”
“Yes, I do.” He signals to our waitress, makes the order, and hands her a credit card.
“I can pay for my share.”
“I know.” With arched brows he gives me a look telling me that challenging him on this isn’t going to work.
“Okay. Thanks. It’s been fun.” I should just grab the paper container Amber sets on the table next to Quinn’s pie and leave. It’s only a couple blocks to my apartment. Except part of me wants to hold on to the illusion Quinn is more than someone I just met a couple hours ago, for as long as possible. It feels like I’m attempting to gather moments and memories, storing them for later. When I’m alone.
I reach for my pie. His hand covers mine and he shakes his head. “I’m taking you all the way to your apartment. No arguments. It’s full dark.”
“I’ve lived in this part of town for years. There’s nothing to worry about.”
The sound of sirens wail and the flashing lights of a passing cop car reflect off the café walls. He doesn’t need to say anything, his face reveals his thoughts. There’s no way to prevent him from seeing the dump where I live. “You win.”
Once he’s finished his dessert I lift the takeaway container. The weight is suspiciously like a full piece of pie but I won’t mention it. Pretty sure I’ve used up my dating bad manners quotient for the day. In his SUV I give him directions and a couple minutes later he pulls up into the parking lot of my apartment.
The building once housed a motel. Rooms were combined to create small apartments that at one time were nicely kept up. Now half of the doors have piles of junk surrounding them. Normally the mess is somewhat hidden because the light in the parking lot is out.
Not tonight.
Oh, the light is still out. Instead the front of the building flashes with red from three cop cars. A spotlight highlights one of the doors and its pile of junk. It doesn’t really surprise me. I’m pretty sure there’s sales of illegal substances happening in that apartment. They’re not necessarily quiet when deals are made and my place shares a wall. Most of the time I ignore them and they ignore me. I do a mental face palm and shake my head. Why tonight?
I glance at Quinn. His lips are tight and flat. His eyes narrowed as he scans the scene before us. Before he says anything though, one of the officers approaches his side of the SUV and he lowers the window.
“What’s your business here tonight, sir?” the woman asks.