Chapter 10
HAWK
Okay, so I wasn't quite honest with Becca.
'Very nice' was the understatement of the millennia.
If the owner of O'Rourke's heard me say that, I'd be banned for life.
Not literally, but he'd give me the side eye for a while.
Apparently he didn't mind admitting he didn't have a drop of Irish blood in him though.
Neil was a former New Yorker with an obsession for three things: his wife who was twice his age, all things Irish, and seafood.
"Sole," Becca said.
"Hmmm?" I was listening to her, I swear, but I was more than a little distracted by how hot she looked in her short black dress. It swished when she walked and hugged her in all the right places. Places I wouldn't mind hugging, like her breasts.
"Sole," she said again. "That was the meaning of the shoe emoji. You know, you could have used the fish one."
"Isn't that just for fucc bois?" I asked, trying to pronounce the purposeful misspellings. At least I think people misspelled them on purpose. Who knew these days? One thing was sure, they wouldn't be tweaking Shakespeare to add it in.
Although, it might be funny if it was. After all, wasn’t Shakespeare really just the shitposter of the Elizabethan era? “Fool, I have done thy mother!”
Friends, Romans, fucc bois, lend me your ears. I come to bury Caesar, not kiss his ass.
"What?" Becca asked.
I realised I was grinning and closed my mouth to a less crazy-looking smile.
"Just thinking something silly," I admitted. "It happens once in a while."
She arched an eyebrow at me. "I'm sure. So, how did you get a booking here on such short notice?"
"Neil is a friend," I replied. "I introduced him to his wife." I was also his initial investor, and helped him get this place up and running. I didn't bother to mention that. Becca more than likely thought I was showing off already by bringing her here without my bragging about my investments.
"They must still be together," she said. "He's still talking to you."
I grinned. "Five years and still going strong." Okay, now I was bragging, just a little. Although I doubted he was home often enough to piss her off.
Becca looked unimpressed by my matchmaking skills. "I've heard this place is booked out for a year."
I shrugged as though I didn't know or didn't care. Sometimes I forgot how good I had it. It seemed she decided I needed a reminder.
"Neil keeps a table open for special occasions. I got lucky it wasn't taken tonight." I tried to sound humble.
"I see." The expression on her face clearly suggested it was the only way I'd get lucky tonight. Dammit, I was trying my best and still failing to win her over.
The smiling maitre'd led us to a table off to the side of the terrace, with a view of the city lights and the lake spread out below us. He hurried to pull Becca's chair out for her.
She shot him a frown, but sat graciously and smiled.
He bowed and backed away. All of the staff here were carefully trained to blend into the background.
"Don't bother the beautiful people," Neil would say.
I'd heard him call staff out on it a time or two, but only out the back where the 'beautiful people' wouldn't hear.
This was fifty percent about the food and fifty percent about the experience.
A lot of the patrons would have saved up for a special night out here, to be treated like royalty for an evening.
I just came here for the calamari.
Becca frowned at the plates on the table beside ours.
"Is this one of those places which serves a mouthful of food for a small fortune?"
"No," I replied. "Not a small fortune." Just a big one. Like, a mortgage payment big. She didn’t need to know that, though.
She grimaced. "I don't see the point, if we go away hungry."
With her looking like she did tonight, I'd go away hungry, no matter what. Not for food.
"You won't," I told her. I suddenly had an uneasy feeling about bringing her here at all. She seemed more at home in a place like Gianna's, or the corner burger joint. So did I, to be honest, but I wanted tonight to be special. I wanted to give her an experience she couldn't have at a burger place.
"If you do, we'll go for ice cream afterward."
Her eyes lit up at that. "Promise?"
I held out my little finger. "Pinky swear." The moment her finger wrapped around mine, the world stopped. I could hardly breathe. My head felt light. Every drop of blood rushed down into my dick. How could one tiny digit be so soft and warm and perfect there, entwined with mine?
We shook and her finger slipped away. The world started again, but my finger felt cold without hers.
I realised I sat with my hand in the air and lowered it to the table.
"So…" It took too long for the blood to return to my brain so I could think again. "Uh, nice view." I meant her, but she looked out over the city.
"I can see my work from here," she said. "And yours."
I smiled. Humpbacks Stadium was visible from just about anywhere. That and the hockey stadium were the biggest landmarks in Lowball Bay. I loved a good game of ice hockey, even though the Sea Dragons sucked. They knew how to entertain the crowd. That took the sting off losing almost every game.
I drew in a slow breath of evening air. I traveled all over the country and a good part of the world, but I liked it better here than anywhere.
"Ostentatious, isn't it?" The words carried from a few tables over. "All that money for sport. I heard it cost millions to build. What a waste."
I grimaced. You couldn't please everyone, I supposed. Still, that place made a lot of people happy, from players to fans.
Becca patted my hand with her fingertips. "I used to feel the same way," she admitted. "Then I saw how hard you worked at practice, and how much pleasure you bring to your fans."
"Well, I mean…" I puffed out my chest, pretending not to be touched by how similar our thoughts were. "You watched us practice?"
She pulled her hand back and tucked her arms around herself. "I used to watch you sometimes, when we were in school, after class. I didn't think you ever noticed."
"I…" I felt like shit for past me, once again, making her feel like crap. "I was pretty focused on what was happening on the field. I never paid much attention to the stands, unless they were cheering or jeering." I'd had my fair share of both.
I could almost see her thinking. Her posture relaxed gradually.
"Yeah, I guess you were busy, and the bleachers were usually packed, even for practice. And—" She drew the word out. "I sat in the back so you wouldn't see me."
"I'm sure I would have noticed if I'd known to look," I assured her. "You would have been the cutest girl there."
She snorted. "No I wasn't, and we both know it. I was covered in freckles and teenage self-loathing."
"You seemed confident to me," I said honestly. "Smart, and driven to get where you wanted. And you did, right?"
Her face was a little pink. "Yes, I did, but I was never sure about getting there. For a while I thought about teaching, or working in a store."
"I'd buy stuff from you," I said.
"What if I didn't sell any stuff you needed, or wanted?" she asked. "I might have sold period products, or bras."
I rested my elbow on the table and pressed my finger to my lower lip. "Can't you have sold shoes or peanut butter instead?"
She laughed. "Or adult toys."
I snapped my fingers. "Now you're talking. What kind do you like?" I leaned back in my seat with a smile, knowing she walked herself right into that one.
"I'm not telling you that," she said, her mouth in a determined line. The widening of her pupils betrayed her lips, though.
"I'll figure it out," I said. And when I did, I'd buy her one in every colour. If that wasn't the way to a woman's…heart, I didn't know what was.
She glanced around, clearly done with this area of conversation. "Do they bring menus at some point? Or food?"
My stomach rumbled in response. "We're supposed to take time to talk, relax, work up an appetite."
"Okay." She paused. "We've done that."
I cocked my head and regarded her for a moment. i invited her, so whatever she wanted, I was determined to get it for her. "I'll wave someone over."
I placed my hands to either side of me on the chair and pushed myself up high enough to see over the other diners. I smiled at a server and gave her my best 'please help' face.
Almost immediately, she bustled over with menus and melted away between the tables.
"Mine doesn't have prices on it," Becca said. She pulled down the front of my menu. Her eyes widened. "I thought this was one of those places where only the men had prices, so women didn't have to worry their 'pretty little heads' over the price, but yours doesn't have them either."
"Right," I agreed. "This is one of those 'no one worries their pretty little heads' places. Until they get their credit card bill at the end of the month."
She shook her head, a frown creasing her forehead. "That sounds like a recipe for disaster to me. And debt. People are supposed to be more careful with money these days, not less."
I drew in a breath. "A lot of the customers who dine here don't have to think about money," I said. "The cost of this place is barely a drop in the ocean."
She looked slightly sick, her face pale at the thought. "I know you give to lots of charities and things, but…"
"You're not impressed with a guy who can buy you anything you want without blinking?" I suggested. Great, did I make her hate me even more? That wasn’t the plan. How did I manage to keep screwing up when it came to this woman?
She hesitated for a long while. "I know, in some ways, having money can make life easier for people. Never having to think about the next bill, or whether you can replace a broken fridge, or…" She shook her head. "But overt displays of wealth are another thing."
"So you are impressed with a guy who can buy you anything without blinking?" I grinned.
She socked me on the arm, which I totally deserved. But she smiled a little, which was all I wanted.
"You're obnoxious," she said.
"You aren't the first person to say that," I said with no shame at all. "You won't be the last. So you know about the charities, hmmm? What else do you know about me?"
She seemed relieved, as though she wanted me to ask. "There are photos of you and a woman."
"There's more than one." I looked at her for a moment longer, then added, "But you mean someone in particular." I should have known.
She pulled out her phone, tapped the screen and held it out to me. A younger version of myself looked toward a topless Kyla. This site hadn't bothered to block out her nipples. I'd forgotten what an amazing set of—
I cleared my throat. "What do you want to know?"
Becca pulled the phone back and put it away. "Who is she? Are you and her…"
"Together?" I asked. "No. Not for a long time. She had other priorities and moved away. She's married now, having babies, living her best life."
"She left?" Becca echoed. "It wasn't your choice to end it?"
I sat back. This suddenly felt like an interview, which was not the game plan. She was supposed to interview me after she won, which she wasn’t going to. I didn’t want to lie about it though.
"No, it wasn't my choice," I admitted. "I asked her to stay. She couldn't. Wouldn't. Didn't."
"How did that make you feel?" Becca asked.
I shrugged with one shoulder. "Pissed. Hurt. At the time. Now? It's in the past. What I felt, thought I felt, is gone." It was gone so quickly I was either in denial or cared less than I'd thought. "It's over. Dead and buried. Okay?"
Becca nodded. "Okay. What about all the others? I know tabloids are full of shit, but you've been linked with everyone from movie stars to that English princess."
I stared for a moment, then laughed. "I haven't even met most of them." Princess? Who made up that rubbish? Not that I wouldn't make a dashing prince. Maybe I should look at buying a castle, or a chateau…
"The ones you have met?" she asked.
"I've dated once or twice, but no one kept my attention for long, and I couldn't keep theirs." My gaze lingered on her face. She, on the other hand, had my undivided attention. I didn't want to look away from her.
"What about you?" I asked. "There's a string of hot writers in your past, I assume? Maybe the odd Pulitzer winner? USA Today bestseller? Academy-level screenwriter?"
"Only a crazy person dates a writer," she said dryly. "I've seen a few guys, but no one stood out. Not since…" She looked down at the tablecloth which probably cost more than most people made in a month.
"Since some dumb jock kid broke your heart?" I asked, voice soft.
She glanced up, eyes hard to read. "Something like that, yeah."
"If I ever meet him, remind me to punch him in the nose," I said jokingly.
She smiled. "I'll remember that." Her tongue darted over her lips. "Do you think it's dumb that it still bothers me, after all this time?"
How could I answer a question like that and still have my balls intact? "No," I said, voice firm. "What I did wasn't cool. It was mean. I'm lucky you're even talking to me." There was more I wanted to tell her, so much more. I wanted to tell her about everything, but not now. Not here.
Here and now, I had a date to salvage, a bet to win, and a woman to woo.
"Look, I get that this place isn't your jam. Come on, I know a place you'll like much better." I rose and offered her my hand. “Trust me.”