11. Drew
Chapter Eleven
DREW
“Were you banking on catching another ride when you got dressed this morning?” I take in Kate’s casual jeans and suede boots. It was one of the first things I noticed when I opened the door this morning. It’s the first time I’ve seen her legs covered. And she’s still sexy as ever.
“No.” She snaps her helmet on like she’s done it a thousand times. I’m a modern man, and I know that no means no. But in this case, I’m convinced the subtext of her no is yes .
I mount my motorbike, and she hops on behind me. Her arms slink slowly around my waist, and a slight tingle vibrates below my navel. Yesterday, I made up my mind. I was going to leave this girl alone. But then she shows up at my doorstep.
I can’t escape her. And with the way she feels riding on the back of my bike, why would I want to? Still, I have this compulsion to protect her. Protect her from guys like me. I should drive her back to her hotel and leave her be. But I tell myself it’s just breakfast.
The engine’s roar echoes throughout the garage, and we take off. She hangs on tight as I navigate to the restaurant. A wide grin spreads across my face. I can’t think of a better way to spend my morning. Kate squeezes me tighter as we turn.
Scratch that. I could think of a few things.
We walk into The Diner, an American-style fifties restaurant with digital jukeboxes, checkered floors, and a long countertop bar punctuated by chrome stools with teal vinyl tops. A waft of buttermilk pancakes and freshly dripped coffee catches me as we make our way to a corner booth flanked by windows.
Kate smooths her hair to the side and picks up the laminated menu. “This is not where I expected you to take me. There’s no soggy tomatoes or boiled eggs?”
“Where else did you expect a James Dean wannabe to take you?”
Her face lights up with a warm smile, and she laughs. “I’m convinced you’re his reincarnation—poppin’ wheelies and stealin’ hearts.”
“You can’t steal someone’s heart. They have to give it to you.” And I can’t be trusted with anyone’s.
Kate hesitates for a moment before saying, “That’s true.”
I return my attention back to the menu and try to find something new. But I’m a creature of habit. I’ll probably end up with eggs over easy, hash browns, and, of course, sausage. “So, how did you find my flat?” I’m unlisted.
Kate crinkles her adorable nose. “Is it still called a flat when it’s a ginormous penthouse?”
I chuckle. “If I called it a penthouse, I’d sound pretentious, wouldn’t I?”
“Oh no, we wouldn’t want you to sound pretentious even though we both know you’re as wealthy as the Queen.” She deepens her voice and purses her mouth to mock me. I did leave her hanging yesterday and landed her in the tabloids, so I’ll endure a few jabs.
“Eh, that’s a bit of a stretch. And you’re deflecting the question.”
“Fine. Let’s just say I have friends in high places,” she says.
“Friends?” I push.
“Garret. I swear he already knows everyone. It took him less than an hour to text me your address.”
“You’re very resourceful.”
She flips over the stiff menu. “More like relentless. I’m pretty good at getting what I want. At least, I used to be.”
Hmm, interesting . . . The thing she wanted most this morning was to show up at my door. I’m not an easy man to find. What else does she want with me? And will I relent and give it to her?
A classic doo-wop-inspired Billy Joel song plays overhead, and the two of us hum the melody simultaneously, harmonizing in unison. I keep my eyes lowered, pretending not to notice.
“You know Billy Joel?” she asks, her eyes sparkling in the light.
“One of my all-time favorites.”
She narrows her eyes. “Get out of here.”
“Don’t believe me?” I pull my phone from my jacket pocket and scroll through the long artist list on my music app until I land on the piano man. “Here. Proof.”
Kate shoots me a skeptical stare and takes my phone. A second later, her pretty brow lifts “I stand corrected. I’ve met him, you know?”
“Really? When?”
“It was the longest time ago,” she says, and I snicker at her cute pun. “He was playing a private party my parents brought me to. The sitter canceled at the last minute, but they refused to miss it. We got to take a photo.” Her gaze drifts off, and a soft smile spreads across her face. “We all looked so happy.”
“And that’s why you’re a Billy Joel fan,” I say, curious to hear more of her life’s tales.
“It’s not the only reason, but that was the start.”
“It’s a cool memory.”
“More like fuzzy. I was so little I hardly remember it. Back in our Manhattan days.” Kate looks out the window like she’d rather be in New York.
“You lived in the city?”
She nods. “Until I was about five, yeah. And again when I was at FIT. My dad still has a house there.”
“I love New York City. I’ve thought about moving there.”
“Me too! But all my people are in L.A., so it doesn’t really make sense. What about you? Why don’t you move there?”
I lean back in the booth, thinking about why I’ve never made the jump across the pond. “I’ve got a good thing going here. What’s the saying— If it ain’t broke ?”
“Don’t move,” she jokes, then drops her gaze back to my device. Her finger brushes the screen a few times, and then she sputters a laugh. “Wait. Why is Barry Manilow on your saved artists?”
My cheeks flush, and I lunge for the tattletale phone. She dodges me, giggling, so I scoff. “It must be from a soundtrack or something. I don’t listen to Barry Manilow.”
She finally passes back my phone. “Then why does your app say you listened to ‘Copacabana’ 137 times?”
Now my cheeks are pinker than this vinyl booth. There’s no sense in denying it. I hope she doesn’t divulge it to Cheeri-Ooh! to get back at me. “All right, guilty.” I raise my hands in the air. “It’s my drunk song.” Why did I just tell her that?
Kate spits out another laugh. “Did you say your drunk song ?”
I shrug. “Yeah, sometimes when I have too much whiskey, I start singing about Lola and Tony. Then I deny it in the morning over aspirin and a tall glass of water.”
“That is so cute,” she says, still laughing. And I almost don’t care that it’s at my expense. I’d rather swim in the sound of her joy than listen to any singer who can rock a piano.
“What? Like you don’t have an embarrassing drunk song.” Now, I’m the one deflecting.
“Actually, I do. Well, it’s not an embarrassing song, but when I sing it after too many cocktails . . . it’s embarrassing.”
I send her a chin nod. “Spill it.”
“‘We Didn’t Start the Fire,’” she says, and I laugh, imagining Kate loose and uninhibited, tying her tongue around those impossible lyrics.
“This is something I’ve got to see.” I lean on the table, looking her straight in the eyes, and I can feel myself giving in to what I know I shouldn’t. Playing with fire. A fire I started the moment I zipped up her dress at the Lux party. I should have anticipated this would get tricky. It’s not like me to pull up a zip.
Kate doesn’t blink. “Maybe we can have a few drinks and a little Joel-Manilow party?”
“When?”
“How about tonight?”
A ripple of anticipation surges through my entire body. We both know what will happen if we have a few drinks. It’s like she’s hand-delivered an invitation to explore her palace. This isn’t a typical proposition because she’s not a typical girl. But how many more times can I resist temptation?
Fuck it. I accept.
“It’s a date,” I say, watching her lip quiver. Does she know what she’s getting into?
“What can I get you?” A stripe-wearing server pops in, severing our trance.
“I’ll have the California omelet and a cup of coffee,” Kate says.
I can’t take my eyes off her when I say, “I think I’ll have the same.”