Chapter 16
Lior
Graham Forrester stared back at me and I held his gaze a moment too long, distracted by the flecks of gray I’d never before noticed in his blue eyes.
He was wearing a fitted charcoal tee and black jeans that looked soft to the touch and molded to his thighs in such a way that it took a concerted effort not to reach out and run my hand down one of them.
He broke eye contact, glanced around in confusion, and then met my gaze again, a cautious smile on his face.
“Where’s your date?” he asked.
“What date?” I asked.
“I was at Nobu.”
I scrunched my nose, caught, but not wanting to discuss my date.
“I didn’t think you saw me,” I admitted, leaning on the bar.
“You walked behind me on your way to your table. I saw you in the reflection of the window.”
“Well then.”
We stared at one another, the seconds ticking by as the air between us grew warm with tension, something deep inside me tightening with anticipation. Of what though? A little more verbal sparring? Or something else. It didn’t feel contentious. It felt more—
Shit. I was staring at his mouth.
I cleared my throat. “What happened to your date?” I asked, tearing my eyes from his lips and glancing toward the hallway that led to the bathroom, as if she might walk out at any moment. But there was no drink waiting for her on the bar. No jacket on the seat beside him.
“I believe I asked you first,” he said, one side of his mouth lifting charmingly.
What the hell was happening and why had my heartbeat just quickened? Traitor.
“I bailed.”
“You bailed on Caleb Malone? World-famous rock god, sex god, guitar player?”
“Do you think it says that in his bio?” I asked and he laughed.
“I think I’ll be disappointed if it doesn’t.
I grinned and turned my attention to the approaching bartender.
“Hey Cole,” I said.
“Miss Flynn,” he said. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please.”
He gave me a nod and began pulling bottles from different shelves while I looked back at Graham.
“Yes. I bailed on Caleb Malone. Somehow he managed to be boring and obnoxious all at once.”
“Damn. And here I was thinking we authors had cornered the market on boring and obnoxious.”
“Hate to break it to you, but it might be an all-artist trait.”
He shook his head in faux disappointment and asked, “Tell me more?”
I laughed and shrugged. Why not. Addie was having dinner with her folks tonight, and Katya was in Australia for a job. It would be nice to rehash the evening. Even if it was with Graham Forrester.
“Well,” I said. “He went on and on about the band’s upcoming tour, his killer riffs, the diet and workouts he’d been doing to prepare…
” I rolled my eyes. “He picked me up, cut off my hello, and never stopped talking the entire time. He even interrupted my dinner order to comment on my choice of protein and why he hasn’t consumed it for the past three months. ”
“Maybe he was nervous and trying to impress you.”
“Pretty sure that wasn’t it.”
“How do you know?”
I peered at him, wondering if he was friend or foe. We’d had a nice moment in the cab the week before. And then there was the shoe and the poem…
“Well,” I said. “In between bites of his salad he told me we’d have to fuck slow later because he was trying to conserve energy.”
Graham’s mouth hung slack for a moment. I tried not to laugh as I turned toward Cole, who was delivering a shimmering white cocktail with a swirl of lemon peel. It matched my white dress and bright yellow, faux leather obi belt.
“It’s gorgeous,” I said and took a sip. “You’ve outdone yourself, my friend.”
He tipped an imaginary hat and moved back down the bar.
“What is it?” Graham asked, pointing to the drink.
“I’ve no idea.”
“I thought it was your usual.”
“My usual is whatever Cole feels like making me. I don’t think he’s ever served me the same drink twice.” I took another sip and looked back to Graham. “So? No response to Caleb Malone’s version of romantic first date banter?”
“I think I’m speechless.”
“I was too. And then I excused myself and went out the back door.”
“I can’t say I blame you.” He paused, a frown creasing his brow as though trying to make a decision, and then gestured to the stool beside him. “Do you want to sit.”
I glanced over my shoulder. The bar was still empty, but I knew it wouldn’t be for long.
“For a minute,” I said, sliding onto the stool. I took another sip of my drink and then turned toward him so that my back was to the rest of the room. “And now it’s your turn to tell me why you’re here alone and not with your date.” I said, looking at him expectantly.
“That wasn’t a date. That was a meeting with my agent, Francesca.”
“That’s your agent? Damn. She’s gorgeous.”
“She is.”
“No… extracurricular activities happening there?”
“She’s a lesbian.”
“Welp. Bummer for you.”
“Not really, since she’s my agent. It’s in my contract that I’m obligated to give her 15% and nothing else.” He took a sip of his drink.
“But 15% of what?” I asked and he snorted, covering his mouth.
“That was close,” he said.
I laughed. “Sorry. Anyways, yeah. I suppose a relationship between agent and author could get messy.”
“Very. Though I do know one couple it worked out for.”
“There’s always one and they always make it look easy.”
An easy silence fell between us as we sipped our drinks and watched the room through the reflection of the mirror across from us.
I wanted to ask about the Vogue shoot. If he’d been asked. If he’d said yes. But part of me didn’t want to know. What if he had been asked, told he’d been working with me, and had said no? Or, what if they’d decided not to go with him after all? My asking would probably just make him feel bad.
“So,” I said.
“So.”
“I owe you a thank you.”
“Oh yeah? For what?”
“My shoe.”
He grinned and my stomach did a jazzy little dance.
“It was the least I could do.”
“And yet, you wrote me a poem as well.”
“That was all Bronte.”
I smiled. “She’s a talent. You’ll thank her for me?”
“Of course.”
A burst of voices filled the bar and I sucked in a breath, glancing in the mirror to see a group of at least a dozen people filtering in.
“Shit,” I said, starting to slide from my stool. “I should probably go.”
“They haven’t seen you.”
I chewed the inside of my lip, watching him. Was that his way of saying he wanted me to stay?
“Maybe just one more drink,” I said, catching Cole’s eye and tapping the rim of my nearly empty glass. He nodded and pulled down a glass exactly like the one he’d served me in the first time.
“I’ll give you a head’s up if anyone comes this way,” Graham said.
“Thank you. I’m really not in the mood to deal with people. They can be so disrespectful of my personal life.” I held up a hand. “And I know – it comes with the territory. But that doesn’t mean it’s fun.”
He stared at me for a long moment and I figured he must think I was full of shit. I really wasn’t in the mood for that either. Sighing, I slid from the stool and reached for my purse.
“What are you doing?” he asked, frowning.
“I really should just go.”
“Lior.”
My name on his lips did something to me and I paused.
“Stay?” he asked.
I stared at him for a long moment, and then settled back onto my stool.
Making good on his word, he warned me every time someone headed in our direction so I could lower my head, letting my hair fall like a curtain in front of my face. Meanwhile, we drank, our wariness toward one another wavering as we batted silly questions back-and-forth.
“All-time favorite movie?” I asked.
“Ooh. That’s hard. Can it be in a certain genre?”
“Nope.”
He propped his elbows on the bar and put his face in his hands. A moment later he popped back up.
“The correct answer is Aliens.”
“Good call,” I said. “Too bad they ruined that storyline with the third film.”
“Absolute travesty. Now you. What’s yours?”
I swirled the lemon peel around the edge of my drink.
“You know, I’ve answered this question so many times over the years for interviews, but every time I’m asked, I still have to think for a minute, just in case another movie has knocked it from its spot.”
He tapped his watch. “You’re stalling.”
“I didn’t know it was a timed answer! Pride and Prejudice? No. The Matrix! No. Pride and Prejudice!”
“Which is it, Flynn?”
I snort-laughed and then hiccuped, covering my mouth with my hand, my head light from the two and a half drinks I’d had. So much for moderation.
“Pride and Prejudice.”
“The hand flex?”
“It’s sooo dreamy…” I leaned my head on my hand and stared blurrily off into the distance. “Though Keanu Reeves saying ‘I know Kung Fu’ is fun as fuck.”
“Cheers to that.” Graham clinked his beer glass to my coupe. “Hey. Heads up.”
I tilted my head forward, letting my hair fall forward again while he pretended to be very interested in the drink menu Cole had left for us to use as a shield.
“She’s gone,” Graham whispered.
I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and set my glass down, watching the shimmer Cole had added swirl around the bottom.
“This was… fun,” I said.
“You look confused,” he said and I laughed.
“I guess I am.”
“Or maybe just drunk.”
“There is a high probability of that too.” And before I knew what I was saying (thanks, alcohol) I started talking about my morning. “This is actually the second time I had drinks today.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I saw your glass of wine at dinner.”
“Oh damn. Make that three times then.”
“Life of a world-famous fashion model, huh?”
I rolled my eyes. “Hardly. No. I had a fitting this morning and champagne was brought in.”
“Brought in.” He made air quotes. “That’s fancy world-famous fashion model talk if I’ve ever heard it. Which… I haven’t actually. Continue, please.”
I smacked him lightly on the arm, thrilling in the warmth of his skin on my fingertips (Jesus, I was drunk) and continued.
“As I was saying,” I said, slurring a little. “We had champagne. Ordered by…” I paused for effect. “The creative director of Vogue Magazine.”
His cheeks colored and I pointed gleefully at him.
“It’s you, isn’t it?”