5. Dante
CHAPTER 5
Dante
Cases of wine, beer, and hard alcohol lined the room. The locked door in front of us was the only way out, except for a tiny window about eight feet off the ground. I banged on the door a few times, then backed away and ran my hands through my hair.
“So, we’re stuck in here?” Faith asked.
“Looks that way. Do you have a phone?”
“No, I left it in my purse on the back of my chair. How about you?”
“Nope. Mine’s under the bar. Damn.”
“They’ll miss you up front though, right?”
“Um, yeah. Well, maybe. We’re a little over staffed tonight, so they might not notice right away.” Her eyebrows knit together, and for some inexplicable reason, I felt the need to reassure her. “I’m sure someone will come looking for us soon, though.”
“Great, just great.” She slid down to sit on the ground and leaned up against a tall stack of boxes sporting a sheaf of wheat on the side.
Putting myself through school as a bartender, I’d met lots of girls over the years. Most of the time, I had to fight them off. I’d been told I was pretty easy on the eyes and rarely failed when a girl was involved, especially a hot one. This chick threw me off my game a bit, though. She’d bantered back and forth earlier but hadn’t taken the bait.
I squatted down next to her. “Hey, we never really introduced ourselves earlier today. I’m Dante Bishop.” I thrust my hand toward her for a handshake.
“Faith Wainwright.” Her soft, warm hand felt way too good in mine. I tightened my grip, and she pulled away.
“Dante? Like Dante Alighieri, the famous poet?”
I studied her face. Not much makeup. That was a good thing. Damn, she smelled even better up close. Something about her pulled me in. What had she really been doing with those books outside the library this afternoon?
She must have mistaken my silence for ignorance. “You know, the poet who wrote The Divine Comedy? The Inferno ?”
“Sure, I’ve heard of Dante’s Inferno .” I stood up, stretching out my legs. “But I was named after Dante’s Pizzeria in South Bergen, Jersey. My parents hooked up in the backseat in the parking lot, and nine months later I appeared. Ever been there?”
She stared up at me for a moment, her eyes wide, then looked away. “Um, no. Can’t say that I have.”
Damn. I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable. My lack of a conventional upbringing was a sore spot, one I didn’t broach during an initial conversation... or any conversation, actually.
“Yeah, I haven’t either. But it’s on my list of places to visit someday.” I slid down and sat across from her, my back against the wall. “So, I take it you’re a student at Tempest?”
“Adjunct professor. And you?”
“Got my MBA a few years ago and now work for Crosby Consulting. I’m mentoring a group of undergrads, so I’m on campus quite a bit. Let me guess—you teach Women’s Studies?”
Faith shook her head. “English Lit.”
“So, the spicy reading material is for…?”
“Um, research for an article I’m submitting to a literary journal.”
“Huh. I’m surprised Tempest wants you working on that kind of stuff, being such a conservative university and all. You sure you don’t hand out English Lit homework like that? Or maybe group projects?”
She appraised me with narrowed eyes and a half-smile on her full, pink lips. “No. It’s all self-study.”
Maybe I’d misjudged her. “Well, that could be pretty interesting, too.”
Faith cleared her throat. “So, what kind of consulting do you do?”
“Mostly mergers and acquisitions, but on the marketing side of things.” I shrugged. “I’m hoping to land a gig with one of our divisions out east. How about you?”
Management had their eyes on me. I’d love to make a big move to one of their high-paying, high-profile divisions. That would make it possible to pay off my student loans and maybe do something nice for Meemaw to thank her for everything she’d done for me over the years.
Faith stretched out and crossed one foot over the other, drawing my attention to her long, denim-clad legs. “I’d like to stay here at Tempest and earn tenure.”
Smarty pants. “I thought all English professors wanted to take sabbaticals and write the great American novel.”
“Writing isn’t as easy as it might look.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t know about that. But you sure as hell don’t look like any English teacher I’ve ever had. You’re missing glasses and a cat.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with cats?”
Great. I’d pissed her off again. “You have a cat, don’t you?”
She drew her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. “Mr. Darcy doesn’t really know he’s a cat. He’s more of a roommate.”
“Mr. Darcy? Seriously? I take it back. I guess you do look like some of my English profs. I just didn’t have a chance to meet them when they were still hot.”
A splash of red spread across her cheeks. “Look here, Pizza Boy?—”
“Hey, how about a beer or something while we wait for someone to rescue us?” I stood up and walked around the room, taking note of the stock.
Faith shook her head. “No thanks, I’m not a big drinker.”
Great, what to do with the gorgeous green-eyed girl? If she hadn’t already shot me down, I’d be able to come up with a few ideas. Although, she didn’t really look like one-night stand material, and for the past six years, that’s all I’d been interested in. No commitment, no one gets hurt.
By the looks of the red-headed beauty in front of me, she’d definitely fall into the long-term category—a major no-no for me. I hadn’t always been so hell-bent against commitments. But that was one lesson I only needed to learn once.
I walked back to the door and put my ear up against the cold metal. The muffled sound of the band filtered through. Maybe when they took a break, I could make enough noise to attract some attention. I looked at my watch. It was only nine-forty. Since I’d just restocked the main fridge, it could be quite a while before someone had to come back to the stockroom. Damn.
Faith
I chewed on my bottom lip. Only fifteen minutes had passed. How long was I going to be stuck in here with Pizzeria Dante? I hadn’t wanted to go out tonight in the first place. If I’d only listened to my gut, I’d still be at home in my pajamas, knee-deep in grading papers about Nietzsche’s Human, All Too Human with Mr. Darcy nestled on my lap.
Maybe that was too optimistic. If I were at home, the Nietzsche papers would probably be laying on the floor, and I’d be snoozing on the couch. The man was brilliant, but not one of my favorites.
Still, I had work to do and those final scenes I promised Steph. I needed to get home and get busy if I wanted to turn everything in on time.
I studied the gorgeous bartender. What did he have against cats? Jess could be right, he might be kind of a player, but still... Dante... that would make a good name for the bad boy in my next novel.
I could probably just base the whole character on him. Thick, dark hair, nice build. He’d have to lose the glasses, though. The bad-ass biker I’d planned for my next steamy romance definitely wouldn’t wear glasses.
The eyes could stay. It was too dark to see them in the storeroom, but I’d noticed them right away earlier. Somewhere between blue and green. An interesting match with the scruffy, dark stubble covering his face.
I filled out a character sketch in my head. Yeah, Dante it would have to be. He might have to be beefed up a little bit. Although, peeking over at him from under the fringe of hair that had fallen across my face, I reconsidered.
Underneath the unbuttoned flannel shirt, his tight white undershirt hinted at a rock-hard chest. He pushed his sleeves up, and the muscles of his forearms flexed. If he lost the tad too baggy jeans, that bod would probably be pretty close to perfect.
How hard would his biceps feel under my hand? How dark might his happy trail be? I pondered the answers—all for character research, of course.
He paced the small room like a caged tiger, then walked back over to where I hadn’t moved on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t want something to drink? We may be here a while.”
I shook my head while my stomach twisted into knots. “No thanks. I’ve got to get out of here. I told the girls I could only stay an hour.” Surely, they were getting worried about me by now.
“Well, I could use a drink.” He walked around the room, shifting stacks of boxes to see behind them. “Nothing’s cold. I guess that means the hard stuff.”
Hard stuff. That’s right, where had I been in my mental inventory? I shook my head, sending all thoughts of Dante’s potential hard assets scattering. Focus. If I was going to get any work done tonight, I needed to figure a way out and pronto.
I stood up and walked over to the door. Raising my fists, I pummeled the metal. “Hey! Anybody out there?”
Dante came up behind me and put his hand on my arm, sending a course of goosebumps down to my wrist. “Unfortunately, I don’t think anyone can hear us. Why don’t you come sit down?”
I shook him off. “You don’t understand. I have a ton of stuff to do and need to get home. Isn’t there something we can use to pry the door open?”
“Gotta get back to your books? That self-study project, huh?” He eyed me over the rim of his glasses.
I put a hand on my hip and backed away. “Do you have something against women’s studies?”
He moved close, crowding into my personal space. Close enough for me to smell the mix of fabric softener and male muskiness hovering around him. “Quite the opposite, Faith.” His voice dropped a notch, and he lowered his gaze to my mouth. “I’m a big fan of studying women.”
Oh. My. God. He was making a play. My hoo-ha tingled, gearing up for some long overdue attention. I squelched the sensation and put my hands on his chest—his granite hard, chiseled chest—and pushed him away. “It’s creeps like you that give good guys a bad name.”
“Ha! You’re the one reading about getting it on. By the way, was that a BDSM book I saw you holding earlier? Your girlfriends know you’re into kinky shit?”
My hands went to my hips, and I glared at him.
“Easy there, Ginger. I won’t blow your cover. To each her own.”
I sighed. “Can we just work on getting out of here? I’ve got a lot to do... reading... writing an article...”
He rolled his eyes. “I think someone’s taking her work a little too seriously. It’s only Friday. You’ve got all weekend.”
“Yeah, and all weekend won’t be long enough.”
Dante scanned the room. His eyes stopped on the window. “Well, if you’re really desperate...”