Chapter 11
eleven
. . .
The truth was, I wasn’t nervous. Just aware.
Aware that I wanted this night in a way that had already moved past casual. Aware that after the Velvet Room, after that kiss, after waking up still carrying the memory of her in my body, tonight had a little more weight on it than a second date should’ve.
That part didn’t scare me—it just meant I needed to do it right.
I had made a reservation at a place in the Strip with a tucked-away patio, low lights, and food worth slowing down for. After that, if the night still needed to breathe, I’d take her up to Grandview where the city always looked like it had something to confess as long as you appreciated it.
That felt like enough. Maybe more than enough given where we both were at this point. Ripe is the word I could think of.
I texted when I was on my way.
I’ll be there in ten. Be ready for me.
Her reply came before I hit the next light.
That’s not a question.
I smiled.
No. It isn’t.
I think we’re past that point now. Don’t you?
Three dots appeared, disappeared and reappeared. I smiled while staring at my phone.
I think you’re right.
By the time I pulled up in front of her townhouse, I was earlier than I needed to be and irritated at myself for caring.
She lived in the Lower Hill, on a quieter stretch where the city still felt close enough to touch.
Newer townhomes lined the street with dark windows, neat stoops, and little pockets of landscaping somebody paid good money to keep looking effortless.
From where I parked, I could see Downtown glowing beyond the rooftops, all glass and light in the distance, while her block sat tucked back from the noise like it knew exactly what it was worth.
It fit her. Private and pretty, close to everything without feeling too available, the kind of place a woman chose when she liked the city but still wanted control over who got close.
I killed the engine and checked the time like being early was something I could reason my way out of.
Then the front door opened.
Talia stepped out of that house like summer had finally decided to show off.
She wore bronze, a dress that skimmed instead of clung, soft over her hips and cut in places that made my mouth go dry.
The front dipped low enough to remind me I had eyes, but it was the openings at her sides and the flash of her back when she turned to lock the door that did the damage.
Smooth light-brown skin. Curves moving under that bronze fabric like the dress had been made to follow her and mind its business at the same time.
Gold studs lined her ear, small and bright under the porch light.
Gold rings caught at her fingers. Bracelets moved softly at her wrist. A gold purse hung from one hand, and the wedge sandals on her feet gave her legs a long, pretty line that made me forget whatever responsible thought I’d been trying to hold on to.
She sparkled without looking like she had tried to blind anybody.
I got out before she reached the curb because I’d been raised right.
She smiled the second she saw me standing by the passenger door.
“You’re staring at me like you want to eat me.”
My hand tightened on the door handle before I could help it, because she was far from wrong.
Something in my face must have shifted, because her smile softened into something slower, more aware.
“I’m trying to behave,” I said.
“That’s unfortunate.”
I opened the door for her, taking one second too long to move out of her way. “You always this difficult before dinner?”
“Only when a man makes it easy.”
I laughed under my breath, but my eyes were still on her. That bronze dress, that smooth skin, all that gold catching against her like the night had decided to do me no favors.
She slid into the seat, her sweet perfume rising warm into the evening air as that bronze dress shifted over her thighs.
I closed her door and reminded myself that touching her before we even made it out of her neighborhood would have been poor pacing by anybody with sense.
I got back behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb.
For a minute, we just let the music live.
Kut Klose this time. “I Like.”
That made her laugh immediately.
“You did that on purpose.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You’re a liar.”
“And you like that about me.”
She turned in the seat just enough to look at me fully. “You are entirely too sure of yourself.”
“No,” I said. “But right now, I’m sure of you.”
She bit back a smile and I enjoyed knowing we could spar in this way.
By the time we got to dinner, the sun had lowered enough for the city to start glowing around the edges. The patio was exactly what I wanted it to be. Small. Tucked in. String lights overhead. Enough noise from the rest of the restaurant to let a thing breathe without making it public.
Talia looked around once as the hostess led us to the table.
“You did good.”
“I know.”
She laughed and sat down.
That first hour went easier than it should have.
The conversation moved the way good music moved. No forcing. No dragging. Family first. Her mother’s line about making sure he met the woman she was, not just the one he liked looking at. That made me sit back in my chair for a second and look at her differently.
“What?”
“That was wisdom.”
“If parables had an author, it would be my mother.”
I laughed at that.
Talia sipped her drink and glanced at me over the rim of the glass. “My mother doesn’t waste words.”
“Neither do you.”
She smiled lightly. “I can waste a few if I don’t like the audience.”
I laughed. “That right?”
“Mmmmhmmmn.”
“Good thing I’m doing better.”
“Debatable.”
By the time dinner settled and the second round of drinks had gone low in our glasses, the conversation had changed texture.
She told me about the years after college when she got so used to being capable that asking for help started feeling unnatural, even when she was tired.
She didn’t make a speech of it. Didn’t dress it up.
Just said it plain in that grown way people did when they had already done the work of surviving themselves and no longer needed applause for it.
I told her banking had made me more careful than cold, even if from the outside those things sometimes wore the same face.
That I’d learned early people liked confidence right up until it came with limits.
That success made some people admire you and other people start testing how much they could take from you without ever naming it that way.
Talia listened the way she did everything. Fully. No fake empathy. No waiting just to jump in and talk.
When she answered, it was quiet.
“That makes sense,” she said. “You don’t move like a man who likes being casually handled.”
I looked at her over my glass. Candlelight kept catching in her eyes, making the amber in them look deeper than it had any right to. Her lips glistened every time she took a sip of her drink. When she smiled after, her teeth flashed so bright it did something low and stupid to me.
“And you do?” I asked.
Her mouth curved, but there wasn’t much humor in it.
“No. I want something far from casual, if I want anything at all. I want what’s real.”
I held her eyes.
That answer moved through me slower than lust and got deeper.
The waitress came by then, and we let the room breathe around us for a minute. I cut into the last of my salmon while Talia listened to me talk about Ciara, Ari, and how my mother still acted like every Sunday dinner was state business.
She dragged one finger through a smear of sauce at the edge of her plate, absentminded, eyes on me like she was taking in every word. Then she lifted that finger to her mouth and sucked it clean without breaking the thread of the conversation, like the move had cost her no thought at all.
It damn near cost me mine.
The impact landed straight to my dick, and I had to look back down at my plate like the salmon had suddenly become fascinating.
Talia, completely unaware of the damage she had just done, laughed softly. “Mothers really do think if the food right, everybody’s life can’t be too far off track.”
“Your mother definitely gave that impression,” I said, proud of myself for sounding normal.
“She meant every word too.” Talia picked up her glass again. “That’s the thing about my mother. She’s not dramatic. She just says the one sentence that gets all the way under your skin and leaves it there to do its work.”
I smiled. “That where you get it from?”
Her laugh came low and pretty. “Maybe.”
She sat back a little then, the neckline of that dress giving me a view I had been trying to handle like a gentleman and failing. “What about you?” she asked. “What did you think about me before you actually met me?”
I looked at her.
“You really want that answer?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“All of it.”
I ran my thumb once along the side of my glass. “I thought you were fine first. No point lying. But a lot of women are fine. That wasn’t what kept me looking.”
She kept still.
“It was the way you said things. You didn’t sound thirsty for attention.
Didn’t sound like you were trying to be the smartest person online either.
You just sounded like yourself.” I let my eyes move over her face once before settling again.
“And then when I met you in person, the whole thing lined up. That was what got me.”
Something changed in her expression. Not much. Enough.
“Lined up how?” she asked.
“The face matched the mouth. The mouth matched the mind. The woman sitting across from me matched the one I’d seen on Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook.” I shrugged one shoulder. “That’s rarer than it should be.”
“Damn,” she said, more like she was taking inventory than accusing me of anything. “We’re connected in a lot of places.”
“I noticed last week,” I said. “When I wanted to see more of you.”
Her eyes widened a little before pleasure softened them.
“But you know how these apps work,” I added. “You follow somebody in one place, and suddenly every other one decides y’all must be family.”