Chapter 14
There were fifteen minutes before the warm-up act started. We weaved our way through the crowd towards the bar. I kept my hands interlocked with Rosies. Every so often, I waited for her to pull away and sever the connection. She never did.
The venue wasn’t big, meaning people were scattered everywhere, leaning against walls, holding plastic cups of liquor and chatting in raised voices. My hand instantly flexed in hers, a knot of anxiety tightened in my throat. She tilted her head up at me, brow pinched in question.
I flashed her a tight smile. Pulling her a little closer. I didn’t want to admit that I hated crowds, not when I could see the light spark in her eyes at the hustle and bustle. Liveliness and chaos were where she thrived, and seeing her come alive under the low light made it clearer than ever.
We ordered our drinks—Rosie getting shots at the last second—and went to find our seats.
Small round tables were dotted around the room, all numbered with tiny lamps on each.
A few booths lined the wall; we took one tucked into the corner—a safe distance from the stage.
The last thing I needed was the comedian deciding to crowd work the front few tables.
Sequestered away meant that fewer prying eyes would be on us.
She slid into the seat, shucking off her coat. I placed the tray of drinks on the table, and she immediately took a shot and held one up for me.
I sat next to her, shaking my head with a soft laugh.
‘Shots are a really bad idea.’
Her eyes glistened, and that goddamn smile split her lips. ‘They are never a bad idea.’
‘I’ve not done shots in a while. Actually, come to think of it, the last time I did shots was with you.’ I pointed an accusatory finger at her.
She rolled her eyes, laughter still shining on her face as she batted my finger away. ‘You saying I’m a bad influence?’ Her body leaned forward, resting one elbow on the table and cradling her chin in her palm.
Copying her movements, I propped my elbow on the table, turning my body to face hers.
‘You’re a terrible influence, sweetheart.’
Her eyes dipped to my lips, and it felt like all the air was sucked out of the room.
‘You want to teach me a lesson?’ Her voice was barely more than a whisper, but she might as well have screamed it for the way my body jerked to attention.
Filthy images flickered in my head, each more detailed and depraved than the last.
All the blood in my body rushed south.
I wrapped a hand around her wrist and brought the soft skin to my lips. Her eyes tracked the movement, and her lips parted, waiting to see what I’d do next.
‘And have you lose the bet?’ I smirked.
It took a few seconds for my words to register, and then her mouth fell into an adorable pout. She pulled her hand away, and I chuckled.
‘Goddamn Fallon. I like sex. There’s nothing wrong with that.’ She threw her hands in the air.
‘I agree.’
She gave a coquettish tilt to her head. ‘I’ve heard some stories about you, you know.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Have you now?’
Her head bobbed. ‘Uh huh, you’re also a fan of the hit it and quit it club.’
The sip of beer I had just taken nearly sprayed all over the table.
Rosie was never one to mince her words; it’s what I liked most about her.
You were never left wondering where you stood with her.
If she didn’t like you, she told you. If she loved you, there was no chance of you ever getting rid of her.
But the latter was a privilege only a few people were offered.
Choosing my words carefully, I lifted my shoulder in a half-shrug. ‘I used to be.’
She brought the glass of tequila she had been toying with to her lips, downing the lot in one go. Not even wincing at the taste. Following suit, I threw mine back. Significantly less cool than her, my lips turned up at the bitter taste, and I grabbed my beer, taking a long sip.
‘Amateur.’ She smiled, the grin only lasting a few seconds before it slid off her red lips. ‘So, you don’t do flings anymore?’
‘I’ve not had a one-night stand in a while.’ In the early days of my brother’s success in football, it was a novelty I indulged in. I was Oliver Blakes’s brother; men and women alike chanced their fifteen minutes of fame with me, and as a young guy in his twenties, I had fun.
Rosie leaned her shoulders back against the booth, surveying me curiously. ‘Why not?’
‘I’m thirty-five. I’ve done that kind of life, but I’ve also been in relationships, and I know which one I prefer.’
Her nose wrinkled like what I’d just said left a bad taste in her mouth.
‘It’s okay not to prefer relationships,’ I added, needing her to know that I’d never judge her. There were many different types of people in the world, and monogamy wasn’t for everyone.
‘I’m just not a relationship type of girl.’ Her lips thinned.
I knew there was more to that casual comment than she let on.
‘Why not?’ My tone was light, but she read the intensity of my eyes.
The laugh that echoed out of her was high-pitched and wholly unnatural. Her elbow jutted out. In her haste to pick up her old-fashioned, she knocked her bag off the table. My hands darted out to grab it before it hit the floor.
‘Shit,' she said, hands outstretched to grab it.
I held it just out of her reach. ‘Rosie Grange.’ My tone was gentle, teasing.
Her eyes widened at my use of her full name. ‘What?’
The bag was heavy in my grip. Heavier than it should have been. Not that I was a connoisseur of women’s bags. The heft of this one wasn’t your typical phone, keys, and makeup.
I dropped it in my lap and opened the flap, peeking inside. I saw enough before she reached over and grabbed it with a squeak of protest.
‘You brought a book on a date?’ I wasn’t sure how offended I should feel that she thought it necessary to bring another form of entertainment.
She dropped the bag next to her, squared her shoulders and gave me a look that dared me to comment.
‘I bring one everywhere. It’s a force of habit, not an indictment of your ability to plan a date.’
‘What are you reading?’ I sipped my drink, enjoying how her brow furrowed at the question.
‘You don’t want to know,' she said.
‘Wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.’
Her bottom lip drew into her mouth, teeth sinking into the flesh. one of the few signs of anxiousness Rosie ever showed. I had a feeling she had no idea she did it. If she realised that she’d somehow exhibited a show of weakness, she’d eradicate it in an instant.
‘It’s a dark romance.’ Her eyes darted to her bag on the seat next to her.
I had no clue what that was or what it meant. My experience of romance books was non-existent. At the obvious confusion on my face, she exhaled. ‘He’s a serial killer, and she’s the girl next door.’
My reading tastes didn’t venture further out than a biography here and there. I’d never found a fiction book that could hold my interest longer than ten pages. But I was pretty sure the first thing she’d said was not supposed to be a good thing. Serial killer?
‘So it’s a thriller?’
She shook her head. ‘Romance.’
‘A romance about a serial killer?’ Several things weren’t making sense in my head.
‘A sexy serial killer who will do anything to protect the sweet, innocent girl next door.’ She took a sip of her drink. I forced my concentration to focus on the conversation, not on the way her lips wrapped around the rim of the glass.
Shifting in my seat, grateful for the table and the semi-darkness to hide my current predicament, I cleared my throat.
‘Isn’t the very essence of a serial killer that they kill people? Why doesn’t he kill her?’ I leaned back against the back of the booth, stretching my arm out. My fingers were inches from her bare shoulder. Her face was lit up in a red glow from the dim lamp on our table.
‘Because he’s in love with her,’ she spoke like it was the most normal thing in the world.
‘Does he stop, you know, serial killing for her?’ On a list of bizarre first date topics I’d ever discussed, this one went right to the top.
Her lips parted in a smile, seeing my attempt to engage in a subject so out of my depths.
‘The one I’m reading right now, no, he doesn’t.’ Her eyes sparkled with amusement.
‘Why doesn’t she go to the police?’
Blonde hair spilled over her shoulder as a laugh shook her frame.
‘I’d say it has something to do with the orgasms. They usually love hard and fuck harder in dark romance.
’ A glint of mischief entered her ocean eyes, tempting me down this dangerous path with her.
Rosie enjoyed making other people uncomfortable.
Unfortunately, her attempts to dissuade me from this conversation were to no avail.
‘Sounds… confusing.’
She laughed lightly, giving a half shrug. ‘It’s my favourite genre of romance.’
Sitting in a dark room, inches from the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, was a recipe for disaster.
In the back of my head, I reminded myself that this wasn’t real—no matter how real it felt—I was helping her win a bet.
This was date one. Four more to go. And for those, I’d definitely go for something less sexy.
Maybe a picnic. Yeah, that’s a much better idea.
The threat of a downpour as you sit on lumpy grass and try to avoid getting stung by wasps.
No possibility of getting an erection in those conditions.
I swallowed, shifting the topic. ‘Can I ask you a personal question?’
‘We’ve already covered dark romance and my witchy mother, I’d say you’ve earned one.’ She held up her index finger. ‘Only one, mind you. At least until I get another shot into my system.’