6. The Way to Her Panties
6
THE WAY TO HER PANTIES
Gage
I already don’t want this date to end, and there’s so much left of it. We’re heading to the restaurant, walking through Hayes Valley now and nearing a boutique hotel that’s giving me all sorts of ideas about how I do want this date to end. The young and beautiful stream out of the hotel entrance as we check it out. This place has become the it hotel in the last year. Celebrities stay here, athletes frequent it—even a famous tennis player and her rock star beau spent the night at this spot. Five stories tall, The Escape has a sleek modern design with a silver facade and clean lines, but twinkling strings of lights cover the entryway, giving it a whimsical feel.
“Love those,” she says, stopping to point to the lights.
Huh. This feels a little like kismet. “Funny, I was thinking about those kind of lights earlier,” I begin, then… Wait. No. Shut the fuck up. I’m not ruining this date by talking about my vision for an outdoor bocce ball court, complete with string lights, for fuck’s sake. Talk about a mood killer.
“You were thinking about…lighting?” she asks, seeming amused but a little befuddled.
Great. Now she’s going to think I have nothing to discuss but the exterior design of my potential second bar.
This is why I don’t deserve nice dates. “Just for a few seconds,” I say, then do my damnedest to right this ship. “Then, I entertained deep thoughts about whether mojitos are better than martinis, the best cock art for a woman I very much wanted to impress, and if I had gloves for tomorrow’s beach cleanup.”
“Don’t tease a girl. Tell me more about the lighting thoughts. I haven’t met a man before who copped to thinking about lighting. Now, I need to know.”
Dragging a hand down my face, I groan, thoroughly busted. “Fine,” I say with a you caught me shrug. After a trio of men dressed more dapper than Zane pass us, chattering about the best sushi ever, I tip my forehead to the twinkling lights. “I thought those would look good with a little outdoor eating area at a potential second bar. You got it out of me, woman. You happy now?” I ask with narrowed eyes and a faux grumble.
“So very happy. Also, do it! I love fairy lights outdoors. They make everything feel like a secret garden. And gardens are sexy.”
Maybe I do get to have nice dates. “Glad I have the Elodie seal of approval.”
“Definitely. Also, are you opening a second location?” she asks, and she sounds fascinated by this topic, so maybe Zane was wrong. But then Elodie’s attention catches on something else. She’s pointing to the busy hotel entrance, and the evening crowds milling nearby. Well, to a little archway next to the entrance and then a storefront just beyond. “Is there a pop-up shop in the courtyard? Wasn’t that one selling those must-have cakes in a jar recently?”
“No idea,” I say.
Clasping my hand tight, she leads the way a few paces. The small courtyard is flanked by ivy-covered walls on one side. In the center sits a cobblestone fountain, the water sounding a little like chimes as it falls. A pack of girls who could be the cast of a Webflix ensemble show toss coins into it. Next to it is an empty storefront—formerly home of the jar cakes, I guess.
“Look at that,” Elodie says in a whisper, a little awed. Well, clearly she gets off, too, on talking about leases and retail space.
“Let’s see it.”
Her smile is magic. “Don’t you just know the right words to say to a girlie-girl business owner.”
I brush a few strands of her lush blonde hair from her ear, then whisper, “Don’t worry. I’ve got lots of other words I want to say to you later.” I keep my hand in hers as we bound up the steps to the courtyard. Beyond the fountain, an older man with a trim dark brown beard, warm bronze skin, and curious eyes sweeps the cobblestones. Looking our way, he gives a chin nod. “Good evening.”
“Don’t mind us. We’re just admiring the shop. This place is stunning,” Elodie says immediately.
“Want to check it out? It’s available next week,” he offers, an eager salesman it seems.
I’m not at all in the market for a pop-up shop, but maybe she is. “Sure,” she says, then looks to me with mischief in her eyes. “Let’s check it out… honey .”
I roll with the affectionate nickname, giving her one of my own. “After you, cupcake .”
The man chuckles to himself as he swings open the door for us. The space is tiny but clean. The inside looks like something out of a fashion magazine—one exposed brick wall, a sleek modern chandelier, and a clean, white bar.
Another wall is painted a warm yellow color. The chandelier illuminates some of the art on the wall—caricatures of San Francisco and Hayes Valley. “It’s sexy and fun,” she says as she drinks in the space, running a hand along the counter. “I could test out new flavors here. Tropical chocolates. Tea-infused squares. An extra spicy line.” It sounds more dreamy than real. But it’s a dream she’s enjoying, it seems. Sparking with ideas, her eyes meet mine. “What about you? Oh, I know! You could offer cocktail taste tests! Find out the answer to whether mojitos are better than martinis on Friday night .”
“Martinis,” I say decisively.
“Mojitos,” she declares with a bob of her shoulder.
I shake my head in dirty, flirty admiration of this woman. “That’s it. I have no choice.”
Her brow furrows. “You actually have two choices—martinis or mojitos?”
I close the distance between us and cup her chin. “I mean…I have no choice but to kiss you.”
“Oh,” she says, her voice feathery. She sounds and looks a little flustered. But the glimmer in her blue eyes says this is the good kind of flustered. “And why does that give you no choice?”
I don’t look away from those gorgeous eyes or her beautiful face. My focus is solely on her. “Because mojitos are sexy. Just like you. And I can’t wait any longer to kiss you, Elodie.”
Her pretty red lips part, and I’m dying, just dying, to taste her. “Then stop waiting,” she says.
I don’t rush in and crush her lips. I don’t slam my mouth to hers. I come in slowly, so we can both feel the tease, so we can climb the stairs up to this kiss together, savoring the anticipation, the final seconds till a kiss becomes more than a wish. Then, when she’s inches away from me, I drop my lips to hers, in a soft, slow kiss that lingers for several tempting seconds.
Seconds that could become all night long. That could become my kisses on her thighs, my hands on her ankles, our bodies tangled together. I finish the kiss with a bite, nipping on her lower lip, a little fiery, a little rough. Letting her know that I might start sweet, but I’ll finish hard, full of passion.
When I let go with a brush of my stubble against her cheek, she wobbles.
I catch her, a hand on her hip in seconds. I steady her as she blinks, breathes out hard, then whispers, “That was…”
I feel the same.
I kiss the corner of her lips, catching her unfinished sentence with my mouth, then I pull back. “We should go.”
“We should.” She looks around once more, maybe getting her bearings before she shifts and says, “This is going to go in seconds.”
“Let’s get you out of here before I do bad things to you in this pop-up shop.”
We leave and out in the courtyard the man gives us a curious look as he rests the broom against the window. “Nice, isn’t it?” he asks, nodding to the space.
“It’s perfection,” she says.
“It’ll be available on Monday,” he says, then his phone rings, and he brandishes it with an apologetic “I should take this.”
“Have a good night,” I say, and we take off, passing the packs at the fountain, then a handful of couples meandering out into Hayes Valley. We dart around them, turning the corner toward the restaurant.
“So let me get this straight. Kisses and retail spaces are the way to your heart?”
She shakes her head. “They’re the way to my panties.”
Then she strides ahead of me, and I want dinner to end before it even starts.
* * *
“And I was truly shocked when we won the championship,” I say an hour later, after I take a drink of my wine at a small booth in the corner of the restaurant.
“Humble brag,” Elodie says with a faux cough as she sets down her fork and napkin.
We’re nearly done with the meal at a Mediterranean-fusion café. The deep blue tiled walls feature colorful photographs of cities in Morocco, Egypt, and Lebanon. Golden overhead lighting makes everything glimmer.
“Hey! You asked about my softball coaching,” I point out.
“And you made sure to tell me exactly how you did,” she says then sets her chin in her hand. “Maybe you want to tell me more about your stats as a coach. I’d love to know. How many softball championships did the elementary girls win?”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “You win.”
Elodie gives me a saucy look then licks her lips. “But you can definitely tell me more about the time when you played in the majors.”
I tense, my shoulders hard like rocks. She can’t know she’s hit a sore spot, but oh hell, has she ever.
“Oh shoot,” she says, her hand flying to her mouth. I guess my body language made my feelings clear. When she drops her hand, she says with a wince, “I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”
But it’s understandable she’d bring up my one season after I went on and on about coaching girls’ softball. “It’s okay. I swear.”
“Are you sure? You seem annoyed.”
She’s too astute, but I can’t let her feel bad. I reach across the table for her hand, softening. “It was one season, and it was a long time ago. Which you probably learned when you looked me up.”
“Well, I think it’s a wise idea to look up guys who deliver me sex toys then ask me out.”
“Words to live by. And I looked you up too. So did my brother and my daughter, which is why they made sure I dressed extra nice for you. Eliza said you dressed well in your pics so I had to do the same. It’s been a while since I went on a date,” I admit.
“Me too.”
“Yeah?” This delights me too much.
“Nearly a year, if you must know,” she adds.
Can’t help it. Pure, masculine pride suffuses my chest. “Same for me.” Then hell, fuck it. She deserves to know she’s special. “I don’t usually date customers. Hell, I don’t flirt with customers. I’m friendly, but that’s all.” I pause. “But then you came in. And there was something about you.”
If I’m not careful, this date is going to turn into something riskier. But I know better than to believe one fantastic night means anything more than that. Still, she made herself vulnerable to me. She opened up, so I give her something more than she could learn online about my far too short stint in the majors. “And yes, I was drafted right after college. Played in the minors for one season. Then I played for the Los Angeles Bandits. It was a decade ago. I blew out my elbow after eighteen wins in one season and it was… devastating ,” I say, and I leave it at that. Don’t need to get into what it did to me. How it affected my head and my heart. The hell I experienced after.
“I’m sorry, Gage. That must have been so hard,” she says with genuine sympathy.
Hard doesn’t begin to cover the death of my dreams. “It sure was,” I say evenly, but it wasn’t even the hardest thing to happen that year. “But life happens, and you move on.”
“I hear you,” she says, and there’s soul-deep understanding in her voice. I want to ask what she’s grappling with in the life happens department. But I don’t want this date to get too heavy. Even though Zane warned me, I go against his advice because we need some levity, and we need it, stat. “My daughter said I should show you my rookie card,” I say, like I’m dangling a carrot.
Elodie brightens, her smile spreading to her eyes as she beckons with her fingers. I grab my phone, and find the pic in my texts from Eliza. I spin the phone around to show Elodie.
She takes a beat to check it out. The serious game face I’m wearing. The uniform I didn’t get to wear nearly enough. And, of course, the pitcher’s scowl, designed to terrify batters. It worked. My cut fastball was a thing of legend. When I was on, it was nearly impossible to hit.
After she studies the picture of the faded card, she declares, “You were hot.”
I arch a brow, then ask in a stern tone, “ Were ?”
She leans closer and lowers her voice. But again, she doesn’t answer directly. “I have a secret.”
And I’m hanging on her every word. “Tell me,” I say and it’s a demand.
“I thought of you when I ordered The Command Performance.”
I’d wanted to believe the timing of the order meant something. But hearing her say it, sends the temperature in me soaring. I get up, move around the table, and sit next to her in the booth where I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “Want to hear a secret?”
“I do.”
“I wanted to ask for your number every time you came into the bar.”
“What stopped you?”
“Life. It’s busy. The whole kid thing. I don’t go out much,” I admit.
Her eyes sparkle with some relief, telling me she’s on the same page. “I hear you. Same here. This was my only free night in ages. Amanda happened to have a sleepover so it worked out,” she says, a little pensive, but understanding too.
“Same. Eliza’s with Zane, that is. My brother.”
She pauses, then asks, “So why now?”
“Couldn’t get you out of my head,” I tell her, because fuck the rules of dating. Fuck holding back. We both have busy lives. No time for bullshit. “That’s why I bought all those chocolates. I wanted to impress you.”
“Mission accomplished,” she says.
Pride floods my chest. Then I slide my hand down her back, resting it right above the swell of her sweet ass. “Now, I believe you said earlier you had a theory about men who put their hands on the small of women’s backs.”
“I do,” she says, as I spread my fingers over the thin fabric of her shirt.
“Tell me.”
“That they kiss in my favorite way.”
My chest is a furnace as I run my knuckles along her jawline. “And what way is that?”
She takes her time, holding the cards, holding my gaze, holding all my desire in the palm of her hand as she studies my face, my mouth, my eyes. “Hard and passionate. Just like how they fuck.”
That word.
On her lips.
I’m on fire. It’s blazing in me as I thread my fingers through her lush locks. “Want to get out of here?”
“I do. Because I have a theory about dates too.”
Her theories are my undoing. This I have to hear. “What is it?”
“The best ones end unplanned in a hotel.”
There’s no way The Escape has a room free on a Friday night. But there are other hotels if they don’t. Not quite as close, but still, I’ll find one. Dammit, I’ll fucking find one.
Ten minutes later, thanks to the serendipity of a last-minute cancellation, I’ve got a key card to a room at the most sought-after hotel in town.