Hometown Girl (2 page)

“Dave?”

She slipped her pad into her apron, slid the tray off the bar, and nodded. “That’s his name, he asked me to wear it out. The man is a walking cliché.”

Simon spared Fitz a glance. Her attention was riveted on his conversation.

She shrugged and rolled her eyes.

Simon poured a seltzer and took a sip before placing it next to her beer. “I’m assuming your date is Dave of the wandering hands.”

“My friend Ronna said he had a thing for the cocktail server—as for having wandering hands, I really couldn’t say. He’s a blind date and I’ve been pretty effective at dodging them.”

Simon looked her up and down. There was nothing wrong with Wanda—she was a pretty girl—but Fitz was over-the-top gorgeous. “Blind being the operative word.”

“Thanks, but it’s more of a relief than a disappointment. Blind dates can be so awkward. I’ve been trying to avoid him for three bars now.”

Simon watched Francis pick the big guy up out of his seat and help him to the door. Fitz’s friend followed them out. “Looks like your friends are taking off. Is that a problem?”

Fitz watched the procession and then turned back to him with a crease furrowing her brows and a pink tinge to her cheeks. “Not for me. Is it a problem for you?”

“Are you kidding? The only problem I had has been solved. I was trying to figure out how to separate you from your date. Now all I have to do is talk you into letting me escort you home at the end of my shift.” He watched as the uncertainty on her face morphed into disbelief. Then she looked behind her as if she wasn’t sure he was speaking to her. When she found no one there except Francis, who looked way too pleased with himself, she blushed, dipped her head, and then drained her beer.

Simon couldn’t tell if she was preparing to shut him down or deciding whether or not to accept his offer. He grabbed Francis’s apron and bar rag and tossed them at him.

Francis caught them before giving Simon a thumbs-up behind Fitz’s back.

Fitz stashed her cellphone into her purse and slid her hand up and down the mug of beer. She was either deep in thought or trying to tease him. If she was going for the tease, it was definitely working.

He took a sip of his seltzer trying to cool his jets. It wasn’t helping.

Fitz squared her shoulders and leaned forward as if wanting to whisper, so he leaned in too. “Your place or mine?”

Simon inhaled the seltzer he’d yet to swallow, choked, and then coughed like a six-pack-a-day smoker, all the while tenting his apron.

CHAPTER TWO

Elyse had never propositioned a man. She’d texted Mel begging for her version of
Pickup Lines for Dummies
and conveniently left out the fact that the man she wanted to proposition was none other than Mel’s big brother. She’d followed Mel’s explicit instructions to the letter. She leaned forward, whispered in his ear, and even brushed his ear with her lips. She did get a little carried away when she got close, but who could blame her? The man smelled amazing—like Ivory soap, whisky, and something that was simply Simon. It might not seem like a dreamy combination, but she’d remembered it from the T-shirts she’d stolen from him when she was an adolescent . . . well, except for the addition of the whisky, but that only added to his tantalizing scent.

From the way Simon was hacking up a lung, she didn’t think she’d done a very good job of propositioning him. And wasn’t that just like her? She’d worked hard to ace every class she’d ever taken—she was a lifetime member of the National Honor Society—but she was a social misfit. Maybe Mel should have given her the remedial version for the socially challenged.

When Elyse got up the nerve to look at Simon, she was relieved to discover he looked as if he might actually live. For a while there she’d wondered. “Are you okay?”

Simon coughed once more, his eyes shiny with tears, and then nodded. “Fine,” he croaked, clearing his throat, poured himself a shot of something amber-colored, and then downed it before meeting her gaze. “I’m good, just surprised. Pleasantly surprised.”

“Why?”

“You hardly know me. . . . I mean you know me, but we haven’t seen each other in . . . well, it’s been a long time.”

“Six years, but I doubt you’ve changed that much.” At least she hoped he hadn’t. His girlfriends always walked around with a permanent smile on their faces—at least until he dumped them—and Elyse didn’t think the smiles were because he was busy showing them his etchings. Not that his art wasn’t enough to make a girl swoon. Lord knew, she’d been swiping sketches off his refrigerator since they were kids.

Elyse stared at Simon’s mouth. He had full, kissable lips, and the way he slid his tongue to the top of his lip when he was deep in thought, or wondering if she was completely nuts like he was now, sent her imagination into the nearest gutter. Man, she’d spent years dreaming about his tongue—she’d imagined how it would feel. . . .

“Fitz?”

Her nickname sounded foreign coming from him. He’d only ever called her Elyse or Trouble. No one from Mountain Lakes, their smaller than small hometown, ever called her by her college nickname. Oh, God! She felt her ears flame as the realization hit her. He didn’t know who she was. If he did, he’d call her Trouble for sure.

“Fitz? Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She took a swig of her fresh beer. Should she tell him and take the chance of wrecking her dream come true? Or let him think whatever it was he was thinking until after they had sex? If she wasn’t completely off base, hot sex was exactly what he planned. God, she hoped she wasn’t completely off base. If she were, she’d die of embarrassment. “So, you didn’t answer the question. Your home or mine?”

“Where do you live?”

“Washington Heights. All my classes are at the Manhattan campus.”

“My place is closer. I’m just a few blocks away.”

She did a mental fist-pump. “Your place it is.”

Simon brought her an assortment of food to snack on and did his best to pay attention to her while serving his customers. Elyse sat back, listened to the band, and watched Simon as he worked.

* * *

Simon did
n’t like leaving Fitz at the other end of the bar, but Bree was in the weeds and had to deal with the waitstaff so she was running between the front and the back. It just made more sense for her to work the end where Fitz sat—it didn’t mean he had to like it—especially since men were circling like sharks.

He went to ring up a drink and got Bree’s attention.

“What do you need, Simon?”

“Keep an eye on my date while you’re on that end of the bar. Make sure no one bothers her. Her name is Fitz.”

Bree laughed. “Fitz? What kind of name is that?”

“Not sure. I’m just glad I overheard her friend call her by name, or I’d still be winging it.”

“And how did Fitz become your date? She walked in here with a man that wasn’t you.”

Simon made change and slammed the cash drawer shut with his hip. “What can I say? I’m irresistible.”

Bree laughed even harder. “Right. What’s the real story?”

“Her date gave Wanda a hard time, so Francis showed him the door.”

“Oh.” Bree pushed her hair out of her eyes. “I missed that. Fitz didn’t mind that her date was asked to leave?”

“She seemed relieved. It was a blind date.”

“And you still can’t remember how you know her?”

“Not a freakin’ clue. It’s only a matter of time though. It’s as if I know everything about her but her name and our connection—which is ridiculous, I mean, look at her. She’s unforgettable.”

“Apparently not.” Bree pulled a bottle of beer out of the cooler and left him staring at Fitz who seemed unaware of the men trying to get her attention. She’d already turned down a half dozen offers of drinks and dances.

Simon was still staring into space when Patrice, Francis’s wife, walked through the bar. He turned and caught Francis’s eye. The big guy shrugged and held up his hands in a don’t-hate-me-because-I’m-whipped gesture. Simon was sure Francis had texted Patrice and told her about Fitz. He supposed that’s what happened when a guy married a gorgeous busybody. If Simon was concerned about privacy, he’d be pissed, but since Patrice had what could be considered a masters in waterboarding and a minor in other forms of interrogation he might just be in luck—but only if he could count on her to not turn traitor. When Rocki announced that the band was taking a twenty-minute break and headed straight for Patrice, he cursed under his breath. When Rocki was involved, you never knew what could happen.

“Bree.” Simon pointed out Patrice and Rocki, who were headed right for Fitz.

“You got trouble times two.”

Something slammed up against his memory bank but he couldn’t retrieve it, and he didn’t have time to examine it. “Maybe they can get information for me. Go talk to them and see what you can find out.”

Bree put her hand on her hip. “Why don’t you just ask her?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt her feelings or embarrass her. She knows me well enough to kiss me hello.”

“More like embarrass yourself. You’re such a man—you never ask for directions.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Use your head,” she tapped her noggin, “the one not tucked into your pants.”

“Are you going to help me out, or what?”

“I’ll do my best.” Bree walked over and got Rocki and Patrice drinks. A few minutes later he saw her drag them to the office. When they returned she gave him a you’re-in-deep-shit shake of the head.

Simon met her at the registers mid-bar. “What happened?”

“I told them your plight.”

“And?”

“They thought it was hysterical. If you want to get out of here, you better do it fast or you’ll be leaving alone.”

“Shit.”

“You have ten seconds to slide under the bar and count out your drawer. I’ll call Pete for backup and try my best to keep the girls occupied until you get back.”

Simon wasn’t about to push his luck so he sprinted to the office, counted out his drawer in record time, and clocked out. When he returned, he had to push through half a dozen guys to get to Fitz and her two new best friends.

* * *

Elyse was
surrounded by drop-dead gorgeous women. Rocki—a tall platinum blonde who looked like she’d just walked off a model’s runway—sat on one side of her. Rocki’s clothes were retro eighties with a twenty-first century flair. The florescent pink streak bisecting her long side-swept bangs only highlighted the amazing aqua blue eyes that studied Elyse with unabashed curiosity. She introduced herself as the lead singer of the house band and Simon’s good friend. She emphasized the word “good.” Patrice took the stool on the other side of Elyse. Nefertiti incarnate, Francis’s wife was a beautiful African-American woman. Bree introduced Patrice as Simon’s old friend and the three women ping-ponged questions back and forth trying to divine her connection to Simon. Rocki, Bree, and Patrice were bold, beautiful, and lethal to Elyse’s plan to keep her identity a secret. She didn’t believe in transparency—at least not yet, not until she knew how Simon would react.

Simon pushed his way through the crowd of men who flocked around Patrice and Rocki like a fox at a hen party. Sitting in between the two women, Elyse was surprised Simon remembered she existed. She noticed he’d changed into a soft gray T-shirt that hugged his chest and shoulders, highlighting his muscles. He slid between her and Patrice, put his arm around her, and leaned in close. “Are you ready to go?”

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. Losing her virginity had seemed like a good idea when she’d had a buzz. After all the food Simon had put in front of her, the buzz she’d entered the bar with was long gone. Eight pairs of eyes watched and waited for her response and it took her a moment to recall his question. He’d asked her if she was ready to leave. She met his gaze and was mesmerized. She’d imagined making love to him a thousand times. Lord knew, she’d wanted him forever. “Sure, I’m all set, just let me pay my tab.”

“It’s covered.” He skimmed her cheek with his thumb and rested his hand on her shoulder, burning through the thin strap of her top before sliding down the length of her arm and taking her hand. He helped her off the barstool.

With a quick shake of the head, Bree sent Simon some kind of silent signal. She turned her smile to Elyse and took her empty beer mug off the bar. “It was great meeting you Fitz, I hope we’ll see more of you.”

“Yeah.” Rocki piped up. “We certainly didn’t get any information out of you this time.”

Patrice laughed. “It’s not as if we didn’t try. You’ll have to give us another chance real soon.”

Elyse let out a relieved breath. “It was nice meeting all of you. Thanks for the company.” Keeping her secret with those three grilling her was a miracle. She was just lucky Simon hadn’t had to work longer. As soon as she cleared the stool, Simon wrapped his arm around her and led her out of the Crow’s Nest, ignoring or not noticing the interested looks of the women they passed. Elyse certainly didn’t miss them or the virtual daggers they shot her way.

Simon held the door, his eyes scanning the street once they hit the sidewalk. It was after midnight but people were still out and about. A few years ago, she wouldn’t have felt safe in Red Hook day or night, but the area was a study in urban gentrification and was well on its way to becoming the next Park Slope.

“I walked to work. I hope you don’t mind hoofing it. It’s not far.”

“No, I don’t mind at all. It’s a beautiful night. Summer’s my favorite season and it’s almost here.” The night air was cool against her skin. When she shivered, she wasn’t sure if it was from the wind or the fact Simon had his arm around her. She’d worn her favorite jeans, cute high-heeled sandals, and a light top that looked like a plain white tank from the front, but was long enough in the back to brush her knees and fly behind her when the wind off the harbor caught it.

Simon kept her tucked in close. “So, Fitz. How did you end up on a blind date with Dave?”

“He’s a friend of a friend. You know how it is.” God, the last thing she wanted to talk to Simon about was Dave.

“Sure, but why would you need a blind date? You had your choice of any guy at the bar tonight.”

At first she thought he was teasing, but when she snuck a glance at him, Simon looked serious. “Ronna thought I needed to get out. I’ve had my head stuck in the books too long. Not all of us are as smart as you. I actually have to study to make the grades and then with my internship . . . I’ve been too busy to date lately and haven’t met anyone.” She shrugged and didn’t mention that she figured she wore a sign, invisible to only her, that said
Keep Away
.

“Lucky for me, you and Dave didn’t hit it off.”

Again she checked to make sure he wasn’t joking. Nope.

The closer they came to the water, the windier it got. He led her past the Fairway—the world’s best supermarket—and onto the next pier, which held a huge, old brick warehouse.

“You live here?”

“Yeah, I live above my studio. When I first moved here, I took it because it was cheep. I stayed because I love Red Hook, being right on the water—literally—and being able to wake up at three in the morning with an idea and hit the studio when it’s still fresh in my mind.” He stopped and watched her reaction. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but she had a feeling that for some reason, it was important.

She stepped back and took in the old brick and the arched metal doors and windows that lined the building—some the size of garage doors. She ran her hand along the aged brick. “This building is beautiful. I’m so glad they haven’t demolished it to build condos.”

Whenever the wind kicked up, the water sprayed the edge of the pier. Simon shielded her from the wind and spray it carried. They’d walked to the last unit and stopped. He stood beneath the light and cocked his head, contemplating something. He stared into her eyes as if he was searching her soul. “Are you sure you want to come in? If not it’s okay, I can grab my car and take you home.”

She mirrored the tilt of his head. “Do you want me to come in?”

He let out a breath as if he’d been holding it. As if he was nervous. He pulled her close and tipped her chin up. “God, yes.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

“This.” He slid his hand into her hair, his fingers tunneling through to her scalp, setting off reactions in parts of her body she wasn’t aware were even remotely connected. Simon brushed his lips against hers so softly it shocked her.

Elyse was no virgin when it came to kissing. She’d had her share of dates—first dates, anyway. There were the guys who ground their mouths against hers and proceeded to try to inspect her tonsils. There were the nibblers, the biters, the teeth-clashers. But Simon simply electrified her with the gentlest kiss she’d ever known. His lips were smooth, soft, hot, and hard all at the same time and packed a punch with no more than a touch.