That Kind of Girl (Fillmore & Greenwich Book 2) (21 page)

She took a breath and headed toward him, trying not to feel like she was on a date.

He looked up right then, his face lighting up when he saw her. "Just in time," he said as he pulled out the stool next to him for her.

"For?" She sat down next to him, trying not to notice how awesome he smelled.

"For a Cherry Bounce." He raised his brows. "Are you in?"

"I'm in."

"Good." He grinned and motioned to the bartender. He ordered a couple snacks, too, and then faced her. "Should we get business out of the way before we go on with pleasure?"

Her breath caught in her throat. "Pleasure?"

"Yes," he said firmly, nodding. "Pleasure. You and me, on our date."

"
Date?
" She was glad she wasn't drinking anything because she'd have spewed it all over him. And then he'd have had to take off his shirt, and then she might have to check out his chest with her hands, because looks could be deceiving.

"Date." His tone was unequivocal as he gazed at her. "I meant it when I said I wanted to go out with you."

"I don't get it." She shook her head. "I just lost my job and I'm on your ass about the bonus you stole from me."

"A," he said, holding up a finger, "
I
didn't steal it. In fact, I'm trying to negotiate some back for you."

"What?"

He thanked the bartender as he set the drinks in front of them, but then he returned his attention to her without touching his cocktail. "Want to hear about it?"

Kevin would have put her off and satisfied himself first. Was this a confusion tactic? It was working, if it was. "Yes."

"I think I can negotiate a percentage of your bonus back to you." He gave her a no-nonsense look. "I haven't run it by anyone yet, so I don't know if it's possible, but I'm going to try."

"I hadn't expected that," she said, surprised. "Why are you doing it?"

"Because I don't want you to hold this against me for the rest of our lives." He handed her a cocktail.

There was a stick with two cherries balanced across the top, close and cuddly. She took the coupe glass he held out to her and tried to chuckle. "The rest of our lives? Are we going to be debating my bonus that long?"

"No." He held up his glass. "To a speedy resolution to this problem."

"I'll drink to that." She clinked her glass to his and lifted hers to her mouth.

"And also to us," he said as he took a sip.

She choked on the cocktail. "Us?" she croaked as she coughed.

He took his glasses off and set them on the counter, leaning in so his blue eyes filled her entire field of vision. "Us. Because I intend to date you for a few weeks and then propose. FYI."

She set the drink down before she dumped it on herself. Opening her mouth, she sputtered for a moment before she articulately said, "What the hell?"

He smiled mildly. "I'm giving you fair notice."

"Like when a hunter lets the deer think it's getting away, only to snipe it around the corner?" she said. "Because it feels like you're giving me a chance to run so you can catch me."

"Don't you want me to catch you?" He gazed at her seriously, as if the answer meant the world to him.

She pictured him catching her, and it involved fewer clothes and an enthusiastic make-out session. She fanned herself. "Is it hot in here, or is it me?"

"The fact that you're hot has never been in question." He looked her in the eye. "But you're also smart and funny and kind. You've been under the worst kind of stress, and you haven't taken it out on anyone. You've steadfastly gone after what you want, despite the obstacles. You're beautiful and courageous."

She blinked. "Not that you've thought about me at all."

"I've done nothing but think about you since I met you," he said. He leaned in. "In the interest of full disclosure, I've thought about you naked, too."

Her womanly parts, which had been seriously neglected even before her divorce, gave a big cheer. "This is sexual harassment."

"Nope," he said cheerfully. "We don't work together anymore."

"Damn."

Damn lucky
, a voice in her head corrected.

"So what do you say?" Scott angled toward her. "I'll see what I can do about a settlement and give you a call. Sound good?"

"I'm not agreeing to the naked part," she protested because she felt she should.

"As long as you don't
not
agree to it either." He held out his hand. "Deal?"

"Deal." She took his hand in hers. It felt strong and warm and like it'd know its way around everything.

"Don't freak out," Scott said, and then he leaned in to kiss her.

It was a soft kiss, moist and intent. More than that, it was imbued with all the promise that she'd heard in his words.

He lifted his lips from hers and searched her face. "Okay?"

She blinked. Okay? "I may not have listened to you about the freaking out part."

"I didn't actually expect you to." He handed her the cocktail. "Tell me about your first kiss."

"My first kiss?" She frowned as she took a sip. "It was in the first grade. Mary Jane O'Reilly."

"No kidding?" He looked at her with newfound interest. "And how was it for you?"

Dana shrugged. "She had Cheetos breath."

He laughed. "I've made a mental note to brush my teeth if I have Cheetos."

"Are you going to tell me about your first kiss?"

"Yes," he said. "Fourth grade, Donna James, and I can assure you no Cheetos were harmed in the making of it."

"Thank goodness."

"It was a great kiss," he said enthusiastically. "She knew what she was doing. I thought I was going to pass out."

"Hmm." She was beginning not to like Donna.

Scott took her hand. "It was a pale shadow of how I felt kissing you."

But she was beginning to like Scott an awful lot.

George leaned over the engine of Dolores's car, hands braced on the frame, her back to the front of her garage and the God-awful mural. The portable charger was at her feet, and all she had to do to fix the problem for Michelle was attach the cables to the car battery and turn the engine.

Instead, she stared at the engine and thought about Remy. She'd run out on him in the middle of the night, as he'd been sleeping.

She winced. It'd been a couple days, and she hadn't heard from him. Because she'd hurt his feelings? Damn it—she'd been loud and clear about it just being sex. It shouldn't have been a shock.

The thing was she'd successfully distracted him from tango, too. She should have felt satisfied, but mostly she just felt like a jerk.

"Did Dolores leave you her car?"

George looked up as Pete leaned into the hood with her. "Her grand-niece Michelle is driving it."

He frowned. "The one who lives in New York?"

"She lives here now." George pointed to the house. "She just arrived."

"Poor girl." He looked at the house, sadness around his eyes. "It must be hard to live in Dolores's house and be reminded of her all the time."

George had the feeling that Michelle didn't know Dolores at all, and that was the sad part. "I know all those doilies would drive me to tears."

Pete laughed. "You know how she used to bake cookies in special shapes?"

"Yeah." She smiled. When Poppy died, Dolores had brought her chocolate-chip cookies in the shape of cars to cheer her up.

"Remember when I got that award?" he continued. "She made me oatmeal cookies shaped like fire hydrants to celebrate."

"She was a grand broad."

"I miss her." He faced George. "Who's going to go to the opera with me now? Who's going to find me dates?"

George pointed up to the neon sign. "Ever consult with Esme?"

Pete's brow furrowed. "Think I should?"

"Dude, that you'd even remotely consider it frightens me to death."

There was the loud slide of a window opening, and then Esme leaned out her window. She wore an orange turban that did nothing for her complexion, though the sunniness of her smile counteracted the ill effect of the color.

"I offer a neighborhood discount," she called down. She gave them a thumbs-up and then went back inside.

Pete blinked and then leaned in to whisper, "Could she hear us?"

It seemed unlikely, but the alternative seemed too crazy to consider. "I think she has the neighborhood bugged. She probably has a closet full of high-tech listening devices."

"Cool." Pete pointed to the engine. "Need help here?"

"Nah, it's simple." She picked up the cables and attached them. "Good luck with the opera."

"You wouldn't be interested in going, would you?"

"Hell no." She made a face at him. "What were you thinking even asking?"

He shrugged. "Couldn't hurt. See you around, George."

Halfway across the street, he turned around and called back. "By the way, I'm kind of growing to like the Popeye look. You might think about changing your image to match."

George held up her middle finger.

Laughing, he jogged back to the fire station.

She jumped the car. It took a moment before it turned over, but once the engine sparked, it rumbled happily. She closed her eyes and listened to it. It was the sound of a well-looked-after car. Dolores had never wanted anything different, but if George had had her way, she'd have modified a few things to really make the old tank purr.

Taking the cables off, she closed the hood and went to Michelle's front door.

Michelle answered almost immediately, looking cautious. "Is it running?"

"Yeah." George set the portable charger on the porch. "It needs to run at least half an hour to charge the battery. It needs a new battery, and then it should be fine."

Michelle's forehead creased. "Is that expensive?"

"Not overly." She shrugged. "But in the meantime, I'm going to leave you the portable charger, just in case. It's easy to do. Just remember to attach the red cable to the red head first, and then the black. Got it?"

"Yes," Michelle said, not sounding sure. She lifted the portable charger and set it inside. Then she faced George. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. I don't know why you're being so nice, though."

George sighed. Dolores would have tutted and enfolded Michelle in her arms, saying, "The poor lamb needs love." George wasn't sure what all Michelle needed, but a friend was somewhere near the top of the list. "Think of it as a welcome to the neighborhood. We stick together around here."

Her brow furrowed as though she didn't understand.

George rolled her eyes. "I'm going to the wine bar around the corner tonight. Come join us if you can. I think you'll like Bronwyn, the owner. She lived in New York a while."

"Oh." Michelle perked up. "Okay. Maybe."

She'd done her part. "I have to go back. See you later."

When she was at the bottom of the stairs, she heard Michelle's voice say, "George?"

She looked over her shoulder.