Текст книги "Cardinal"

Автор книги: Sara Mack

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

Chapter Thirteen

What do you wear on a date with an ex-rock star?

I send Jules a picture captioned How about this?  I’ve paired khaki capris with a flirty black top. It says “I’m fun,” but in a reserved way.

Absolutely not, she sends back. Are you going to a luncheon?

That’s the problem, I type. I don’t know where I’m going.

It’s true. All I know is I need to be ready at seven o’clock and I’m running out of time.

I wish I could be there to help, she sends. Damn job. Let me see your dresses.

I sigh and head over to the closet. I have two sundresses, both of which Jules talked me into buying the first week I was here. One is sky blue with a lace overlay, thin straps, and a sweetheart neckline. I would say it’s beach wedding appropriate. The other is a deep red and gold paisley print, more bohemian, with a halter top and deep V-neck. Both dresses fall just above my knee and show off plenty of leg. I take a picture of each and send them to Jules.

#2!!  She responds almost immediately. There’s some jewelry in the bedroom. See if my bangle bracelets are there.

I walk across the hall to Pete’s room and find a jewelry box on the dresser. I pull out several bracelets, try them on, and decide on an intertwined set that looks like hammered brass. As I put everything back in its place, I’m grateful for Jules. Without her I’d be wearing shorts and flip flops tonight.

I pause to consider the thought. Maybe that’s what I should be wearing. I mean, does a flirty dress send the right message?  I have no idea what Latson hopes to gain from this date, aside from the obvious. Hell, I don’t know what I’m looking for, either. What I do know is it never crossed my mind to back out. Whether I’m seeing him to tease him or for something more, I’m not sure. But, whatever it is, it makes me happy.

Cardinal rule.

About an hour later, and not a second after seven, there’s a knock on the door.

“Punctual, isn’t he?” My brother glowers over his glass. Of course he would make it back from the gym in time to harass me.

“You said you were okay with this,” I huff as I walk past him. “I thought we were making progress.” After last night’s party, Pete conceded Latson and I do have something in common – music.

He finishes his protein shake. “That was before I saw what you’re wearing.”

I make a face. God forbid you ever have a daughter, I think. “I’m wearing perfectly acceptable date attire,” I say. Sure, I’m not wearing a bra because my dress ties around my neck and has no back, but it’s tight enough to keep everything in check. Other than that, I’m wearing Juliana’s bracelets, strappy sandals, and my hair in loose curls. It’s not over the top by any means.

When I get to the door, I compose my expression and pull it open. I expect to see Latson in all his cocky, t-shirt-wearing glory. Maybe he decided on one of those fake tuxedo tees to dress things up, or maybe he chose a plain white one to get me going.

I’m wrong on both counts.

Standing in front of me is one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen.

Latson is wearing a lethal combination. Dark jeans. A fitted black tee beneath a black sport coat. Just trimmed, styled hair that looks like I ran my fingers through the front of it.

And his signature sexy smile.

He looks like he stepped off the pages of an Abercrombie catalog.

“Hi.” His eyes drink me in. “Did you wear that dress just for me?”

“No,” I tease him to calm my pulse. “This is how I always look on a Monday night.” I glance over my shoulder. “Right, Pete?”

“Don’t involve me in this,” he warns from the living room.

I turn back to Latson. “Yes, I wore it for you.”

His eyes darken and he loses a bit of his playful attitude.

“ ... and any other guys we happen to come across tonight,” I add. “I figure why not?  Maybe I’ll meet a hot waiter.”

“I heard that!” my brother yells.

I smile innocently as Latson shakes his head.

It’s probably not wise to stress Pete out with my comments, so I step into the hallway. “Bye!”  I wave before shutting the door. I check the handle to see if it’s locked and when I move to the side, Latson’s hand brushes along the small of my back and lands on my hip. I try not to react as he ushers me toward the elevator. “Where are we headed?” I ask.

“To a restaurant I think you’ll like.” He pushes the button for the ground level. While we wait, he leaves his arm around my waist and runs his thumb over the bare skin just above my dress. He leans in close. “Unless the place has hot waiters,” he whispers. “Then we’re leaving.”

I look at him out of the corner of my eye and try to breathe normally.

We make it to the parking garage where he opens his car door for me. “I’m glad you get to ride in the front this time.” He smiles.

“Me, too,” I say as I sit down and swing my legs inside. He rounds the back of the car as I look around the interior. I know nothing about cars, but I can appreciate a classic when I see one. I’m busy running my hand over the cream-colored seat and inhaling the smell of leather when he gets behind the wheel. “What kind of car is this?”

“A 1970 Chevy Chevelle.”

“She looks high maintenance. How long have you had her?”

“Since high school.” He turns the ignition and she rumbles to life. “My dad saved her from the junk yard. It took us almost three years to restore her.”

He backs out of the parking space, and I study his profile. It sounds like he and his father were close. He’s never directly mentioned his mom. Is she still part of his life?

“Tell me about your family,” I say, curious. “We should do the whole getting-to-know-you first date thing.”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow as he steers with one hand. “You don’t know enough about me?”

“I know next to nothing about you.” It’s true. Internet aside, I know he owns a bar and he’s good at sarcastic banter.

He sighs like he’s humoring me. “What burning questions do you have?”

“Well  ...” I tap my chin. “I know a little about your dad. When was the last time you talked to your mom?”

He looks both ways before pulling out of the parking garage. “A week ago Friday.”

I like his answer. That was the holiday weekend. “Did you take Oliver to visit for Memorial Day?”

“No.” He glances at me. “It was my birthday.”

What?  My eyes grow wide. “I missed your birthday?  Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You were recovering from surgery,” he says like that’s an acceptable excuse. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

It is a big deal. I’m sure everyone knew but me.

“What’s wrong?” Latson asks.

“I wish I would have known. I feel bad.”

“Why?” His tone turns suggestive. “What would you have given me?”

“Stop,” I chastise him. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

He grins and I shake my head. “Anyway ... what gifts did you get?”

“None.” He stops at a light. “My mom thought it was her birthday.”

I frown.

“She has dementia.” He gives me a sad smile. “When I showed up with a cake she thought it was for her.”

Oh no. “That’s ...” I trip over my words. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Latson steps on the gas. “She lives in an assisted living home and she seems to enjoy it. She’s not the same, but she’s still my mom. A few times she’s mistaken Oliver for me and me for my dad.” He meets my eyes. “I don’t mind, though, because it means she still remembers something.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Does anyone else visit?  I mean, do you have help?”

“I take O to see her once a month. My dad goes and sometimes Dean drops by.”

That makes no sense. “Why would Dean visit?”

Latson slows the car and turns a corner. “My parents raised Dean. We were a foster family, and he was a placement.”

I stare at him in awe. “That’s so cool.”

My response takes him by surprise.

“Your parents fostered,” I explain. “I bet you had kids around all the time. Mine wouldn’t even consider an exchange student.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well. There was never a dull moment.”

“I would have given anything to have another girl in my house,” I sigh. “Pete, Josh, Adam … I love them to death, but all they did was eat and make messes. Both of my parents worked, so my brothers got stuck watching me. They didn’t appreciate it. I spent many an afternoon playing Barbie dolls by myself.”

Latson pouts with fake sympathy.

“All they knew how to cook was macaroni and cheese, pizza rolls, and toast. Sometimes the mac and cheese was served on the toast.”

“It had to get better as they got older,” he says.

I give him my ‘oh please’ look. “It did, but only because I got older, too. I didn’t need them as much.”

“Poor Jen. I know deep down inside they cared. Hell, they fed you. They could have let you starve.”

I roll my eyes.

“And I’m sure they gave your boyfriends hell when they came over.”

“As a matter of fact, they didn’t,” I say. “Pete and Josh were out of the house by then, and Adam was ready to leave. My dad was the one who stepped up for me.”

“Good ‘ole dad,” Latson says as he makes another turn. “I can relate. Mine was really protective of Audrey.”

I’m a little stunned he mentioned his sister. We’ve never discussed her, not that we’ve had the opportunity. I want to tell him I’m sorry about her too, just like his mom, but it feels like I’d be overstepping. I don’t know if the topic of Audrey is, or will ever be, up for discussion.

 Not much later we make it to our destination. Latson pulls to the curb in front of a valet stand, next to a sign that reads, “Geja’s Café. Fondues and fine wines.” A valet opens my door and helps me out of the car, while Latson rounds the front and hands another his keys. Once that’s taken care of, he wraps his arm around my waist again, and we walk down a small flight of stairs to the restaurant.

“Fine wines,” I muse. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Possibly.” I get the lopsided dimple smile as he opens the door. “Honestly, I was thinking more about the atmosphere when I picked this place.”

We’re greeted by a hostess who finds our reservation, then leads us through the restaurant to a table for two in the back. It’s set in an alcove with thick, tapestry-like drapes flanking each side. It’s intimate, as is the entire restaurant. The room is candlelit, the tablecloths are a rich, deep red, and the walls alternate between old-style brick, red paint, and shelves upon shelves of wine. Spanish-style classic guitar fills the room, and it appears only couples are dining tonight. The place oozes romance, and I can see myself getting swept away if I’m not careful.

The hostess leaves us with menus as we settle in our seats. As I reach for mine, I wonder how many times Latson has been here. Specifically, how many women has he wined and dined this way.

“What do you recommend?” I ask as I open my menu. “I’ve never had fondue before.”

“Never?”

I shake my head. “You must come here a lot. Name your favorite.”

Instead of taking the bait and telling me, he picks up his menu as I continue to peruse mine. There are so many options and they all look delicious, especially the desserts. I want to try one of everything, but I don’t want to order the most expensive item available.

“We should get the Premiere Dinner,” Latson says, pulling my attention away from the chocolate covered fruit. I look up and my jaw drops.

“What are you wearing?” I blurt out.

“What?” He looks confused. He’s leaning back in his seat wearing a pair of black framed glasses. They’re just nerdy enough to be hot, especially on him. Paired with the jacket, the hair, and the lighting he’s gone from Abercrombie model to Clark Kent.

“What’s with the glasses?” I ask.

“Oh. They’re for reading. The print is small.” He takes them off and slides them into an inside lapel pocket. “I guess you’re learning some of my secrets tonight.”

“I guess so.” I blink. I want to tell him to put the glasses back on. Not that he doesn’t look good without them, it’s just  ... wow.

Our waitress appears and Latson orders the dinner he mentioned for both of us, along with a bottle of red wine. Once she’s gone, he says, “I hope that’s okay.”

I nod. I was checking out what he ordered as he spoke. I’ve got four courses of deliciousness headed my way. “Is that what you usually get when you come here?”

“I haven’t been here in years.”

“Please,” I scoff. “This isn’t your go-to date spot?”

He frowns until the realization hits. “You’re trying to figure out how many women I’ve fondued.”

I laugh. “I don’t think fondued is a word. But, yes, you’re right.”

A gentleman arrives with our wine. He presents the bottle, uncorks it, and then pours us each a glass. When he leaves Latson asks, “Do you really want to know how many women I’ve fondone?”

I smile. “Yes. I fondue.” Don’t ask me why. It won’t do me any favors to know I’m one of many. However, I’d like to know what I’m getting myself into. After Derek, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

“I’ll only tell you if you tell me,” Latson says. “You need to spill some secrets, too.”

“That’s fair,” I agree. “I’m sure you’ve got me beat by a mile anyway.”

He smirks, sits back in his chair, and starts to count in his head. He makes a show of it, squinting, then shaking his head no as he mentally adds and subtracts. I pick up my wine and take a sip. An image of him wearing nothing but his glasses and a pair of boxer briefs jumps in my head. Hello. I take another drink.

Then another.

And another. He’s still counting.

Jesus. Does he need a calculator?

Finally, he looks at me and smiles. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. My answer is four.”

“Four?” I set my glass down. “That’s it?”

“What did you expect?  I’m a guy from Peoria who owns a bar.”

“You’re also Gunnar Latson, lead singer of Sacred Sin, who dates supermodels and pop stars.”

“Ah. You’ve visited Wikipedia.”

“Well  ...” I shrug.

“Listen.” Latson leans toward me. “I’m not saying I haven’t made out with a bunch of girls. Or messed around with them, or flirted with them, or thought about taking them home. What I am saying is, full-blown relationship wise, I’ve only been with four people.”

I lean closer to him. “Then why is there a rumor going around that you don’t do commitment?”

“Because that’s what I said.” His hand finds my knee beneath the table and gives it a gentle squeeze. “I have Oliver to think about. I’m not willing to risk committing to someone who only wants me for one thing. It will confuse him. Especially when it doesn’t work out and they leave.”

I pause. His words make sense. Latson has a huge responsibility when it comes to his nephew. “So, obviously, I’m in the ‘thought about taking them home’ category?”

“No.” He squeezes my knee again. “You’re in a category all your own.”

Before I can ask him what that is, we’re interrupted by our waitress bearing our appetizer. A tray of assorted breads and fruit is set on the table, along with a creamy cheese fondue. As I reach for a chunk of bread, Latson grabs my wrist.

“Nope. No food until you tell me how many.”

“How many?”

“Guys,” he says. “You agreed.”

Ugh. He’s right. I have to stop assuming things about him because, unfortunately, I’ve got him beat in this area.

“Six,” I mutter.

“What was that?”

“Six.” I look him in the eye. “The number that comes after five.”

His eyebrows shoot up. I can’t tell if he’s shocked or amused. I feel the need to clarify. “There were two high school boyfriends, a couple mistakes in my early twenties, a three-year relationship, and then the cheating douche Derek.”

Latson studies me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. Then, a slow smile spreads across his face. “You’re full of surprises. You know that?”

I am?

He lets go of my wrist. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

It never crossed my mind to lie. “It’s all I’ve ever been.”

He smiles again and reaches for a grape. “Let’s eat.”

~~~~~

After dinner, back in the car, I know I ate too much. It was hard to resist all that food. In addition to the bread, we had salad, lobster, beef, chicken, shrimp, vegetables, and then chocolate dipped marshmallows and strawberries for dessert. If I ever go to Geja’s again, I’ll need to fast the whole day prior.

“I’m so full,” I say as Latson drives. “Remind me not to eat tomorrow.”

He laughs. “Do you want to go somewhere and walk it off?”

“Please.” Not only does moving sound good, but I’m not ready for this night to end.

When we weren’t tasting everything on the table, Latson and I were talking. He’s easy – easy to get along with, easy to get sarcastic with, and easy on the eyes. We also share the same sense of humor. When I challenged him to a duel with my fondue fork, he didn’t hesitate. Our little war earned us some annoyed looks from one of the more romantic couples, so we stopped fighting and cracked a few hushed jokes at their expense. From then on we engaged in more mature behavior.

Much more mature.

There’s no denying there’s chemistry between us. Not only did his hand find my knee more than once, his eyes found mine, his fingers found mine, and his thumb?  It found the corner of my mouth when I had a little bit of chocolate left there. It’s a good thing I don’t have a heart condition, or I would have passed out when he traced my bottom lip before wiping the dessert away. I’m smart enough to know moments like that don’t happen very often. Like I said, I’m not ready for our date to end because I’m curious to see what else might happen.

The longer we drive the more the city grows. The buildings get taller and the streets get busier. I vaguely recognize the area as the same route I took when I drove to the aquarium, although we don’t make it that far. Soon, we’re out of the car and walking toward Millennium Park.

“Have you been here yet?” Latson asks as we stroll along the sidewalk.

“No. My tourist stops have only included Shedd and the beach.” I step closer to him to avoid a passing cyclist. “And the hospital.”

He chuckles. “Yes. That’s definitely a landmark.”

We stop at a street corner to wait for the light. Other people join us and some continue around us as the red hand blinks and the timer counts down from ten. Dusk has settled over the city, yet it seems alive as ever. When traffic stops and our mob moves, Latson weaves his hand through mine to keep me beside him. We’re headed toward two tall illuminated structures which, once we get closer, I realize are fountains. Water pours from the top of each tower into a large pool that extends between the two. Adults wade ankle deep as kids chase each other and splash around.

“In the daytime the fountains have faces projected on them,” Latson says. “Water shoots out the middle, and it looks like the mouth is spitting. Oliver thinks it’s hilarious.”

“I bet.” It would be fun to bring him here. I can see myself playing in the water right alongside him. We’d have a blast or, at least, I would. “The next time you guys visit let me know. I’ll tag along.”

Latson’s hand tightens around mine. “You really like O, don’t you?”

“Um, of course. Your nephew is the coolest seven-year-old I know.” He’s also the only seven-year-old I know. But, he’s a good kid. He made me a get well card for crying out loud. Aside from wandering away from his uncle once, I’ve never seen him act out. Even when he was told to go to bed the night of the Nerf war he didn’t complain.

“He thinks you’re pretty cool, too,” Latson says. “In fact, I think he might have a little crush on you.”

Awww. How sweet. “You just made my day.”

Latson stops walking. “Our date did nothing for you?”

“No.” I bump his arm with mine. “I meant it added to my already good day.”

He smirks and we round the fountain, passing by a building with a patio and outdoor seating. I assume it’s a restaurant. Further along we come across a sculpture that looks like a giant metallic bean. I want to stop and take a closer look, but we pass by that, too. I get the feeling he’s leading me somewhere. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.” He nods, indicating our stop is up ahead.

I follow his eyes and can’t miss it. We’re approaching a huge outdoor amphitheater. Exposed steel arches form a trellis over the most grass I’ve seen anywhere in the city. Gigantic pieces of metal that look like boat sails surround a massive stage to our left, and, in front of us, people use the lawn to enjoy the evening air. Some sit on blankets, others stand and talk. I catch a few throwing a Frisbee. We pass a sign that says we’re at the Great Lawn, part of the Jay Pritzker Pavilion.

“Wow,” I breathe as Latson continues to lead me on to the grass. We stop in the center, hundreds of feet from the stage.

He smiles. “Imagine what it would be like to play here.”

“Have you?”

He looks down, then back at me. “Maybe.”

“This is  ...” I let go of his hand and take a few steps. “This is unbelievable. How many people can it hold?”

“Thousands. There are a lot of free concerts in the summer.”

My eyes get big. “Did you say free?”

“I take it you’ll be adding some entertainment to your tourist to-do list?”

“Absolutely.”

I look around some more. It would be a thrill to play here. I hope Latson knows how lucky he is to have done it. I can picture the view from the stage – the crowd and the lighting. I can imagine the energy, hear the applause, and see a guitar in my hands. I can feel a pick between my fingers and sense the anticipation of striking an opening chord. My skin breaks out in goose bumps and I shiver.

“Are you cold?” Latson appears by my side. He starts to take off his jacket.

“No.” I shake my head. “Places like this they…”  How do I put it?  I don’t want him to think I’m weird. “Places like this give me chills. But good chills. Excited chills.”

He steps closer, intrigued. “Why?”

“Because it’s music,” I say. “It’s creativity. Its escape. It’s sharing a piece of –”

Before I can think his hands are on me. One slides around the back of my neck while the other wraps around my waist. He pulls our bodies together, my palms landing against his chest, and he kisses me.

He didn’t ask and he doesn’t hesitate. He just kisses me.

All of the innuendo, everything he’s ever said, is delivered through his mouth and his hands. I melt into him, clutching his shirt to bring him closer, and he responds by finding my lower lip and gently biting it. My knees go weak and I lose track of time. This is the best kiss I’ve ever received. Outside, under a warm, dusky night, in front of a stage with a handsome musician. My pulse races with the perfection of it.

When he pulls back he rests his forehead against mine. “If I don’t stop now I won’t.”

I catch my breath. “Then why did you kiss me?”

“Remember when I said Oliver had a crush on you?”

I nod, biting my lip to suppress a smile.

“His uncle does, too.”