Dozens of people and loud bar music surrounded us, but her gaze never wavered from mine. She listened, savoring every word, and made me feel like there was nothing she’d rather hear.
I stared at my beer bottle for a second. Five-point-four percent alcohol by volume. I didn’t need to run that equation to know the prickly heat crawling over my skin wasn’t from the beer.
It was from Lauren.
And the best part? I didn’t want it to stop.
Chapter Five
LAUREN
Tipsy. I wasdefinitely tipsy.
Tequila was to blame for the current state of blissfully inebriated affairs, such as they were. His tie sat crisply folded beside his beer bottle, green with small pink shapes, and the collar of his white shirt gaped open. And I wanted to taste him right there.
It was late, the bar nearly empty, and far, far past the proper end for a normal business meeting, but this stopped being a business meeting when we walked through the door.
None of my other first dates—or fourths, for that matter—involved hole-in-the-wall bars or innuendo-laced discussions of architecture. They never involved Matthew Walsh either. This was all rather peculiar, much like that fun, buzzy feeling in my body.
He smiled at me, a smug, knowing expression that told me he was watching my inhibitions evaporate by the minute.
“If you hadn’t come out with me? What would you be doing tonight?”
“I’m not winning at work-life balance these days,” I said with a grimace. “I’d probably be working on a few overdue projects.”
Matthew held up his palm and I stared at it for an embarrassingly long time before meeting his high five. His fingers laced with mine, and for a moment, I could only gape at the way they layered together. He was touching me and I liked it, and somewhere in my head I knew this was strange. I wasn’t into boys right now. I mean, I wasn’t into girls, either, but I wasn’t doing the whole boys and dates and worry about whether I shaved my legs thing.
“Balance is overrated.”
I laughed. “Yeah? And what would you be doing? If you didn’t maneuver me into drinking with you all night, that is.”
“Maneuver? That’s strong.”
He rubbed his thumb against my palm, and I bit down on my lip to prevent the tipsy giggles from leaking out.
It was just a thumb circling a palm, and it shouldn’t have been especially delightful, but if confronted with a choice between this and calorie-free cupcakes, I saw no contest. I liked this, and I didn’t want it to stop.
“Some new projects landed on my desk this afternoon. Probably digging into those.” He finished his beer and shrugged. “It’s what I love, but I don’t balance work and life either. Actually, I hate the phrase ‘work-life balance.’”
“Why?” I set my empty glass aside, a clear signal for a refill. Considering the painfully overt manner in which the waitress mentally undressed Matthew and then threw some boob action in his direction each time she dropped off another round, I was surprised we weren’t getting more of her attention. A greedy part of me knew it owed something to the heavy, hungry gleam in his eyes, and the methodical way in which he watched my every move, as if he was stalking his prey.
I liked that, too. Rationally, I knew there was something unusual about liking some late night prey-stalking, but unusual was my operating speed. The Commodore’s idea of an exciting family adventure was getting lost in the desert with nothing more than a compass and Swiss Army knife. Bizarre? Yes. Traumatic? Not even close, but it meant some of my thoughts followed slightly unorthodox paths.
Matthew gesticulated as if trying to reach for something, and sighed. “It’s probably semantics, but work-life balance presumes that you’re reaching a homeostatic level, where things are in perfect proportion. It never happens, not for anyone I know, but people are constantly beating themselves up and feeling guilty when it’s unrealistic in the first place.”
I didn’t understand half of what he said, but he looked damn sexy saying it. He gestured when he talked. A lot. It was adorable and I wanted my mouth on him.
Like, right now.
“So…you’re good with crazy hours?”
He shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t see it as balance. It’s about the fulcrum.” I shook my head, not following his reference. “A fulcrum is the point where a lever rests, is supported, and pivots. Think about a seesaw. It’s just a lever positioned over a fulcrum. Force on either side pivots the lever. On a seesaw, the fulcrum is always in the same place—the midpoint. But in life, and other mechanical applications, the fulcrum moves. Sometimes it’s far to one side because force is exerted there. That’s been my life for just about a decade now. There are days, sometimes a lot of days, when I hate it. But I mostly love it.”
He motioned with his hands, miming his seesaw example.
“Some days, I hate it, too,” I sighed. “But mostly love. You could probably teach me a few things about enduring the hate days.”
Matthew’s eyes seemed to darken, turning a deeper, more brilliant blue, and a slight smile pulled at his lips. “I’d teach you anything you wanted, Lauren.”
