“Good,” he said before waving the bartender back. “Wes, we’re going to sit here and have some food. Okay?”
“Of course. What can I get you?”
“Anything look good to you?” Mick asked me.
“The mushroom flatbread?”
“Great. We’ll take a flatbread and a shrimp cocktail.”
“And another round?” Wes asked.
“Absolutely,” Mick said before shooing him away.
“Do you come here a lot?” I asked, despite my brain telling me not to.
“If I have a business meeting, I’ll usually bring them here for drinks, but then we’ll get a table. Sometimes I like to pop in for a drink by myself, and I aim for this corner.”
“I didn’t mean to pry. Ugh, now I went and admitted what I was thinking. I can’t seem to keep it on the surface with you.”
This made Mick laugh. “That’s pretty damn good. I don’t want BS, and for the record, I can hardly see straight when I’m with you.” He leaned in as he said it and ran his nose across my cheek. “This okay?” he asked when he got to my ear.
My heart was pounding in my ears and my stomach was in my toes. This was risky, but it felt decadent. I took a beat to answer, and he leaned back.
“I didn’t mean to get close in public,” he said as if reading my mind.
“Don’t apologize. I liked it. A little too much. It’s just ...”
“I get theit’s just, and just know if we weren’t in a public space, I wouldn’t have moved. As long as it was okay with you.”
If my heart had pounded before, now it was punching the lining of my chest, straining for and wanting a type of affection it had never received.
Wes arrived with our drinks, and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to toss mine back, cancel the order for the food, and go somewhere private with Mick. Deep in thought, I was running through depraved ideas when Mick spoke again.
“Later. Now, tell me more about the clothing and how you found out about it.”
“Really?” I asked, feeling like a fool.
“Really.” Mick picked up his Scotch and took a sip, never taking his eyes off me as he waited for me to respond.
Sadness swept through me, filling the emptiness inside. This was what it was supposed to be like when a man cared about a woman.
After taking a sip of my own liquid courage, I answered his question. “I was watching a fashion reality show with Priss. You know, everyone would have two days to complete a certain collection, and then the judges vote someone off. There was one designer who was making all these cool gender-neutral designs. Both Priss and I loved them. Of course, Tommy ...” I stopped midsentence, realizing I’d messed up.
“Go on, no judgment here,” Mick said, catching my slipup.
“Anyway, he didn’t care for the designs when Priss showed him. I know better, but she keeps trying with him.”
Mick nodded, his eyes warm pools of understanding, making me believe his original toast to push forward.
Wes appeared again with our apps. “Chef sent out this crab dip on the house. It’s new, and we’re giving it a try.”
“Thanks,” Mick said, turning his attention back to me.
It was all too much ... the high ceilings filled with my overabundance of emotions, and the murmur of small groups gathered around parts of the bar hummed in the background. The intimacy of Mick’s corner, up against a mirrored wall, felt like a cocoon rather than an all-too-open place where I was exposed. Then there was this man who wanted to know more about me.
“The real question is,” he asked, “did the designer win the show?”
I shook my head. “Sadly, no. She should have, but they went a more traditional route. Female and male looks. Don’t get me wrong, they were gorgeous, but something about this other designer’s looks intrigued me.”
