Had I asked her outright who her boss was? Would she have told me if I had? Before I could ask about her degree in psychology and why she’d been bidding, she changed the subject quickly.
Fuck! I stuck my head under the water and closed my eyes. I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. I wanted to believe she was exactly who I’d thought. A nice girl. A nice sexy girl. A girl who knew nothing about baseball and even less about me.
All a crock of shit.
This was why I didn’t date.
I’d learned to guard myself. So much of my life was public, I did what I could to keep some semblance of privacy. If somebody wanted to know something about me, all they had to do was google my name and in less than one minute they could find out all sorts of shit, some true and a whole lot of lies.
I’d trusted Holly.
I clenched my jaw and turned the water off.
Fine. She wanted to date a ball player, that’s what she’d get.
One date with a fucking ball player.
South Pearl Streetwas a partially gentrified older neighborhood just south of Downtown. Huge oak trees hung over the narrow streets flanked by hundred year old houses on both sides. Local café’s, ice cream parlors and restaurants randomly popped up making the neighborhood charmingly unique.
It took fifteen minutes just to find a parking spot. I was in no hurry though. In fact, I should probably just turn around and go home.
I glanced at my phone.
Ten minutes past. Part of me hoped she’d just leave and another, gullible part of me wanted her to wait. Maybe I’d still take her home. My little head was fine with that but the rest of me felt sick.
I locked the car and tried not to feel anxious as I stalked down the street towards Alesandro’s.
She’d waited.
Dressed in a short black strapless dress, it was fitted through the bodice and then flared out at the waist. Her legs looked even more perfect than they had last night. The curves I’d held last night tempted me to take her in my arms, to welcome her with a kiss. Not too casual though, something that promised more later. Except she was a reporter.
And she’d lied about it.
She’d left her hair down tonight, rich chestnut curls twirling their way around her neck and down her back. Her eyes smiled before the corners of her mouth lifted.
She had my warm up jacket draped over one arm.
Fuck. I forgot her shoes.
When I got closer, her smile faltered. “I thought you were gonna stand me up.” She bit her lip.
I stopped myself from sliding my arm around her and then down her waist. I wasn’t going to reassure her.
“Parking.” I stared at the ground, afraid that if I stared into her eyes too long my resolutions would go out the window. I jerked my head toward the door. “Should we go in?”
She paused for a second and then nodded.
The scent of Mediterranean spices permeated the entire street. I loved Greek food and my mouth watered as I opened the door. Didn’t think I’d be hungry tonight but at least I’d enjoy the food, if not the company.
A breeze lifted her skirt and I couldn’t keep my eyes from appreciating her legs. Damn if my cock didn’t twitch and come to life. It was much less discriminating than my brain.
“I have reservations for six,” I informed the host. “DeLuca,” I added.
“Mr. DeLuca?” He pursed his lips and frowned. “You’re late. I gave your table away already. If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll have something for you in…” He glanced at his watch. “About half an hour.” He held his pen poised over his list. “Would you care to wait in the bar?”
I glanced at Holly and she shrugged. At my expression she glanced toward the door. Suddenly I didn’t want her to leave.
“We’ll wait.” I told the swarthy host.
