Mach stared at her like he saw things even she didn’t know yet. Her mouth went dry.
The only logical conclusion was that she was misunderstanding. She shook her head, trying to make the moths stop flitting around in her brain so she could think.
Nooo, he wasnotasking her to hook up. Even if that was precisely what it sounded like. This was not some kind of hot-guy pickup line and a way to save face in front of all these people. Although, given that she was a noob to this entire experience, she wasn’t totally certain.
So she took another sip of her drink.
Swallowed it thoroughly this time.
Got it down with zero issues.
Then she wiped her mouth with her fingertip, since she was going to need to keep her wits in place and come from a sound position of power. A girl couldn’t do that with the prospect of dribble on her chin.
"Or," she said, ready to offer the only acceptable alternative to whatever it was he was suggesting. "I’m going to finish this phenomenal cocktail." She pointed to the drink. "Then I’m going to eat an entire donut—with no help." That last part seemed like an important bit to add. "And then we’ll go our separate ways." Yes, perfect amount of strength in that statement.Well done, Darla!"Maybe we’ll see each other again on some dating site? Who knows?" She lifted a shoulder, then focused on her drink.
He said nothing, and it’s not like she could look up at him. If she did that, then she’d have to acknowledge that she’d just turned him down without even being certain he’d asked her to do anything beyond a game of Yahtzee. So, no, she didn’t look up. But even without looking, she knew he hadn’t moved.
If she wasn’t who she was, then of course she’d say yes to his offer. He was attractive, with all that sex appeal oozing all over the stage. There was no doubt why women fell under his spell and came out as a notch on his belt buckle.
The taste of pineapple soured at the thought, and she firmed every ounce of resolve because she wasn’t a notch. Not a notch kind of girl.
She was the girl that guys married. The kind they brought home to their family.
Fine. That she’d never been married? Not her fault. Tom’s family had adored her, though. One out of two wasn’t bad.
"You are thinking awful hard for a woman who just shot him down," Bax said, studying her and then Mach.
Mach was clearly not perturbed in the slightest. His eyes danced with humor, but no mischief. Like he enjoyed her being off kilter. Not that he was relieved or anything.
"That’s really what you want to do?" he questioned, and the way he asked seemed more than genuine. "Stick with the predictable?"
No. But, also, "Yes."
She didn’t even slightly choke on the word because Mach was the king of the bad boys, and she couldn’t allow that into her life.
"Your call," Mach said. Something switching off in his expression.
And that was that. The band started up with another song, Mach and Bax eased her off the stage with their banter and laughter. Then they jumped right in like the little public conversation wasn’t a big thing at all.
And when the band was done with their set, and the Dimefront ladies all paired off with their guys and headed off, she and Mach were by themselves in a little back room by the kitchen.
"Thank you for a really fun night." Darla wasn’t sure at all what to do with her hands, so she just let them rest at her sides.
"I meant what I said up there." The intensity of who he was seemed to wrap around her and hang on. "Let’s ditch the predictability and have a little fun."
She nibbled at her bottom lip, because part of her wanted to say yes. But that part was only a sliver and the rest of her was way more logical.
"Let’s, uh, pretend for a moment that you are enjoying yourself with me and actually want to be here."
"I’m on board." The extra twinkle in his eye was unnecessary.
"Here’s what will happen if I keep talking." This wasn’t hard to see coming.
"I’m dying to hear. I love when someone knows the future. Makes it easier for me," Mach said.
"You’ll ask me lots of questions. I’ll have fun talking about all the things no one ever asks me about. I’ll loosen up and move to rum shots. Then I’ll be horribly embarrassed. I’ll go home to the bedroom I’m renting from my friend. You’ll go to your penthouse downtown. I’ll realize how ridiculous I sounded. You’ll realize these are seconds you’ll never get back." She fluttered her eyelashes. Was it dramatic? Uh-huh. Would she do it again? Also, uh-huh.
"I don’t live in a penthouse downtown," he said, deadpan.
