Page 37 of Wild Abandon

Name: Salvatore Latrone

About Me: In my mind, I sing like Frank Sinatra.

Age: 32

Occupation: Quality Food Manager, The Sipping Room

Interests: Politics, food, travel, theater

Dressed in dark jeans and a button-down, Salvatore has a full head of rich black hair and dull-looking brown eyes. His nose is wide, and his lips are thin, but for what he lacks in the looks department, he certainly makes up for in the personality department.

Apparently, Nate’s new profile for me is attracting a new caliber of gentlemen.

Believe it or not, Salvatore actually read my profile. Hallelujah!

It’s Wednesday night, band night, so the bar will soon be packed when the show goes on. Until then, Salvatore and I have a chance to talk.

“What kind of music do you play?” He swirls his merlot around in his glass.

Laurie brought me over a Guinness, but I sent it back and asked for a glass of the merlot as well.

I let the hem of my skirt ride up my leg, revealing the right amount of thigh. My long-sleeved top is snug with a plunging neckline and a dangling necklace that falls at just the right spot to accentuate the positives.

Sweeping my hair to the side, I showcase my neck. “Contemporary mostly. I’ve played with the symphony but only in the winter months. Year-round, I am a wedding performer, so I tend to stick to a proposed set list.”

“A romantic.” He leans into my side of the table, his glass in hand hovering near his mouth. He is coming off a little too strong, but I am allowing it. “Tell me, Crystal Reid, what is your favorite way to spend a Saturday?”

Good first-date question. “Well”—I skim my bottom lip with the tip of my tongue—“I like to sleep in.”

“Yes, lazy mornings in bed. I agree. What else?”

“A late breakfast. Maybe a good book.”

“And wine?” He takes a long sip, leaning in even further.

His eyes hold steady on mine and then roam down to my mouth and onto my chest. I am suddenly wondering if I took things from zero to sixty way too fast.

“Yes. Wine.” I take my own unladylike large gulp of wine and sit back into my seat. “So, um, what kinds of things really make you laugh?”

Salvatore tilts his head and wets his mouth in a move that’s more sloppy than sexy. “A good woman. A fine wine. You.”

That answer makes no sense. I feel the V of my brows form. I look down at the wood table and wonder if this guy has his own go-to moves as well. I’m guessing they are all about leaning in and talking wine.

“You are like a fine wine, Crystal. You only get better with age.”

This guy is so smooth that he almost doesn’t notice the tense being who has just approached our table. Standing upright, towering over a seated Salvatore, Nate is intimidating in a black T-shirt and a black baseball cap.

His arms crossed, he stares down at Salvatore until finally getting his attention. “Beat it.”

What are we? In tenth grade?

I open my mouth to argue, but Salvatore speaks up first, “I’m sorry, but the lady and I are having a conversation.”

“And, I’m telling you, it’s over.”

Salvatore gets an uncomfortable look in his eyes. He puts his hands up in the air and pushes his chair away from the table with his feet. “If you two are involved, I don’t need to get in the middle.”

“We are not involved.”