Page 59 of Lost Love on 6th Street

“You’re welcome,” he says with a kindly nod. Southern fucking hospitality at its finest. Then he kisses me.

I grab his sides as tight as I can, inspired by primal need. I’d fall if he weren’t pressed so hard against me. And speaking of hard, I’m not sure if his belt buckle is digging into my belly or something else. I’d welcome the latter.

Before I can sneak my tongue into his mouth again, Luke withdraws and kisses the corner of my mouth, then my cheek, then the hinge of my jaw. He stops at my ear. So close that I can hear the saliva move in his mouth as he decides what to do. “I want—” he stops short of finishing his sentence.

“I want” hovers in the air. We are both wanting. That much is clear.

Luke gulps as he lets out a breath. “I want you so bad, but I’m not coming up tonight.”

My tingling nerves screech to a halt, an eighteen-car pile-up of senses.

“Not to assume you’d invite me up, but . . .” Luke says, resting one arm over my head, his free hand on my waist.

“No, that was on my mind.”

For a man who was just whispering how badly he wanted me, he looks remarkably calm. “I don’t want to rush it. Don’t want you to think that’s all I’m after. Cause trust me, I’m after a whole lot more.”

How can I resist smiling at that?

“How’s that for southern hospitality?”

I thwack him in the chest. “Rude.”

Luke laughs and pulls me into his arms though I’m trying to squirm away. Trying and very purposefully failing. “I’m teasing you.”

“And I hate how much I love it,” I grumble.

Luke leans down for another kiss, and I rise to meet him on my tiptoes, his arms wrapped around my shoulders as close as two people can be. I imagine we resemble two characters in an old movie. Kissing with an unearthly amount of passion.

“Can I see you again?” Luke whispers against my mouth.

“Obviously.”

He grins, then kisses my forehead. “Goodnight, Eleanor.”

I sigh mournfully, gripping the front of his shirt. “Goodnight, Luke.”

He gives me one more kiss before he releases me. The second I am no longer surrounded by the vise of his arms, my body wilts.

I try not to watch him go, or else I might be tempted to run after him. I reach into my bag and find my keys immediately. Guess I should thank them for being a pain in the ass earlier, bought me some extra time with him.

I unlock the front door and glance back at Luke’s car. He’s standing by the front door waiting for me to get inside.

He has the nerve to tip the brim of his hat down, a smirk on his lips. I’m reminded of the throbbing pulse in my core.

Fucking cowboys.

20

LUKE

I lean against the back wall as the band I’m working tonight, Orson Dwells, goes through their soundcheck, playing covers of Spoon songs. They’d be pretty faithful covers too if not for the fact they’re an acid jazz band with a lead singer that raps half the time.

It sounds like it doesn’t work, but trust me, it works.

It’s one of the rare gigs where everything is going as planned. The band is easygoing, Lonesome Rose is running like clockwork, and my team is all on their best behavior.

I catch Randy’s eyes at the soundboard. He’s been doing some last-minute checks for me. I lift my hand and mimic drinking while mouthing, “Coffee?”

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