Page 160 of On Merit Alone
He chuckled, “But you would rather I lift your skirt right here in the kitchen instead?”
I shrugged. That sounded okay to me. His chuckle got deeper.
“You will, without a doubt, be the death of me,” he laughed. And then he pulled away, his fingers threaded through mine as he began to pull me along. “But we gotta go. C’mon.”
Hours later, Ira had delivered on his promise. Though I wasn’t drunk since we were indeed still going to work, I was so happy.
After locking up and promising that he had scheduled Cash’s dog walker to come by and check on him, Ira took me to a dessert bar downtown. It was a pretty popular spot, the kinds we usually tried to stay away from. The more people around, the more likely he was to be both recognized and bothered by fans simply wanting to meet him. But apparently he was willing to both brave the crowded bar and fend off the brave few who came up to him for me, and this serious attempt at “taking me out for real.”
The gesture meant a lot, even though he couldn’t follow through on it. About two seconds after he sent the first fans away, a couple who had just moved to Denver and their first date in the city was one of Ira’s games—Ira’s head suddenly hung mid-conversation, a curse spilling from his mouth.
I tried my hardest to hide my smirk, but I couldn’t. Instead, I just said, “Hey, I?”
“Yeah?”
“You know I don’t care if you sign a few autographs? I like that you love your fans,” I said.
His head shot up so fast. “Really?”
“Really.” I smiled. “So go catch them before they leave. They were so sweet.”
“They were,” he agreed, springing up from his seat and jogging toward the front of the bar to try and catch the couple. Only, a couple steps into his getaway, he stopped and doubled back. Jogging back to our table, he gave me zero opportunity to prepare before his lips were on mine. Quick, but claiming. When he pulled back, he licked his lips, his eyes saying something entirely different from the simple words that came out of his mouth. “Thanks, Six. You’re the best.”
And then he was jogging away.
I sat there and watched his interaction with the couple. Smiling as he smiled, laughing as he laughed. Feeling connected to him even as he was a room away, not even looking at me. And later, after I’d tasted all the desserts I wanted and drank hot chocolate and lattes before dinner, I sat with him on the top of a rooftop lounge he’d rented out for a couple hours for small plates and a tasting menu as we overlooked the city.
“Aren’t we going to be late?” I asked.
“Are you tired?” he answered with a question. I shook my head. “Then we’re good. We only have to be at that thing for like an hour, two tops. So I want to spend as much time with you alone as I can.”
“Is this how all your first dates go?” I asked. I don’t know what made me ask this now after all the time we’d spent together. I guess since I wasn’t actively looking to gain feelings for Ira, I hadn’t cared what I was like compared to his other girls. But now, as I was realizing those feelings were there anyway and probably here to stay, I was curious.
“Not even close, Six.”
“Well, what were they like?” I asked, peeking at him through my eyelashes.
He leaned back. We were sitting on lush outdoor lounge chairs, angled slightly toward each other and toward the glass railing that acted as the only barrier between us and the open air outside the building.
For most of the night, he’d sat with his arm outstretched between us, his hand on my thigh or my knee, running patterns up and down my limbs. Now, with his elbow on the other arm of the chair, he looked at me. His eyes trickled down the length of my face in inspection. I squinted my own eyes in preparation.
“Are we doing this now?” he asked.
“Doing what?”
“The whole dating history thing?”
I fidgeted. “Are we not there yet? Sorry, I’m not all that experienced with this.”
His laugh confused me. “No Six, we’re not there. Or at least I’m not. I’m light years beyond the point where I pretend like any woman before you comes close to the feeling you give me, or that there will be anyone after you.”
“Oh,” I said.
One side of his mouth lifted, his lips mirroring my response. With amused eyes, he said, “You still want to know, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Please?”
He shook his head. “Sweetheart. I'm thirty-four. I’ve had girlfriends, I’ve had casual relationships. I’ve done all the things you do when you have no idea what your future looks like. I wasn’t a saint. I wasn’t loose either. I just was waiting, I guess.”
