Page 14 of The One Night Dash
The kid blinks, finally really looking at him. Recognition flickers. Not full-on fanboy awe, but that half-second ofis that who I think it is?
Dash leans one elbow on the counter, casual but solid. “Pretty sure a woman shouldn’t have to go without her phone for twenty-four hours.” His mouth twitches at the corner, something that says he knows the power of persuasion.
The kid shifts, clearing his throat like Dash’s tone rubbed off on him. “I mean … I guess I could, uh, run a diagnostic? Maybe check the board; see if it’s just the connector.”
Dash nods once, like that’s the obvious answer. “Appreciate it. We’ll come back in an hour.”
The kid bites his lip, then shrugs, sliding the phone into a tray behind the counter. “Yeah, an hour. That should be enough.”
When we step back out into the cold, I glance at Dash. “You didn’t threaten him, did you?”
Dash smirks, eyes on his own phone screen as he taps out a message. “Didn’t have to. Some people just need reminding that they can actually do their job.” He nods left. “Let’s grab a drink, maybe a bite to eat while we wait.”
Following him, I say, “I can catch a cab. I don’t want to tie you up all night.”
“Never been tied up,” he states. “Not sure I’d like that much.”
I feel my face burst into flames. “I didn’t mean it like that. I?—”
“I’m messing with you, Noelle.” He smiles as he throws open a door to a pub. “Come on; I’m starving.”
Inside the pub, I focus on my surroundings, needing a distraction from the exchange that just took place, trying not to overthink it because … of course I will.
The pub is all dark wood and low ceilings, strings of evergreen garland strung up early for the holidays, and it’s not even Thanksgiving yet. Other than that, it’s nice. Chill. The kind of place I can see being packed when there’s a hockey game on the TV, but not like the Bears hangout, Icehouse. There’s just one TV, and most people are too busy talking over pints and steaming plates to pay that much attention to it, or the fact that Dash Sterling just walked in the door.
Dash leads the way to a booth in the back, sliding in like he’s been here a hundred times before. I take the opposite side, clutching the laminated menu, even though I can’t focus on a single word.
“So,” he says, draping an arm along the backrest, “you a burger-and-fries girl or more of a salad-and-something-light type?”
I arch a brow. “You saying I look like someone who orders lettuce?”
His grin is slow, easy. “You look like someone who pretends to like lettuce so you order it, but steals fries off the guy sitting across from her.”
My lips twitch, despite myself. “You’re not wrong.”
The waitress appears, pad in hand, and Dash orders two burgers and a large plate of fries without even asking.
As soon as she leaves, he leans in just enough for me to feel the shift in the air. “You know, you blush easily.”
I want to deny it, but the heat crawling up my neck betrays me. “You’re a little much, you know that?”
“And you’re fun when you’re flustered,” he says, settling back with a satisfied look. Then his lips twist up. “All right, I have to confess something.”
“Here and not a church?” I joke.
He rests his elbows on the table. “When I stepped into your place, I went up the wrong set of stairs while I was looking for you.”
“Alright, give me twelve Hail Mary’s and move on?” I lift a brow, waiting for the punchline.
His grin fades into something more careful. “I found your office? Cute little set up with a desk, stacks of notebooks, and?—”
My breath snags. “That’s private.”
“I didn’t snoop,” he says quickly. “Didn’t need to. Your computer was open. Read a bit about a?—”
“You—what?” I freeze.
“I know I shouldn’t have. But once I started, I couldn’t stop.” His eyes are smiling. And although I should be some kind of embarrassed, and I am, I also secretly want to know what he thought, since no one else has read any of my twenty different works in progress—no one.
