Page 7 of Polished Off

Silly. Capable. Sexy and a loyal friend. With the air finally clear between us, rumors and misconceptions laid to rest, it feels as if the world is moving at warp speed. Is it too soon to pop the question?

I give myself another mental order to settle down. Just because she’s admitted to being interested in me, it doesn’t mean she’s ready for me to declare my undying love. This isn’t a romcom, and I’m no Hollywood leading man. I need to slow things down. Romance her. Prove I’m serious about how I feel for her and that she can trust me not to hurt her or wreck our friendship.

“Have dinner with me.” Did I mention I’m not the poetic type? I rub my hand over the back of my neck, the rough catch and scrape of my calluses distracting me from my fumbled demand.

“Kind of already trying to have dinner with you, but you’re being a queso dictator, Tater-head.” She calls me that when she wants to be irritating. Little does she know, she can call me whatever ridiculous nickname imaginable, and it won’t faze me at all.

“Good. Then this counts as our first date. And it’s lunch, not dinner. So dinner. Tonight.” If I put enough command into the words, that makes them automatically true.

“Can’t tonight. The speed dating event. Remind me again why I even agreed to it? The smutty trivia night was such a better idea,” she grumbles.

“Still, you gotta eat, and the whole point of the speed dating round is that it’s done in an hour. Leave the twins to work the bar afterward, and come out with me. You deserve a break.” The college kids who work the bar and serve the cocktail tables are fraternal twins and more than capable for a night.

“You’re really sure about this, then? You want to date me?” Hesitation softens her voice to a near whisper, and I fight not to let her worry make me waver.

Jill’s uncertain the feelings we’ve been hiding for all this time are strong enough to go the distance. That’s fine. I’m sure enough for the both of us. I can be patient. Okay, I can try to be patient.

Eventually, Jill Elders will realize we don’t need time to date and fall in love. We’ve been unofficially dating since we met.

Chapter

Nine

JILL

Whoever came up with the idea for speed dating events deserves a throat punch. I’ve seen a lot of awkward hookup attempts in my years behind the bar, but an hour of table swapping, in five minute increments of swings and misses, was brutal. Things are loosening up now that the timer’s put away and people are able to mingle and move around. Still, there’s an aura of hungry hope strangling me.

“You look like you’re ready to abandon everything and run away.” Tate’s deep voice behind me ruffles the hair along my nape an instant before his scruffy jaw scrapes along my neck.

Electricity dances over my skin anytime we touch, even accidentally, so it’s nothing new. Somehow, this is different, though. Maybe, it’s because I’m not forcing myself to ignore it.

“Would it be so bad if I did?” I’m only half serious. I love my bar. I love my life. Mostly. I definitely love knowing that, as the owner, I can decide we’re never doing another one of these speed dating events again.

“You’d miss me if you ran away from home. Admit it.” The playful cockiness I’m used to getting from him is back, but there’s an edge to it now I never noticed. A possessiveness I hadn’t let myself hear.

“Maybe, I’d take you with me.” Long-buried insecurities have been clawing at me all day. Daring me to test him. To test myself.

If I let myself fall for Tate, will I become my mother? Still me, but muted behind a veil of putting my man’s desires and dreams ahead of my own? Will he become my father? Loving and loyal but oblivious to always being the top consideration?

“There’s no maybe here, Jill. Get that out of your head, right now. I’ve waited two years for my chance with you. You run anywhere; I’m following. End of discussion.” He’s fierce. Intractable.

Without fanfare or endless discussion, the tight knot of worry snarled in my chest unfurls. Just a bit. When I think on it, I realize Tate’s always managing to say or do exactly what I need. Usually before I even realize I need it.

I turn from within the cage he’s made of his arms around me to hold on to the raised brass rail of the bar. With the crowd’s murmur behind me blends into a white noise while I block all the intrusive thoughts and worries. I focus on the fluttery race of my heart at having him so near. The heat wrapping around me warms the chill I always get when I’ve spent the evening opening beer coolers and mixing drinks in icy metal shakers.

“I’m not running.” Any other time, any other man, and the promise would be too soon. Too rash.

But this is Tate. My best friend. If I’m honest with myself, it’s a thrill to anticipate all the intensity I’ve seen him devote to his work being turned toward me. And there’s no mistaking the intensity he’s been directing my way all day.

All I can envision is the moment when a dam is breeched. Nature unbound and ferocious at having been contained too long. My vow has loosed the floodgate. I’m already shivering under the weight of his stare. Hot need clenches and pulses in waves that radiate from deep within me outward.

“Good girl. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy chasing you if you did. The catching would be…” He trails off, allowing his eyes and the press of his body as he steps even closer to finish the thought. He’s taller than me by enough inches so the thick ridge of his erection presses into the soft curve of my stomach.

He’s in khaki shorts now, the soft twill of them no match for the iron bar of a cock that put on such a filthy show this morning. Heat and hardness push into my belly, and it makes my core ache with envy. I want to feel that monster right where I’m neediest. Feel it fill and stretch and overwhelm in all the ways I’ve been missing for so long.

“You like being my good girl.” He’s not asking. His eyes move from my face down to where my breasts press against the pale-aqua T-shirt with my bar logo stretched across them. My nipples, tight and tingling under his gaze, distend the letters and turn my arousal into a shamefully public display.

“I-I do like it,” I stammer. His face dips toward mine, and my chin lifts without conscious thought. Needing his kiss.

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