Page 8 of Polished Off

A sudden cheer goes up in the bar behind me, stealing his attention and startling me from my near-drugged stupor. I whip around my head to see nearly every patron in the place watching the Jill and Tate Show. Catcalls and shouts of encouragement and “it’s about times” ring out from all corners of the room.

“I’m not kissing you for the first time with a damn audience, baby.” The only reason I hear his low growl is because my face is tucked so close against him to hide from the crowd. I’m not shy, but I also don’t make a habit of being the center of the entire bar’s attention.

Tate moves back, dragging me with him step for step until he’s next to the drop counter separating the front of the house from the doorway to the kitchen. I follow blindly, content to allow him to lead the way wherever as long as it gets us out of this spotlight.

“Well, folks, looks like Minute Meet Up has its first match!” Shelly crows from her spot at the table where she’s been sorting through the participant’s tally sheets. Her redirect captures the attention of most everyone, and I’m grateful. Not grateful enough to host another speed dating night, but thankful nonetheless.

“Are the twins okay to handle the rest of the night?” Tate’s question is the reminder I need to pull my head out of the foggy lust haze, so I can run my business like a whole adult.

“Oh, yes, they’re good to go. They’ve both done it plenty of times and were already scheduled to be here ‘til close tonight, just in case. We talked about my leaving early when they got here. I’m ready.”

I’m ready. The two words land between us with a weight I know he registers. And I am. Ready, that is. After the shortest but longest wait in history, I’m finally ready to see what comes next for me and my best friend.

Chapter

Ten

TATE

When I told Jill to have dinner with me tonight—and yes, it was a demand and not a request—I didn’t have a solid plan. In all the time of wishing I could get past her walls and open her eyes up to the possibility of an ‘us,’ I should have come up with one. At the very least, some general ideas for how to romance her.

And maybe, it’s because I’ve spent my time focusing on containing my feelings to avoid ruining our friendship, but now that the time to woo has arrived, I’ve got nothing. That’s okay. For every bit of game I’m lacking in the romance department, I can make up for it with my knowledge of Jill.

I know my Jill with a bone-deep certainty that convinces me I can make her happy. Sure, she has secrets and mysterious thoughts I’ve never been privy to, even as her friend. A lifetime of knowing her won’t be long enough to discover every depth of her magnificent mind. Tonight, though, right now, I know exactly what a perfect first date for my Jill will be.

Her hand in mine while I lead her from through the crowded bar then out the front door feels like a claiming. Showing Magnolia Point, and the world, this woman is mine. Together, we walk the short distance to the studio where I do my glasswork, veering to the side and the entrance to the loft above it where I live.

“There’s roast beef and au jus in the crockpot to make French dip subs. Are you hungry?” It’s a question I already know the answer to. When it comes to the slow-cooked beef sandwiches with melty cheese and toasted rolls, she’s always starving.

“Don’t tease! You know the answer to that!” Her laugh makes my heart race, and my chest swells with macho pride. Woman happy. Man made his woman happy. I am man. It’s some Neanderthal shit, but I’ll own it.

“Sweetheart, of course, I do. Because I know you. I know what you need.”

Confidence fills me. Today has been a wild rollercoaster of highs and lows. From embarrassment to absolute joy.

“Prove it then, Tater-head. Feed me and give me what I need.” Challenge rings in her teasing tone. As always, my body responds. The difference is, now I don’t have to hide it. It’s not a war between arousal and hopelessness.

We eat with the same comfortable companionship as we’ve shared dozens of times before this. It isn’t until after I’ve grabbed the prepackaged tub of chocolate chip cookie dough from the fridge and a couple spoons from the drawer that I notice the change in her. I set our favorite guilty pleasure dessert on the table, pull back her chair back to face me, then kneel in front of her.

“Where’s your head gone?” I’ll be damned if I let us slide backward. If she’s worried or overthinking or whatever’s going on in that beautiful head of hers, I’ll stop it.

“This is a date.” I’m not sure if she’s asking or telling.

“It is.”

“And lunch? Also a date.” Still not sure where she’s headed with this.

“It was.” I wait, letting her work through whatever’s eating at her.

“So are you a three date rule kind of guy? Or what’s the timeline?” A hint of attitude peeks through now, and I’m damned if it doesn’t make every drop of blood in my body race to my dick so fast I get dizzy.

“A three date rule kind of guy? Do explain.” I have an idea of what she’s getting at, but I want to hear her say it. She clearly needs to hear again that I’m not an experienced seducer of women. I’m no virgin, but if she’s still laboring under some gossip-fueled idea that I’m the type to have a little black book, she’s got another think coming her way.

“I just mean…” Silence stretches between us, her doe-soft brown eyes searching mine. Finally, as I knew she would, she caves and finishes her thought. “It’s only that…that this thing between us, this new thing. But it doesn’t really feel new,” she rushes out.

I can tell it took a lot out of her, and she slumps back into her chair as if I just dragged her through a 10K marathon. Which I would never do, because knowing her as well as I do, I know she absolutely loathes running.

“Probably because it isn’t new. Not even a little bit, baby. It’s been you and me for a long, long time now. The only thing new is, we’re calling it what it is.”

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