Page 2 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

I have to get out of here.

My pulse is racing, and my palms are clammy. I set my glass on the table, pushing my chair back and stand up quickly. “Excuse me, I need to visit the restroom,” I blurt out, barely able to contain my panic.

Without waiting for him to answer, I grab my purse from the table and hurry toward the back of the restaurant. I see the signs leading to the hallway with the restrooms but hesitate when I spot a door that opens onto an outdoor patio.

“That’s not the way to the bathroom.” Kevin’s voice cuts through the air.

I glance back to see that he’s following me, his face twisted with anger. Instinctively, I sprint toward the exit. Once outside, I weave through the tables as I evade curious looks from other patrons and turn into a narrow alley next to the building.

“Reese, stop running,” Kevin shouts from behind me. “You owe me an explanation.”

Like hell I do.

The stifling humidity wraps around me like a damp blanket, and when I exit the alley, sweat is dotting my forehead—I’m unsure if it’s from the heat or my nerves. My jeans and short-sleeve shirt offer little relief in the muggy summer air. My body trembles from the adrenaline, my heartbeat racing, and my breaths coming out in short, ragged bursts.

I frantically scan for a place to hide before Kevin catches up with me. Both the bakery next door and the clothing boutique across from the restaurant are closed. Just when I’m about to lose hope, I spot Steel & Ink, a tattoo parlor with its lights still on a few doors down. Kevin is still in the alley, so I dart inside, sighing in relief when the bell chimes.

As soon as the door closes behind me, I lean against it and let out a long breath. The most exercise I get is walking around the city, so running away from a disastrous date is more than I bargained for.

Once I’ve regained my composure, I survey the shop. Four tattoo stations are on the left, each separated by solid black wooden panels and heavy doors for privacy. On the right, there’s a large reception area with leather chairs and polished end tables stacked with magazines. My gaze shifts to the reception desk, and I frown when I see it’s unoccupied.

The shop appears empty, and I can’t afford to wait around and risk Kevin seeing me through the front window. I notice the door to the first tattoo station is open, so I duck inside.

One thing is for sure, I’m deleting my dating profile as soon as I get home. I might even swear off men altogether after this. All I’ve met are a series of disappointments in my limited experience, and it doesn’t seem worth the effort.

“We’re closed,” a deep male voice says sharply.

A startled yelp escapes me as my eyes dart to a man perched on a stool, pencil poised above a sketch pad in his lap. I was so preoccupied with escaping Kevin that I didn’t notice him.

He places his things on his workstation and rises to his full height. As he steps toward me, my jaw drops.

I’ve never seen a man this strikingly handsome before. He looks to be in his thirties and is dressed in slacks and a white dress shirt. He has a chiseled jawline, high cheekbones, and a straight, aristocratic nose. When he runs his hands through his black hair that’s styled in a crew cut, I notice that his shirt sleeves are rolled up and reveal an intricate array of black tattoos that snake up his muscular forearms, the ink contrasting with the powerful lines of his physique.

The stranger’s lips form a thin line, and his piercing blue gaze remains pinned on me as he observes me up close. His eyes narrow in suspicion when he notices my trembling hands and flushed cheeks.

“Did you hear me?” My head snaps back to meet his icy stare. “I said we’re closed.”

I swallow hard, my mouth dry, as I nod. “I’m sorry for barging in. My date didn’t go as expected, and I had to make a quick escape. He didn’t take kindly to being ditched and chased after me. Your shop was the only place that had the lights on, and the door was unlocked. I figured I’d hide here until he gaveup looking for me.” I snap my mouth shut when I realize I’m rambling.

The stranger furrows his brows. “Did he hurt you?”

I shake my head. “It’s just been a while since I was on a first date, but I don’t think constantly talking about your mom is what it should look like. Meeting Mr. Right in New York City is like finding a needle in a haystack—most of the good ones are taken, and the rest avoid commitment or are workaholics.” My eyebrows knit in confusion when a smirk crosses the stranger’s face. “To be fair, he did take me to a nice restaurant—Tuscany Table.”

“They have great mushroom risotto,” he says.

“I wouldn’t know,” I mumble. “My date was on his phone the whole way to the restaurant. He made us stop at the pet store to buy a bag of crickets for his pet lizard and insisted on bringing them with us to dinner.” I cringe at the memory of the waiter’s expression when the bag started to rustle under the table. “Then he ordered for me without asking what I wanted, and the last straw was when he said he suggested his mom join us on our next date. At least I had the good sense to take my purse with me.” I hold it up proudly.

The attractive stranger glares at me, and I mentally chastise myself for rambling again. It’s a habit I fall into when I’m nervous.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Reese Taylor. What’s yours?”

I chide myself for disclosing my full name to someone I’ve just met. For all I know, he could be a con artist, gathering my information as we speak.

“Cole,” he grunts. “Here’s a suggestion. Next time you don’t like a guy, tell him to fuck off and leave.”

My mouth drops open at his brashness, caught off guard by his unfiltered comment.

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