Page 3 of One Night Only
I take a seat on the plush velvet banquette, expecting Jake to sit across the table, but he slides in right beside me, his body pressed up against mine.
“You’re a lawyer, right?” Jake asks, taking a sip of his whiskey.
I quirk a brow. Is he serious? It’s only then that I realize he probably has me confused with a plethora of online dating contenders in his inbox.
“No…?”
He seems to ponder my response, closing his eyes briefly before chuckling once under his breath. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Wrong one.”
I cast a longing, sideways glance at where Dallas remains seated at the bar. I almost wish Jake had stood me up. I have a feeling a guy like Dallas would be much better company.
“I’m not normally into blondes, but you’re beautiful.”
Surprised by his words, I turn back to Jake as he places a hand on my thigh, his pinkie almost indecently grazing the skin beneath the hem of my dress.
I kind of want to slap him. Throw my wine in his face and walk away. Cocky, presumptuous asshole. But before I can say or do anything, something shudders loudly against the tabletop, and I look down to see that the cell phone sitting next to Jake’s drink is vibrating. He checks the caller ID and I expect him to reject the call—because that’s what most people would do when they’re on a date. So, when he grins and proceeds to answer the call, my jaw actually drops.
“Hey, bro!” he exclaims, finishing what’s left of his whiskey before holding the empty glass in the air and obnoxiously shaking it to rattle the ice in an attempt to get the bartender’s attention. “Yeah! That was fucking epic, bro.”
With narrowed eyes, I scowl at the man beside me, taken aback by his audacity. Unsurprisingly, he’s oblivious to me. And, for the seven minutes he’s busy talking to hisbroon the phone, I’m otherwise non-existent.
For the record, my sister is a dead woman.
Forty minutes later, I’m not sure how I’ve survived this so-called date, but I find myself awkwardly standing outside the bar, next to Jake, shivering against the cold night air as it whips against my wine-heated cheeks. Unfortunately for me, Jake uses this to his advantage, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around me as if he has a chivalrous bone in his body. I stiffen involuntarily.
A car rolls to a stop at the curb, honking its horn, and I look at it at the same time as Jake says, “That’s my Uber.”
I tentatively meet his eyes.
“You ready to get out of here?” he asks, clamping his bottom lip between his teeth.
“I’m… nowhere near Tribeca,” I say, remembering he told that me he lives in Tribeca at least six times during our forced conversation.
“That’s okay.” Chuckling, he adds, “I don’t mind taking the scenic route…” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively, and I’m suddenly very conscious of how close our mouths are. When his gaze dips to my lips, I can’t help but cringe. Oh, God. He’s going to kiss me. I squeeze my eyes shut, leaning as far away from him as I can without falling to the pavement.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
With a relieved exhale, I turn to see the bartender standing in the open doorway to the bar, confused to find him looking at me. Apparently, I’m ma’am.
My brows knit together. “Um… yes?”
His smiles behind his perfectly waxed mustache. “There’s a phone call for you inside.”
“A… a phone call?” I almost laugh. Who the hell is calling me at a bar I’ve never been to in my life.
The man continues. “Yes, your nanny. She said the children are being unruly and won’t go to bed.”
What the—it’s then my gaze flits to the window, and inside, I see Dallas still perched at the bar, looking at me from over his shoulder with a knowing grin, and suddenly it all makes sense.
Swallowing hard, I turn to Jake with a rueful smile. “Sorry, I should go take that. My cell must’ve died.”
Jake balks, not even attempting to school his disgust. “You havekids?”
“Yeah.” I beam, probably completely over the top, butdesperate timesand all that shit. “Three under five. All girls!”
I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but I’m almost certain I see the precise moment all the blood drains from poor Jake’s face. I have to fight to contain my own laughter.
“Oh… okay. Um… well—” He pauses, scratching the back of his head. “I guess I should just—” He thumbs the Uber still idling at the curb.
