Page 22 of Bullet
A laugh skittered out of me before I could stop it. “How long am I gonna have to hear about that?”
He handed the helmet over. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ll have to earn your way out.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t challenge me.”
A wild excitement flared through his eyes. “Why not? I want to know if you’re up to the challenge.”
Lifting the helmet above my head, I said, “You’ll regret that,” and then pulled it down over my head and straddled the bike behind Harry. I wrapped my arms around his stomach, reminding myself of the muscles that were waiting just beneath his clothes, and off we went.
Unlike our first date which was in a more electric environment, Harry opted for something much calmer for date number two. He drove us a little outside Hoppa to a piano bar with orders designed to share food and a wide array of themed drinks for notable jazz musicians.
I hadn’t intended to show my appreciation for the location choice, but as we were sitting down at the table, Harry chuckled at me. “I take it you like the place.”
It was only then that I realized the stupid smile I had plastered on my face. “Yeah. Jazz music is my favorite. My dad used to listen to it every morning when he’d drive me to school. While most of my friends were jamming out to Panic! At The Disco or Post Malone, I found myself enjoying Etta James and Dizzy Gillespie.”
“Can’t go wrong with those two,” he said, “Etta and Dizzy are good, too.”
My eyes widened and my jaw dropped and then I let out a much harder laugh than I wanted. “Is that the elusive Harry Booth sense of humor I hear?”
He set the table’s provided glass of water to his lips. “Maybe,” he hummed before taking a sip. “My dad, my birth dad, was a major jazz head. In the basement of my childhood home, he built this huge cabinet that was packed with old records, and sometimes we would just sit down there for hours and listen. He had all of Lippa the Bird’s records. I got to take them with me when I left and they’re all I listen to.”
My heart slammed in my chest. “She’s my favorite.”
Harry recoiled a bit. “Lippa the Bird’s your favorite jazz musician? She’s so unknown, whenever I mention her, people look at me like I’m nuts.”
“When I was eleven, my dad and I drove all the way to Minneapolis to see her play live at First Avenue.”
Harry’s jaw fell so wide it looked like it was going to detach from his face. “I was at that show! My foster father took me because I wouldn’t shut up about it! I wore all gold becausePainted in Gold Dustis my favorite song of hers.”
My hands flew to my mouth. “Oh my God.” I leaned halfway across the table. “Isawyou! You were only like two rows back on the main floor.”
“Yes!” He started to laugh. “Holy shit, I can’t believe this. Looks like we were destined to find each other.”
“Looks like it.” A soreness emanated from my cheeks from how hard I was smiling.
Harry cleared his throat and sat back in his chair a little, and all I could think about was how unbelievably cute he looked, getting extra excited about something. He was ordinarily such a quiet and reserved person. I wondered what other topics would open him up like that.
Our food came to our table not long after we ordered it, and conversation carried us through our date like a well-practiced symphony, exactly as it had done the first time.
“You mentioned that you work at Hoppa’s Homelessness Organization?” Harry said.
“I do. I got super lucky and snagged an entry-level position in their youth division out of college, and unfortunately for HHO, they’re overworked and understaffed, so I got moved up quickly to help manage the load. I’m still just a junior social worker, but I get to work hands-on with the kids, which is cool.”
“They did a lot for me back in the day.”
I raised an eyebrow. “They did? Were you homeless?”
“In a way,” he replied. “I won’t get into the details of it, but I didn’t want to be at home. I spent a lot of time out in the streets and whenever I needed a meal or a place to sleep, I’d go there, but then they’d always send me back home.”
“Yeah. That’s one of the things I’m working on right now. I love the organization, but their rule to just blindly send runaways back home is a little harsh to me. Some kids have very legitimate reasons to not want to be in their homes.”
Harry took a quick sip of his wine, and I saw his eyes flash with a painful memory for a brief moment. “Trust me, I know.”
I decided not to push that topic. If he wanted to bring it up, he would, maybe once we got closer.
Not that we would be getting much closer, because this was all just a ploy.
It was only after a shared plate of cheesecake, another glass of wine, and then a handful of cups of coffee that we finally had to approach the topic of ending the date. When I mentioned it, Harry looked up at me and then rolled his eyes.
