“I should get back to Adonis.” She wasn’t in any hurry to go home, but faced with the prospect of hanging out with Tag alone, she would rather leave. She thought of how Bree had challenged her a minute ago. Surely, Rachel could handle being in the same public place with him. Though, at the moment the small room felt more intimate than the night she went up to his house dressed in almost nothing.
“Do you play pool?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Well,” she answered. Whenever it was slow here, she practiced. And before then she and Shaun used to play at a dive near work.
Where I used to work.
“In that case”—Tag did a neat little move where he lifted the pool stick and let it slide along his hand until the bottom hit the floor—“we’ll drink instead of play. I’ve lost enough money tonight.”
After putting away both pool cues, he came to her and held out a hand. It took her a few seconds to realize he was asking for her coat. She slipped the buttons through her black wool coat and handed it over, then watched as he hung it on the coat rack on the wall. The way he moved exuded strength and confidence. And the way he looked in jeans and a sweater…well, that was heat and sex and temptation personified.
Too much. He’s just too much.
On his way back, he palmed both beers, dwarfing the drafts in his big hands. “It’s one drink, Dimples.”
She blinked, taking in his earnest expression. Her entire life, she’d never been called anything but Rachel or Rach. She tried to decide how she felt about the new nickname. Tried to call up her inner feminist and be properly offended, but she couldn’t feel anything short of flattered.
She accepted one of the glasses and Tag lifted his in a silent cheers.
“Do you and Lucas work together?” she asked after taking a drink.
“Nah. Lucas is in the music business. I’m in the hotel business. But we’ve been friends for a long time.” He leaned a hip on the pool table. He was so…big. Dominant.
Delicious.
No, not delicious. He was not the same word she used to describe cheese-covered fries. He was something different. Something she wasn’t cut out for. She could sense it.
“Cool. Music. That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, the girls were always drawn to him. Music is a sexier profession than hotels.” Tag’s smile was self-deprecating.
“You poor thing.” She had zero doubts he’d collected his share of phone numbers, and she knew exactly what it was about him that made her shy away.
The boy was a Player. Capital P.
“Did he put a dent in your average?” she asked, lifting her glass for another drink.
He grinned and his expression was so blindingly beautiful, she lost track of what she was going to say. He took one step, then another. The closer he came, the more nervous she grew. Each step was purposeful, capable. Whatever he did in the hotel business, he sure as hell wasn’t a maintenance guy. He smacked of power. Of commanding it. Of wielding it. An answering zing in her stomach sent a flutter of butterflies into her chest cavity.
When he was close enough to touch her, he did, gently resting a palm on her shoulder. Warmth saturated her, sending those butterflies on a hectic migration through her limbs. He redirected his gaze to the dining room, but not until after he’d started speaking. “Hey, guys, table’s open.”
“Thanks,” one of them answered.
Rachel turned to see a pair of guys walk into the room and fish quarters out of their pockets. When she looked back to Tag, he was watching her with a quiet intensity that made her want to turn and run.
“Pick a place to sit,” he said. “We’re not done yet.”
* * *
Flirting with Rachel came easy, but her reactions weren’t what he was used to.
The wariness was normal. Women often reacted suspiciously when they first met him, but Rachel’s reaction was more than suspicion of what he might want from her. She acted almost afraid of what she might want from him.
If she was anyone else, he’d make an excuse and bug out, knowing what would follow: her walling up and shutting down each of his advances. She’d given him an inch when he called her Dimples, and damn what he wouldn’t give to see her flash those pair of divots again, but then she’d clammed up the second he mentioned Lucas had been popular with the ladies.
Rachel’s guard was way, way up. She’d been hurt, and if he had to guess, it hadn’t been that long ago.
Nearly every table in the place was open. A few business types hanging out in curved booths. A cluster of women dressed for happy hour at a group of tables pushed together. Rachel sat at a table as opposed to a cozy booth—on purpose, he’d bet. She wasn’t looking to get cozy with him tonight.
He sat across from her, dwarfing the wooden chair. A candle in a jar threw golden light onto her blond hair, creating a halo around her that looked like it belonged there.
“You’re single?” he asked, cutting right to the chase. If she was going to throw up walls, he wanted to know how many questions he could ask before she bricked him out. A risky tactic, but if she stood and stormed off, he knew where she lived.
One eyebrow arched. “Are you?”
“I am tonight.” He held her gaze and leaned on the table, crowding the small space.
Rachel sat back in her chair and lifted her beer, creating physical distance. “Do you always come on this strong?”
“No,” he answered honestly.
Often, he watched, would take a read on a group of girls across the room. Usually, one would break out of her safety zone and come to him. Ask about his hair. Mention she had a bet going with a friend and ask if she could touch it. He always let them touch. Touching led to them agreeing to come home with him, so it was a smart move.
“Adonis favors the toy beaver over the squirrel. What do you think that means?” Her brows closed in as if she was actually considering the absurd question.
Tag laughed. “You’re funny.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Okay. Well, the girl didn’t lack self-confidence, so her trepidation wasn’t because of timidity. She shouldn’t be timid. She was gorgeous. And single.
Strange.
“How long have you lived in Chicago?” he asked.
“A few years. You?”
She was good at throwing the conversation back at him.
“Lived here since birth.” He reached for his beer, anticipating her next question.
As predicted, she went with, “Where do you work?”
“Crane Hotels,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. Normally, he’d only mention he worked for a big hotel chain. But Rachel didn’t know he was a Crane, and once she did, he was curious how she’d react. “I run Guest and Restaurant Services.”
“Ah, then you can write this visit off, I’m assuming.” She narrowed her eyes in faux suspicion. “Are you here to steal Andromeda’s bar secrets?”
Write-off. Not a term often spouted by a girl who worked in the service industry, unless she owned the place.
“What’s the deal, Dimples? How did a businesswoman end up slinging shots in a bar?” It was a guess, but it drew a response. Her mouth softened and dropped open. Then she frowned, probably trying to figure out what she’d said to give herself away.