Gabe grins, the cocky lopsided kind of grin that makes my stomach flip, then sets a hand on my back again, heating me up once more. “Too bad about your twin sister. But I like both of you,” he says in a dirty whisper.
Tingles race down my chest. “Good to hear,” I murmur.
With his free hand, he calls the bartender over. “Hey man,” he says with a charming smile. That must be his PR grin, the one he uses for the sports media. “How’s it going? You having a good night?”
“I am,” the guy behind the bar says. “What can I do for you?”
Gabe looks at me, running his hand possessively over my back. “My date would like a chardonnay, and I’ll take a bourbon.”
I squirm a little bit in my seat, stifling a smile at the claim.
“Coming right up,” the man says, then spins around to grab glasses.
Gabe returns his focus to me. “So the piña colada comment, Ellie. Tell me something,” he says, his tone a little demanding.
“Yes?”
“Do I make you nervous?”
More like nervous and hot. But I’m not ready to be that candid.
I do admit, “You did at first, but then I realized you’re a good guy, and I shouldn’t be nervous around you.”
I looked him up because he’s the opposite of my ex. He’s good and charming. He’s the boy next door.
Okay, the guy next door. Or that’s the idea.
His lips curve upward in intrigue. “Is that so?”
“You always helped everyone around the neighborhood. Our block was filled with the prettiest lawns. And I seem to remember you made the best mac and cheese,” I say, giving him a flirty smile.
“Ah, so you like me for my gardening. Duly noted,” he says, and when the bartender returns with our drinks, Gabe thanks him. A couple of guys walk toward us, the mustached one staring at my chest. Gabe glowers at the guy, and he snaps his gaze away.
With that leer vanquished, Gabe smiles at me, then lifts his glass. “To you,” he says.
I lift mine. “To you looking me up,” I say, clinking with his tumbler.
“Or to you looking me up,” he teases.
Finally. We’re flirting in a way I can handle.
“Hey, now. You were going to tell me why you looked me up. I’m still waiting,” I say with a smile, then I take a sip of my wine, and he knocks back some bourbon.
“Ladies first,” he says.
Fine. If I must. Best to put this out in the open anyway. “My friends challenged me to go on a date with a good guy,” I say, laying out the truth and nothing but. It’s easier than playing games. I don’t have it in me to toy with him. Not after I stumbled out of the gate.
He inches closer to me. “Of all the men in Los Angeles, you picked me for this experiment?”
“Did I pick badly?” I counter innocently, fluttering my lashes. Yes, I’m getting my groove back.
He lifts his glass, saying nothing, then swallows some liquor. “I’ll surprise you by the end of the night, Ellie,” he says in a smoky tone.
My stomach flutters. “Good. I love surprises.”
“Me too. But tell me more about this…good guy challenge,” he says, his gaze locking on mine.
“No, it’s your turn.” I touch his arm and let my fingers settle there. I’m totally copping a feel, and Gabe knows it, judging by the way he glances down at my hand then back up to meet my eyes.
“You said you’d tell me why you looked me up,” I prompt, reminding him of our texts from earlier. “Don’t leave a gal hanging.”
He lets out a satisfied breath, like he’s glad I asked. “When I saw you last night, I remembered that Christmas party at my aunt’s house when you were in college. Remembered the mistletoe. Thought about what I’d wanted to do to you that night.”
This is no longer playful flirting. This is hot, racy, dirty talk, headed only one direction. I grip the edge of the bar so I don’t climb him right here. Trying to keep my cool, I look up at the empty space above our heads. “But there’s no mistletoe here, Gabe.”
When our eyes meet again, his smile comes at me like a seduction, slow and sensual. “The night is young, Ellie,” he says, in a voice hinting that maybe he’s not so nice.
Then he shifts his tone to something less incendiary. “So you’re here in Los Angeles.”
I’m grateful for the change in topic. I was about to melt like a popsicle onto the floor. “I moved here for work. I had a great new opportunity on a show I wrote and am producing.”
I raise my glass for another sip, and as the wine slides past my lips, I spot a ginger-haired man walking toward us, his gaze lingering on my face as if he recognizes me, maybe from the TV show I acted in?
The redhead slows as he gets closer to me, and the sound that comes from Gabe’s throat is feral. A low, menacing growl, like a dog.
Aimed at the man.
Holy fuck.
Is that hot?
Yes, that is hot.
The guy passes us, weaving into the crowd. Once he’s gone, Gabe’s focus turns back to me. Completely.
“Do you like the new job?” he asks, as if he didn’t just turn part wolf a second ago.
Okay, so we’re doing it this way. “I’m sure I will. We begin table reads and stuff next week, and I start meeting with Webflix for prep tomorrow.”
“Then I shouldn’t let you stay out too late,” he says, with a naughty curve to his lips.
“I suppose I should behave and go to bed early,” I say, then cross my legs and sit higher, straighter, like a very good girl.
He laughs softly. “So, it seems you think I’m a good guy. Does that mean you like good guys, Ellie?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” I ask.
I’m a little unsure now of the answer, though. I thought he was this sweetheart. He had a reputation in the neighborhood as the kind of guy you’d take home to meet your mother.
At least, that was what I’d heard back home. Except the moms didn’t know this Gabe. They knew kind, helpful Gabe. They had no idea he’s got an intense, possessive side. A side that growls like he’d rip the head off anyone who looked at me the wrong way.
My pulse spikes at the thought, so I give my answer an addendum. “So I guess I’ll just surprise you too.”
He slides his arm around me and squeezes my waist. “Sweetheart, you are full of surprises,” he says.
His fingers are kindling. They stoke the flames inside me. My skin turns hot. I can’t believe I thought lawn games would be Gabe’s speed.
Maybe I’ll ask him after I finish this glass. We turn to small talk about my new home, and when I finish my wine, I excuse myself for the ladies’ room, heading down the dark corridor in the back to freshen up.
But after I wash my hands and leave the bathroom, the red-haired man is waiting for me in the dimly lit hall, right across from the ladies’ room.
My guard goes up.
“Aren’t you Ellie Snow?” he asks, stepping closer, his tone pushy.
Warning bells sound.
“Yes, I am,” I say, putting on a polite but distant smile as I quickly assess the fastest way to escape him.
But he stands between me and the exit. It’s a level three now. His eyes travel over my body in an unwelcome tour, and I cross my arms protectively.