Jaci Burton (10 page)

He shrugged. “What if I’m not all that interested?”

“It would probably help if you learned at least a little bit about wine. That way, if you take a woman out who does like wine, you can make suggestions, or even order for her.”

“Is this a date?”

Her lips lifted. “No. But if it were, and I were your date, it’s possible we could be selecting wine from this list.”

“No. If it was a date, we wouldn’t be at this restaurant.”

“Really? Why not?”

He shifted to face her. “Not my kind of place.”

“Really. And what kind of place is your kind of place to take a woman on a date? The club you took me to?”

“What’s wrong with the club?”

“Other than your groupies hanging all over you, your bartender-slash-waitress friends acting like bodyguards to make sure no woman gets within a mile of you, no quiet time for talking and getting to know each other via conversation, and the fact that the media knows it’s a place you hang out and party so they’re more likely to be there to take your picture, there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“So we’re here tonight to do what, exactly?”

“I’m showing you how a normal date with a woman goes.”

He laughed. “Seriously? You think I don’t know how to treat a woman?”

“At the moment I have my doubts.” She leaned in and showed him the wine list. “I’d suggest the sauvignon blanc or the cabernet. They have some lovely brands here. If you’d like, I’d be happy to talk about them with you.”

He pulled the wine list from her and set it on the other side of the table. “I can’t believe you brought me out here tonight to teach me how to take a girl on a date.”

“Woman. Anyone over the age of eighteen is a woman, not a girl.”

“Whatever.”

“See, the fact that you can’t discern the difference indicates your need for coaching.”

The muscles in his jaw tightened. “This has nothing to do with my image.”

“I disagree. The way you treat women has everything to do with your image.”

The waiter came over. “Good evening. I’m Richard and I’ll be
your waiter tonight. Have you had a chance to peruse the wine list?”

Cole handed the wine list back to Savannah. “I’ll have Patron Silver, straight up. Make it a double. The lady would like to choose her own wine.”

The waiter nodded, obviously too polite to indicate whether Cole had made some fatal social mistake by ordering his own drink and deferring to Savannah to order wine.

“I’ll have the Beaulieu Vineyards Private Reserve Cabernet,” Savannah said, “Just a glass, thank you.”

The waiter left and Cole took a drink of water, so pissed he couldn’t see straight.

“I don’t think you got my point.”

He leaned toward her and whispered, not wanting to cause a scene. Image, and all. “No, I don’t think you got my point. What difference does it make if I order wine or if the woman I’m with orders her own? Do you think it matters to me that I don’t know jack shit about wine, or that a woman I take out on a date knows more? It doesn’t.”

She laid her hand over his and squeezed. “I’m not trying to make you feel inferior. And this isn’t about wine. It’s merely a cursory overview of what a date might be between a man and a woman. The problem is, you take everything personally, as if it’s an insult, when it isn’t meant to be.”

He had nothing to say to that.

“I merely suggested it might be fun for us to go over the wine list together, Cole. You’re the one who made it contentious.”

He had nothing to say to that, either.

Except he might have jumped the gun a little.

The waiter brought their drinks. Cole knocked back his tequila and let it burn its way down his throat, settling his irritation. Savannah took a sip of her wine and looked over the dinner menu.

“I might have overreacted.”

She lifted her gaze to his over the top of the menu.

“I don’t like being told what to do.”

She laid the menu on the table. “I don’t recall telling you anything.”

“You brought me here.”

“I did. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Yeah, but you know what I mean. It feels like a trap.”

“Going out to dinner is a trap? In what way?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m some monkey you’re training. I do know the right silverware to use, by the way.”

“Good to know. I’ll cross that off the list.” She picked up the menu again.

He opened his mouth to fire back a reply, but the waiter returned to take their order. Cole hadn’t even looked at the menu yet, so while Savannah ordered, he scanned, and ended up ordering a nice, thick steak.

Obviously, he was going to need the protein to engage in this battle of wills tonight.

When their salads arrived, he took his napkin out and made a production of showing Savannah how he placed it in his lap.

She rolled her eyes.

“Did I do it right?”

“That’s not necessary, you know. I haven’t scheduled you in for a manners and etiquette lesson.”

He picked up his fork.

“Yet,” she added.

She started eating, and he caught the tips of her lips curling into a smile.

Smart-ass. He should eat the damn salad with his fingers, but with his luck someone would take a shot of it with their camera phones and it would end up in the tabloids.

Then he
would
get compared to a monkey, and Savannah would be proven right.

He’d be damned if he let that happen. So instead, he ate and stewed about how he’d been suckered into coming on this non-date.

By the time dinner arrived and he’d plowed through his steak, he was more settled.

And more than a little curious.

“What makes you think I don’t know how to treat a woman on a date?”

Savannah sipped the coffee the waiter had brought her, then set the cup in the saucer. “I didn’t say you couldn’t. But as I’ve been trying to explain to you, image is everything, including how you treat the women you go out with. This was merely my way of assessing your treatment of women.”

“Yeah? And how am I doing so far?”

Her brow arched. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“No. Because this isn’t a real date. You and I went at it right away because we’re in business together. If this had been a date, I’d have treated you differently.”

She clasped her hands together on the table. “Really.”

“Yeah.”

“And what if the next media personality who interviews you tough is a woman? Will you treat her the same way you treated me tonight?”

“Did I treat you badly tonight?”

“No, but that’s not my point. My point is you’re reactionary. Instead of calmly discussing an issue, you get angry and perceive an insult where there might not be one.”

“And you accuse instead of asking for an explanation.”

She turned her head in question. “Do I? How so?”

“I felt dumb for not knowing anything about wines, but instead of asking me, you plowed ahead, assuming I was pissed off instead of embarrassed.”

Now it was her turn to go quiet for a minute. “You may be right. I’m sorry. I would never intentionally make you feel stupid. Not
everyone is knowledgeable about wines. I’m certainly no wine connoisseur. I only know a few brands that I’ve tasted and like very much. I’ve been put to shame on vineyard tours by friends of mine who are experts in wine.”

He nodded. “You also assume I treat all women badly just because I hang out in clubs. You never gave me a chance to show you how I could treat a woman I was taking out on a date. Instead, you blindsided me.”

“All right. Show me.”

“Now?”

“Yes. We’ve only had dinner. The night is still young. Show me.”

“And you’ll correct me if I do anything wrong.”

“Not until the end of the evening.”

He rolled his eyes. “So I can do anything I want with you.”

She laughed. “Within reason.”

“Okay.” He signaled for the waiter, who brought the check.

Savannah reached for it.

Cole gave her a look. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“This night was my idea,” she said. “I’ll pay.”

He pulled the check across the table and took out his credit card. “I don’t think so.”

Savannah grinned. “Does the idea of a woman paying for dinner offend your masculinity?”

“Hell, yes. Deal with it.”

After he paid, he led her out to his car. The drive was short, since they were already downtown. When he parked across from the Arch, Savannah’s lips curved. He held the door for her and walked her toward the curved icon that symbolized the gateway to the west, the beautiful silver arch that had stood on the banks of the Mississippi River for as long as he remembered.

“Ever been?”

“Actually, no. I’ve always meant to go, but I’m always too busy.”

He laid his hand at the small of her back and guided her inside, where he paid for them to take the tram up to the top of the Arch.

“We have some time to kill before our scheduled trip up,” he said. “Care for a little history?”

Her eyes gleamed with excitement. “Of course.”

They wound their way through the exhibits from the 1800s. Cole had been here before when he was a kid, had remembered enjoying seeing all the stagecoaches and fur traders and guns and everything associated with the exhibit.

It was even more fun looking through it as an adult, now that he had a more thorough knowledge of history. Plus, seeing it with Savannah was enjoyable. She made comments as they wound their way through each section, ending with a recap of the construction of the Arch.

“So fascinating,” Savannah said as they got in line to take the elevator ride up.

“Growing up here, I always take it for granted, but it’s a pretty unique piece of architecture. Wait till you see the top.”

They rode up and Cole helped Savannah up the ramp toward the windows.

She leaned forward to look out.

“It’s beautiful. I can’t believe it took me so long to get here.”

She moved between the east and west windows, wandering in between the tourists who’d accompanied them. Cole leaned against the carpeted sill so he could look out over the lighted city, never more glad to be back home. Seeing the river on one side and the city on the other relaxed him.

This is where he belonged. This felt right to him. It was going to be a good season.

They left the Arch and Cole drove them a few short blocks to one of his favorite places.

The club was dark and had a moody atmosphere. He hadn’t been here in a while, had almost forgotten about it because he usually went to the other club these days.

This challenge with Savannah had reminded him of some of the old places he used to frequent, like this one.

Savannah gave him a dubious look as they grabbed a booth in the back of the club. It was quiet right now. The band must be on a break.

“Someplace else your groupies hang out?”

“I used to come here a lot. Not so much anymore. No idea who hangs out here.”

The waitress came by and they ordered drinks.

Savannah gave the place a once-over. Very dark wood paneling graced the walls. There was no ear-splitting loud music. Not a strobe or neon light in sight. The waitresses wore dark pants and tuxedo-like shirts and vests. There were business people in here. Some folks were dressed up. It was…classy.

Very much
not
a Cole Riley kind of place.

Several guys stepped up to the band area, pulled up trumpets and trombones and bass and guitars and started playing a slow, very mellow song. A woman got up and started singing, her voice melancholy and filled with lost love and regret.

Surprised, she looked at Cole. “It’s blues music.”

He raised his glass to her. “Yeah.”

She listened for a while as the song sank deep into her bones. She closed her eyes and let the lyrics and the notes fill her as she sipped her most excellent wine. The singer’s voice was deep and throaty and filled with pain.

She turned to Cole. “I love this.”

“I thought you might.”

Then she smiled. There were obviously facets to Cole she hadn’t explored yet, parts to him he didn’t let people see. All the media saw was the party Cole, the angry Cole. That side of him was definitely
present, but she’d enjoyed seeing the city from the top of the Arch tonight. It had been so thoughtful of him to take her there. There was nothing more fun than playing tourist, especially when a native indulged you like that.

And this club? Heavenly. She relaxed into the booth and every bone in her body melted into the music.

“What kind of music do you like?” Cole asked.

She sat up and faced him. “All kinds, really. Everything from classical to hip-hop.”

“Eclectic, aren’t you?”

“A bit. How about you?”

“I’m a fan of country, blues, and jazz.”

“And yet you go to the clubs. Where the autotuned, electropop, dance music plays.”

He laughed. “Hey, I hang out at the clubs. I didn’t say I liked the club music.”

“Then why do you go there?”

“I like the people.”

“Because they’re such good friends of yours? The ones whose last names you don’t know?”

“You’re going there again?”

She decided to take a different approach. “Okay. Now that you’re home, tell me about your friends. Any friends from high school you still hang out with?”

“Not really. My two best friends from high school both live out of state now.”

“That’s too bad. So you don’t see them anymore?”

“One lives in Denver, and the other in Chicago. Whenever I have games there, we meet for dinner. Otherwise, no. They come home to see family over the holidays, and I’m usually home in the off-season, so our visits don’t coincide.”

“I’m sorry. I suppose now that you’re back you’ll make new friends.”

He rimmed the tip of his shot glass with his fingertip and gave her a lazy smile. “I already have.”

“At the club.”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Those are groupies, not friends. You can make the distinction, can’t you?”

“I think you’re hung up too much on the friends thing. Guys don’t need close friends like women seem to. With guys, wherever we are, that’s who our friends are. We don’t call guys on the phone to chat for hours. We don’t go shopping together. Guys don’t need the bonding rituals that women seem to need.”