Kiss Me Goodnight (4 page)

On Friday, I found myself in court. No, not because I lied to Thomas. This hearing had been scheduled a month ago because I’d been caught walking a dog without a leash or license, and I’d chosen to fight the ticket. Alec had called me Tuesday to say the ax started falling after I left. I’d wanted to warn him, but I have a tendency to veer off topic when I’m upset, and by “off topic” I mean I lie. Who knows what kind of whopper I’d have told Alec if I’d tried to warn him?

So I didn’t.

I also refused to feel bad. When I left, I’d held my head high and walked out with my dignity intact, letting people draw their own conclusions. Sometimes that’s the better lie.

Court moved slowly. Of course, it would have moved much more quickly if I hadn’t sat here for three hours before someone told me I had to take a number. Then the judge adjourned for lunch before he got to me.

I found a Starbucks, but no Jimmy John’s. With limited options, I ended up getting a sandwich from a local deli. This was a new experience for me. I’d only ever gone to chain restaurants before.

As a point of habit, I went to actually eat at Starbucks. Long and narrow, this one was even smaller than the coffee place near Pritchett Freight Services. I was lucky to find a table with a view out the front.

That’s when He of the Teal Eyes appeared. He’d been on my mind a lot this week, when I wasn’t preoccupied with how to format my résumé so each section consisted of six lines. Not many men spent time on my mind. Even Thomas’s sculpted face had faded from my memory. Dylan, however, sent my heart and libido into overdrive. Thinking about him usually drove me to spend some quality time with Davey, which reminds me—I need to pick up more batteries.

He (Dylan, not Davey—I would have fainted if Davey Havok showed up) sauntered into the shop. There was an open seat at my table. It’s worth noting that many other tables also had open seats. People seemed to be eating in odd-numbered groups, but all the table/chair arrangements came in even numbers. This put me in a bit of a sticky spot.

Speaking of sticky spots, my mouth went a little dry just looking at Dylan. Today he wore long shorts with a colorful plaid pattern. It was a horrible design, but somehow he made it look great. The way they hugged his firm ass probably had something to do with this. I also saw that I was right about him having long legs. Long, sexy, strong legs that could hold me up in the shower while we…ahem. Time to stop lusting after the hot married guy who kisses like a god in my fantasies.

His shirt, vintage Nine Inch Nails—and by that I mean
Pretty Hate Machine
, not any of the regurgitated tracks they’ve been pushing off as new for the past ten-plus years—stretched across his shoulders in a way that emphasized the solid musculature going on there.

He looked around as he came in, automatically searching for precious seating as he took his place in line. There was plenty. Really. But instead of noting that and minding his own damn business, his gaze fell on me and stayed there. I think it took him a few moments to place me, but then a slow grin spread across his face, and all I could think about was how those lips would feel as they worked their way down my—
Alice Hollie Hallem
(I totally didn’t luck out with names),
you stop that right now!

In the cool of the overly air-conditioned coffeehouse, I fanned myself. The barista greeted Dylan, and he turned toward her as I sipped my iced latte. Should have gone for something warm. At least then I’d be able to explain the flush staining my chest.

While I continued trying not to have wet daydreams about a certain married male, my mind wandered to the memory of the way his skin had felt on mine. My stomach did a flippy thing that felt curiously good. At this point, I wasn’t sure if the memory was actually that good, or if I’m suffering the effects of my drought. Either way, that’s a depressing thought, so I stopped thinking it and distracted myself by counting passing cars instead.

Plus, I really didn’t want to see him. When you accidentally spill coffee all over a hot married guy and then display crazy OCD tendencies in the ladies’ room, you never want to encounter the person who witnessed your folly ever again, no matter how hot he is. Even if you slipped up two nights ago and moaned his name instead of Davey’s. The vibrator didn’t stop performing, so clearly it didn’t care. The universe has a sick sense of humor.

A figure blocked my view of the traffic, which was probably a good thing because I’d lost count and that frustrated me. Of all the half-occupied tables, Dylan chose mine. Seriously, dude. Leave me to my misery. I wouldn’t have minded ogling you from across the room.

He smiled, calm and welcoming, as he slid into the chair across from me and settled his coffee and muffin on the table. “We meet again.”

Immediately, I looked at my coffee, assessing how much was left and the likelihood of it landing in his lap should I suffer another unfortunate mishap.

I wanted to mumble another apology, but he stuck out his hand. “Dylan.”

Was he senile? I already knew his name. How could I forget? What the hell. I shook his hand. He had a good grip: firm but not too firm. He didn’t try to trace his thumb across my wrist or anything like that, but he still managed to light sparks where I wished he wouldn’t.

“Lacey.” I’m sure my smile was strained. I extracted my hand. It tingled, and I did not have the urge to wash it. “I remember you.”

He tore off a bite-sized chunk of his muffin. Blueberry. “I wasn’t sure. You left so suddenly. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, but here you are.”

Yes, here I am, once again having lunch with a sinfully sexy married man. The universe is conspiring against me. I wish to hell it would stop testing my resolve. I was serious when I swore off married men.

“And here you are.” Wonderful reply. I’m so witty sometimes. Maybe now I should spill my coffee on his lap and run out the back door. Another morsel of that muffin disappeared into his mouth. I wanted to lick the crumbs from his fingers.

He smiled like he knew what I was thinking. “What brings you downtown on such a nice day?”

“Court,” I said. “I’ve been caught flouting the leash laws, and now I have to pay for my crime.”

He nodded in commiseration. “They take actual money
and
screw you by making you take time off work.”

I didn’t currently have a job, so that second part wasn’t a problem for me, but it very well could be for most people. I was tempted to spin a yarn about the issue, but in a curiously uncharacteristic move, I found myself unable to tell the lie. I coughed, choking on the words.

Dylan thought I was choking on the bite of my sandwich. He waited, an expression of watchful concern on his face.

When I finished my coughing fit, I took a sip of coffee. “Thanks for not pounding me on the back.” I hate when people do that.

“It doesn’t usually help.”

The rest of that muffin disappeared between his luscious lips, and I could only conjure a vision of him working on another muff—mine: his head of gloriously dark hair perched between my legs, his teal eyes looking up to make sure I was enjoying what he was doing.
Ahhh, Davey. I’m going to need you tonight.

“Do you know where The Majestic is?” he asked.

I pointed to my left. “About three blocks that way. Are you headed there?”

Color rose up his neck and stained his cheeks a very masculine shade of pink. It was cute. He tried to divert my attention by finishing off his coffee. It didn’t quite work. “I’m performing there tonight. I’ll be meeting my band in about half an hour. If you stop by after you dazzle the judge, you could check out our rehearsal.”

If it dresses like a rock star, apparently it is a rock star. I leaned closer, gooseflesh making its way up my spine. “Tell me you’re an AFI cover band, and I’ll sleep with you.”

Chances are, if he kissed me with enough passion to fulfill the promise his eyes kept making, I’d sleep with him anyway. No dating, though. I had to stick to my guns on at least one part of my pledge. That way I could hate myself a little less in the morning. Ahh, check it out! I’m lying inside my head instead of blurting them out. Does that count as progress?

His breath caught. It’s a heady thing to see—a man who can’t breathe because of the way you’re looking at him. He licked his lips, and I tracked the move with my predatory, home-wrecker senses.

“We’re not a cover band, but we play a wicked version of ‘Endlessly, She Said.’”

I sucked air like an excited idiot. It couldn’t have been sexy, and maybe that made up for flirting with someone I should be avoiding. “Do you mean every word?”

He grinned, and my heart did a few illegal flip-flops. “Every one.”

I liked that he played along. I could have bantered Davey’s lyrics all day, but I suddenly remembered where I was and what I was doing. The urge to wash my hands pressed down upon me, a heavy, familiar weight.

Bad Lacey.

Sometimes routine can calm me down: I had coffee after breakfast and with lunch, which was again a sandwich. It had been tasty, and now every time I ate one, I would be lusting for this piece of heaven. I grabbed for my coffee, my hand darting out, and of course I knocked it over.

Dylan’s reflexes were better this time. In one smooth motion, he scooted back and escaped the path of my favorite liquid. He was a quick learner. I threw a stack of napkins on top of it, hoping to catch the leading edge before it hit the floor. Dylan threw another stack on, and together, we avoided catastrophe.

“I’m so sorry. I’m not usually so clumsy.”

“Can I get you another cup?” He flashed a smile, one that said he found my propensity for spilling coffee on him amusing instead of annoying. I would be annoyed if someone kept spilling coffee on me, no matter how cute he was.

I shook my head slowly, as if he’d asked another question, one I both wanted him to ask and dreaded hearing. The coffee was Fate’s way of telling me to stop tempting her. “I’ve reached my quota for the day. Any more and I’ll turn into a coffee monster.”

“Coffee monster?” He pressed his finger to his muffin wrapper, gathering the sugary crumbs.

“Yeah, you know. Jittery, stays up all night, turns into a hag in the morning. I try to avoid showing myself in such an unflattering light.” In a perfect world, I would be able to drink six cups a day. Because it wasn’t perfect, I made do with two.

He nodded sagely. “I’ve both met and been that monster. However, I just can’t see how light could fail to flatter you.”

Damn. He was good. Those teal eyes never strayed from my face, which was a shame because the V of my shirt emphasized the curves of my breasts. I actually looked pretty good today. The weather had even cooperated, keeping the humidity low so my curls didn’t kink up and frizz out.

Heat didn’t rise to my cheeks at his compliment. I’m not much of a blusher, mostly because I don’t care what people think about me. I did grow warm, however, because being near Dylan lit fires inside me that my beloved Davey might need help quenching tonight. I might have to break out Jared. My boys could work in tandem.

Dylan was so sincere—and in a public place too. Maybe I’d been mistaken. Maybe he wasn’t married. I decided to dig in a safe place. I started with his son.

“So, you’re flying solo today? No kid?”

Shades of confusion washed over his face. He frowned, staring at me. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t have a kid. Why would you…? Oh. Monty isn’t mine. He’s my nephew.”

The look on my face must have communicated my disbelief.

“No, seriously. He sometimes calls me ‘Pops’ because he thinks it’s funny how much he looks like me.” Dylan leaned closer, beckoning me to join him in conspiracy. “I’m only fourteen years older than him.”

He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would deny having a son. He’d been openly affectionate with the boy. Okay, then. He was married to the hot blonde, and they were childless. After all, he’d called her “Audra,” not “your mother.”

I drank in his face, up close and personal. He was less than four feet from me, and I could see every fleck that made up the improbable color of his eyes. I memorized the shape of his eyebrows, even noting the slender scar that ran through the right one. His cheekbones were high and angular, giving his face a square-ish shape. The strong line of his jaw helped with that as well. His hair fell over his forehead, and I wanted to brush it back to see what kind of hairline he was hiding.

If there’d been time, I would have counted every piece of stubble on his face. Fortunately for both of us, I came back to myself with a jolt. I jerked up, sitting hard on my chair. I hadn’t realized I’d lifted my bottom as I’d leaned forward. Now my ass hurt. Self-flagellation isn’t my thing.

Served me right. I folded the wrapper that had held my sandwich and shoved it in my empty paper cup. “I have to get back to court. It was nice to see you.”

As I stood, he grabbed my wrist. It wasn’t a harsh gesture, but it managed to be forceful. “Will you come by afterward?”

“Maybe. If it doesn’t run too late.”

He released me, and I wished he hadn’t. He had a firm, sure grip, and I missed the feel of a man’s hands on me. He settled back in his chair, that flirty smile on his face. “You can come to the show, but I probably won’t have a lot of time to spend with you.”