Hard Pass by Sara Ney Page 0,42

kitchen area? Grayed wood, a glaring contrast to its sterile backdrop.

I see what she’s got going on here and as far as apartments go, it’s very simple, but stylish. I like it.

My hands get stuffed into the pockets of my pressed slacks and I shrug my shoulders, willing them not to slouch. “It’s not that bad, but maybe bring a jacket anyway. For later.”

She nods. I watch her walk away—presumably toward her bedroom—legs looking smooth, tan and freshly shaved, if I were a betting man.

Her hair hangs down her back, stick straight, and I’ve always been a sucker for brunettes, though I’ve never actually dated one.

The dress she’s wearing is short, but so is she, showing off her stems and ass nicely. It’s one of those wrap things that crisscrosses in front, giving me a decent shot of tits without being tacky or vulgar.

Conservative yet sexy.

Classy but young.

Miranda is gone for a hot minute, returning from the back room with a denim jacket thrown over her arm, wedge shoes a nude color I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t looked all the way down.

Hot pink toenails.

Man is she good-lookin’.

“Ready?” She’s chipper and seems excited, her smiling lips a glossy shade of light pink, flipping the light switches off as I stand by the door, gaping like a fool.

I step into the hall while she closes the door, listening for the lock to click into place, the door armed with one of those high-tech locks that doesn’t need a key.

I let her lead, all the way down to the street, the quick elevator ride silent, as I’m dreading the car ride will be, too.

Miranda looks left. Looks right.

“I’m the black truck over here.”

She follows and I open the passenger door, doing my best not to stare as she slides her way in, already buckling the seatbelt when I shut her in.

I climb in and start the engine.

“This is nice,” she says politely. “I feel so much safer in bigger vehicles.”

“Yeah, me too.” I clear my throat. Rack my brain. “Um.”

Um?

Good one Einstein.

I’m going to kill Wallace. Literally wrap my fingers around his beefy neck and—

“I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

Okay fine. Maybe not wring his neck exactly.

I’m not sure if I’m lying or not when I say, “I have too,” but I can’t bloody say I’ve been nervous as hell. What guy wants to admit that shit? Insecurity has been the driving force all week. Thank God I had that game Saturday to take my mind off of it, the nerves from that nowhere near as bad as the nerves pooling in the pit of my stomach now.

And she’s such a tiny little thing.

“Where are we going?” she asks, watching the landscape as we enter the freeway and I can see her image in the window, recently washed and highly reflective.

“Mason’s.”

Miranda turns to face me, eyes wide. “Mason’s?” She has a great poker face; the restaurant is notoriously impossible to get a reservation at. All it took was my assistant calling and we had a table for two in under five. “I’ve never been there.”

No shit. Not many people have.

I, however, go there often enough that a few of the servers and hostesses know me by name. Then again, I’m the shiny new member of the Steam—it’s their job to know high profile clients who might walk through the door with only a moment’s notice.

“I hope you like steak.”

“I do. And seafood, and salad, and bread, and dessert.”

“So, food?”

“Yes! Food. There isn’t anything I won’t eat, except…” Her voice trails off. “Onions and garlic. Yikes.” Her mouth twists. “You do not want me eating either of those things. Ever.”

“Why?”

“Uh…” Her head turns to glance out the window. “Let’s just say I don’t smell cute when I eat onions or garlic.”

“Don’t smell cute? What does that mean?”

She gives me a ‘Do I have to spell it out for you?’ look and I zip my mouth shut.

Oh. So what she’s saying is she smells like stank ass when she eats garlic or onions and I shouldn’t keep asking dumb questions about it.

Point taken.

I might be clueless when it comes to women, but it feels like some confidence is kicking in for me.

We chat the rest of the way downtown, only stopping so I can concentrate on not plowing down any pedestrians. They’re everywhere in this tourist destination, jaywalking and crowding the sidewalks, hordes at the stoplights waiting to get across the main drag.

Mason’s is easy to find yet impossible to park