What he said stunned me, shocked me and made me feel funny but not exactly in a bad way, in kind of a good-but-scary way.
My emotional Rottweiler started barking and drooling and I pulled away from Vance but his arm tightened keeping me where I was.
“You’ve got tonight. Then that’s it,” I said.
He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re dealin’ with.”
“I know exactly what I’m dealing with,” I told him.
He let me go and grabbed a shrimp.
Then he said, “We’ll see.”
Chapter Nine
Stop Chuckling
It had to be, officially, the worst date on record.
We ate, we drank and we didn’t speak.
Well, Vance spoke, I didn’t speak. After we ate the shrimp, he pulled my hair off my shoulder, leaned into my ear and whispered, “Stop bein’ angry, Jules.”
I just threw him a look. He gave me an arrogant grin.
He seemed unaffected by my snit, in fact he carried on like nothing was wrong and I wasn’t emanating Go to Hell Vance Crowe Death Rays. Between the salad and main course his arm came around me, tucking me into his side while his hand played with a curl in my hair. I allowed this because to struggle would be tacky and we were in The Broker, the least tacky place in Denver. Between the main course and dessert, when I’d forgotten about the dip in my slacks again and had leaned forward, he ran his fingers across my exposed skin.
After we were done, he paid, we walked to his bike and he got on. I got on behind him thinking that a motorcycle was the worst form of transportation when you were holding an angry grudge against its driver. He started the bike, leaned back into me and grabbed my wrists, pulling them around his waist which pressed my torso into his back. Before I could disconnect he rocketed from the curb and I hung on so I didn’t go off the end of the bike and to a scary, body-skidding-on-pavement-tearing-skin-off death.
He parked behind my house, I let us in even though I wanted to see him break in, I wasn’t in the mood to ask and switched on the light.
Boo walked into the kitchen as I shrugged off my jacket and threw it and my purse on the table. Boo immediately started complaining about my absence and other imagined kitty insults. I scooped him up and walked down the hallway then wandered around the living room, turning on lamps, Boo in my arms.
Boo talked through this. “Meow, meow, meow.”
I finished with the lamps and looked at Vance who was leaning against the hall entryway watching me.
I really wished he wasn’t so good-looking. It would make sustaining being pissed off at him a lot easier to do.
“Shut up, Boo,” I said, eyes on Vance.
“Meow,” Boo replied, eyes on me.
I looked at Boo. “You already had your treats.”
“Meow.”
“No more, you’re too fat.”
“Meow!”
“I don’t want to hear it,” I told Boo.
“Meooow!” Boo returned.
“Are you talkin’ to a cat?” Vance asked.
I looked at Vance but didn’t answer him. I gave Boo a cuddle and then bent over a bit and dropped him.