back into the main area of Speakeasy and hastens for her table. I don’t want to make a scene, but I quickly follow her.
Other than to the Busy Bean and Building Buddies, I haven’t been out since I’ve been released. Meeting Louisa the other day at the coffeehouse was a fluke. I thought I’d get lost in her, finally dipping my wick and relieving the tension inside me, but before I knew it, I was asking her out to dinner.
Then Rita had to be here, and my thoughts have gone to hell, reminding me I almost kissed her earlier. Fuck.
“Rita,” I call out one more time as I near her table where she’s grabbing her coat. Whoever her friend was, she left with her baby. Rita doesn’t respond to her name but moves forward as if not hearing me. She’s ignoring me.
My eyes drift to Louisa, awaiting my return to the table. Despite my eagerness to fuck someone and rid my thoughts of Rita, Louisa’s slow smile does nothing to quell all thoughts of Rita. I turn my attention toward the front door. My head tells me to forget her. My body warns me this is a mistake. I cannot be interested in Rita Kaplan. She’s the supervisor where I work. Where I work because I’m on parole from prison.
She’s also an attorney, which means she’s smart, and she wouldn’t want to be mixed up with a dumbass criminal like me. She’s also so freaking cute, and regardless of what I said, I’m attracted to her. I love that her hair shows her age, and her smile says she doesn’t care about such a thing. I love those quirky, bright glasses although I can’t always see her eyes, which are bright and kind behind her glares. I love her sass while I hate her know-it-all attitude.
Her reaction to that small spark earlier tells me there’s a story behind her power suit and hiking boot veneer. She’s afraid of fire, and that detail adds to the list of she shouldn’t be my type. She isn’t going to want an arsonist, even if the accusation is false.
Still, I’m drawn to Rita, and I can’t pull my gaze from the door she’s disappeared behind. Glancing back at Louisa, I hold up my finger, indicating I need a minute. Then I stalk off after Rita.
“Rita!” I holler as I enter the dark parking lot. Her petite legs work fast, so I break into a jog to catch up to her. “Rita, wait.”
Drawing near, I reach forward to cup her elbow and tug. She’s forced to turn and face me, but her eyes avoid mine.
“What?” While her hip juts to the side, she gives me the side of her face, staring off into the distance.
“I’m sorry. That was . . . that was uncalled for.” She’s a recovering alcoholic, and it was insensitive of me to imply she should join me and my date for a drink.
Fuck. I am so fucking this up with both women, yet the only woman I want to make this right with is the one before me.
I don’t like how Rita isn’t looking at me. She isn’t giving me that glare she gives through those glasses. She isn’t huffing in my face. Her mouth isn’t close like it was earlier. Her cheek isn’t gently rubbing against mine. Her entire demeanor dismisses me. Isn’t that how I knew she’d be? Yeah, I know her type, too, and it isn’t me.
Removing my hand from her elbow, I hold it up high, surrendering to her. “Fine.”
“Fine.” Her neck quickly twists so she looks at me. “That’s all you have to say?”
“I just apologized. What more do you want?”
Her chest heaves like it did earlier today. Those damn glasses are reflecting the lamplight in the lot, and I can’t see her eyes. I want to see her eyes.
“Nothing,” she replies, shaking her head. “Absolutely nothing.” Her gaze lowers to her feet, and she kicks at the gravel surface.
“Your boots are okay, Rita. They look good with your outfit,” I lie. “You rock the Working Women vibe, all power savage and determined to take on the world.”
“Now, you’re just being cruel.” Her head pops back up, and I just know she’s giving me that glare. I can feel it, just like I felt her watching me during that first AA meeting, wondering who I am. If only I had that answer. The glare is a flame lighting something inside me I don’t recognize, can’t seem