Pucked Off (Pucked #6)(52)

He runs a rough hand through his hair. “Never?”

“You can’t be my client anymore. Not ever.”

“Fuck. It’s really that final.”

I nod solemnly. “I could lose my job otherwise.”

“For going on a date? Shit. Well, I don’t want that to happen.” He dips his head resolutely. “Okay. So two dates, one coffee and one dinner, in whatever order you’d prefer them.”

I have to force my face to stay neutral. “One date. Dinner or coffee.”

“I think we need to do some negotiating. If I have to give up massages from you forever, it’s only fair that I get more than one kick at the can here.”

I raise a brow at his choice of words. I also have to bite my tongue to keep from telling him that technically this would be his third kick at the can.

“In case I screw something up,” he continues, “which is entirely possible since this whole dating thing is off the grid for me. So one dinner date and one coffee date?”

It doesn’t surprise me that he hasn’t had much dating experience. Girls have probably thrown themselves at him his entire life. Still, it’s obvious he’s trying.

“Fine. One dinner and one coffee. Any more stipulations you’d like to add to the bargaining table?”

Lance tips his chin in the air and regards the dusty lights above. “The dates have to occur within a week of each other.”

He’s rather charming. “Very practical. We wouldn’t want to drag it out unnecessarily.”

“You’re sassy. I like it a lot. What’re you doing Friday night?”

“I work until six.”

“I’ll pick you up for dinner at seven thirty? Is there any type of food you’re particularly averse to?”

“Food aversions?”

“Things you don’t like to eat.”

“Oh. I won’t eat things with tentacles, or meat babies.” I shiver at the thought.

“Meat babies?”

“Like lamb or veal.”

“Oh, got it. No lamb or veal. Anything you love?”

You wearing nothing, lying on my table. “I like comfort food. Pasta, things like that.”

He smiles. “Great.” He taps his forehead. “I’m locking all that information away in here.”

“Okay. Well, I guess I should get my things and go home.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure. I can walk you to your car?”

I find it interesting that he makes it more of a statement than a question. “Sure, I’ll grab my purse and coat.”

“’Kay. I’ll wait here.” He pushes up on his toes a couple of times.

I can feel his eyes on me as I head back to my room to get my things. I’ve agreed to go out with Lance. On a date. Two actually. I don’t even know what to think. I grab my purse and slip into my jacket. As fall settles in and the temperature drops, layers are becoming necessary.

When I return, Lance is standing at the desk, checking his phone. He’s smiling.

“Ready to go,” I say.

He hits a couple of buttons, pockets his phone, and turns that grin on me. “Cool.”

I lock up the clinic, and Lance walks me across the lot. This time he doesn’t leave the usual space between us, and the back of his hand grazes my hip.

I’m nervous when we reach my car. His Hummer is parked right behind my Mini this time. I adjust the strap of my purse and look up at him. Strangely, he looks as nervous as me.

He scans my face and takes a small step closer. I can see his hand lifting in my peripheral vision. My hair is in a ponytail, which is sitting on my shoulder. He fingers the end of it.

“Why do I always want to pull this?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him he used to do it when we were kids. But I don’t have the opportunity, because he drops his head and his lips skim my cheek.

“I want to kiss you, pretty Poppy.”

“You just did,” I whisper.

“I want do it again, but here.” His thumb touches my bottom lip.

“Oh.”

He’s so close. His lips almost touching mine as he asks, “Can I do that?”

“Yes, please.”

His lids grow heavy, and he kisses the corner of my mouth. I’m transported back in time, to a dark closet at a party I never should’ve been at. Lance strokes my cheek and rests his palm on the side of my neck. The other hand skims the length of my arm until he reaches my fingertips.

He leans back a little, and for a second I think it’s over before it’s even begun, but he takes my hand in his. Uncurling my fingers, he lifts it and presses my palm against his cheek. A full-body tremor runs through him, and his eyes drift closed. He turns his head toward my palm, and I smooth my thumb along the contour of his bottom lip. A deep sound comes from the back of his throat, making my skin prickle and heat blossom in my belly.

When he opens his eyes again, the fire in them matches the heat flooding my entire body. “Can you keep yer hand right here?”

“If you want me to, yes.”

“I definitely do.”

He leans in and brushes his lips over mine again. It’s soft and warm. The next time he takes my bottom lip between his, he releases it slowly, and then does the same with the top one. When his tongue flicks out, I might whimper. Light fingers cup my head, and I tilt it back farther.