Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(21)

I give in and answer. “As soon as tonight and as late as Sunday after eight.”

He releases his hold on his credit card and I make quick work of charging him. The flutter in my belly intensifies.

“Tonight,” he says, signing the receipt with a flourish. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“I have to change first.”

“No you don’t.” He hands over my pen and I take it. “You’re perfect.”

Then he’s gone.

Across the room, the perky blonde who spoke to him earlier tracks his every step outside.

Sorry, honey, I think with a hefty dose of smugness.

Davis is taking me out tonight.





Chapter 8


Davis


I left McGreevy’s to take care of a few things for tonight before returning to fetch my date. Grace is sitting on the patron side of the bar, an empty plate in front of her.

When I walk in, she’s looking at her phone. She doesn’t notice I’m standing next to her until I rest my hand on the back of her neck.

She starts, but then her surprise fades into a warm smile. Like she’s glad to see me. Damn, I like that.

“Sorry to make you wait, Gracie Lou.” I give her neck a gentle squeeze. “You ate before our date?”

“Just a salad.” She rests her arms over the purse in her lap, phone in hand. “Is that okay?”

“Totally okay.” Where we’re going there’s only small plates. “Ready for your big date?”

She rolls sparkling jade eyes. “The dare was for one date, Davis.”

“I know,” I deadpan. “If memory serves, you owe me two hundred dollars.”

Black lashes close over the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. The color is natural. When she spent the night with me she didn’t remove contact lenses or use a bottle of eye drops.

I offer my palm and she slides prettily off the barstool. Over her shoulder, the blonde from earlier glares. I recognized her standing there when I walked in, her eyes on me the second I entered McGreevy’s. Just when I think Grace didn’t notice me noticing, she corrects my assumption.

“Changing your mind about which one of us to take out?” Her hand is in mine as she turns to look over her shoulder, not being the least bit casual about it. Grace shrugs. “I would understand. Blondes are a hard habit to break.”

Grace doesn’t feel the confidence she’s portraying. I watched her earlier. She was an inch away from hissing and swiping a paw at the blonde. Can’t say I didn’t like that reaction. Hell, when I spotted her talking to Dax, my neck prickled too.

“I have enough habits,” I tell her. “I’m shaking things up a bit.”

Her easy smile falters before she recovers with a turn of quick wit. “You want shaken, baby, you’ve come to the right girl. I’m a professional mixologist, don’t you know?”

“Oh, I know.” I snag her leather jacket from the barstool and hold it out for her to slip her arms into. She murmurs about how I’m “such a gentleman” and I let her tease me. I know she appreciated that token move. Especially in front of the blonde from earlier.

To set the record straight, the blonde was asking if I was busy later and I turned her down. I’ve seen her in here before but never approached her. If it weren’t for Gracie’s challenge for me to take out a redhead instead, I wonder if I’d have taken the blonde up on her offer. Probably. That sounds like me. But as I hold the door open for Grace, my palm settled on the swell of one of her hips, I have to say, the blonde doesn’t appeal.

Maybe my grandmother was wrong and a leopard can change its spots.

At the time she made that assessment, she wasn’t talking about me. She was referring to my mother, who left me at the hospital with my comatose father when I was nine years old.

A motorcycle accident had landed him in a hospital bed, and my mother, who never was one for sticking through difficult times, left the room to grab a coffee and never came back. It wasn’t the first time she bolted and I ended up in the care of my grandmother, but it was the last time she left. I never saw her after that.

Fast-forward to my wedding day six years ago, Hanna not showing up, and it wasn’t any wonder that I had an allergy to both redheads and commitment.

Hence the blondes. Hence the packages. For Grace I made one hell of an exception.

“Where are we going?” Grace asks, her husky, sexy voice slicing into my brain.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I lead her to my car, where she slides into the leather seat.

Once we’re navigating the one-way streets of downtown, I clue her in on our destination.

“I had the idea this morning after you left. I made a call to Bubbly Café and finagled some last-minute reservations.”

“Bubbly Café? I thought that place sold fancy candy or something.”

“They host bands, mostly. And serve a fantastic double espresso.”

“With a name like ‘Bubbly’ you’d think they sold gum, or at least champagne.”

“You have the champagne part right,” I tell her, giving her a hint.

“And what are we doing there tonight? Did John Mayer decide to pop in?”

“No, he’s busy.” I hang a left and draw out the anticipation some. I like surprising her.