Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(22)

“Hmm. Johnny Depp? He’s in a band with Alice Cooper, I heard.”

I suck air though my teeth. “So close.”

“Really?” Her voice goes up an octave. “Wait. You’re not serious.”

“You’re learning.” I sneak a look over at her.

She sags in the seat, lifting her arms and dropping them into her lap for effect. “I give!”

“We’re taste-testing. And you already guessed correctly.” I park at the curb and climb out, but by the time I reach the passenger door, Grace is standing on the sidewalk.

“Champagne.” Her chin is elevated, her voice a soft sigh. Twinkle lights festoon the tops of the windows on either side of a green door. Etched into the glass are the words BUBBLY CAFé. CELEBRATE EVERY DAY.

Grace lets out a little yip and wraps her arms around one of mine. “I love champagne. I’m not much of a connoisseur, but I’m willing to learn.” She pauses to give me the side eye as I grasp the doorknob. “I guess you know that after the other night.”

“You clued me in.” I smile as pink dusts her cheekbones. In pillow talk the morning after, she mentioned how sorry she was that we hadn’t finished our champagne the night before. She also mentioned that she never had a reason to drink it. She shouldn’t have to have a reason to drink champagne, and so here we are. On a random Wednesday, drinking champagne.

The crowd is densely packed into the tight room, and I hand over our tickets. We’re seated in the back left corner, far away from the barista-slash-bartender who is presenting each vintage. There are six to try, and they pass out plates of Brie, crackers, fruit, and chocolate squares to each of us. By the fourth taste, Grace is giggly and stealing chocolate off my plate. After the sixth, half the crowd dissipates. Of the half who are left, half of them buy a bottle to take home while the rest of us settle in with refilled glasses.

Or ice cream.

Yes, Bubbly’s has an ice cream counter. They offer whole-cream, goat’s-milk, and dairy-free ice cream. Each one is available in vanilla and chocolate, and that’s it. If you want to get fancy, you can have them put a scoop of candy or a squirt of peanut butter sauce on top. But the main draw of this place is the bar—and the coffee, which it’s too late for but I ordered anyway.

Living on the edge is my new thing.

“What a cool place. Who knew you had this in your bag of tricks?”

“I don’t spend every night at McGreevy’s, you know.” I dig into my goat’s-milk vanilla with strawberries and pecans. “I have layers.”

Grace passed on the ice cream, but she ordered another tall glass of the third champagne we tried—Chateau de…something or other.

“Want a bite?” I offer the spoon.

“No thanks,” she answers, but steals a strawberry slice. I scold her with my eyes as she licks her thumb, dragging the digit slowly from her pursed lips.

Damn.

Everything she does reminds me of having sex with her. Grace doesn’t taste like cotton candy. More like sin and spice. My dick gives a hopeful twitch.

“You paid attention about the champagne,” she says.

I shrug like it’s no big deal, but I know it is. I take a huge bite to deter her. It doesn’t deter her and gives me a minor brain freeze, so lose-lose on that move. When I recover, I confess.

“I paid attention about the champagne.”

She smiles, pleased.

“You mentioned you rarely had a reason to indulge. I received a newsletter a week or so ago announcing this tasting, and then you told me you were available tonight. We don’t always need a reason to celebrate, Gracie.”

Her expression softens, her top teeth pressing into her bottom lip. She shifts in her seat before munching on a cracker left over from the tasting. After she chews, takes another drink of her champagne and swallows.

“You’re…thoughtful.”

“You’re welcome.” She didn’t exactly thank me, but I can tell she’s grateful that I listened and acted on it. It’s rare for a guy to behave unselfishly. Selfishness is inherent in our genes. It just so happens I pay attention to shit like that. Not so I can get laid or be memorable but because it’s the decent thing to do.

Grace touches my hand. “Thank you.”

We sit like that for a few beats, her expression cautious and vulnerable. Suddenly our date feels like a bigger deal than either of us anticipated.

Like the night we spent together. Great sex was expected, but the connection…We both noticed the potential and then backed the hell off.

Backing off isn’t what I want any longer.

“Anyway.” I break eye contact and scrape the ice cream from the bottom of my bowl. The urge to put us back on familiar ground is strong.

At a loss for more to say, I laugh instead, the sound uncomfortable. I hope she didn’t notice, but one look at her tight-lipped smile tells me otherwise.

She noticed.





Grace


There may as well be sirens blaring over my head for how uncomfortable I feel right now. Davis is great, and Bubbly’s has a fantastic atmosphere, both cozy and retro, warm and relaxing. The siren blare is because Davis is quickly turning into a man I want to see beyond a handful of dates. That’s not how I do things.

Like. Ever.

Not that I go out with men predisposed to dumping them, but it’s my comfort zone. Being disappointed isn’t new territory for me. I eye Davis over the rim of my champagne glass, letting the bubbles tickle my nose.