Arm Candy (Real Love #2)(53)

I can’t help laughing at her astute observation.

“Boys are dumb,” I confirm, clinking the neck of my bottle with hers.

“I’m not sure what’s been going on with me lately,” I say after we drink. “Since things have…progressed, I think I’m getting nervous.”

Interest sparks in Jackie’s eyes. “What progressed?”

My laugh is born of nerves. “Oh, you know. Meeting the woman who raised him, sharing almost every night together…” Exchanging I love yous, I mentally add.

“It’s hard to cross boundaries at first, especially if there’s pain in your past. And who among us escapes pain?”

I picture my father and nod. She’s right.

“Did you date much before?” Jackie asks.

“Not…much. A few first, second, and even third dates. Some mediocre sex.”

“Right?” Jackie practically exclaims in agreement. “The awkward front-door drop-off.”

“Ugh. The worst.”

“The absolute worst.”

I smile at my newfound comrade. Yes, Rox is and always will be my bestie, but with her betrothal and all, I’m in the dust. Jackie and I are on the same page. Her relationship with Vince is new. Mine with Davis is new. And our guys are friends, so we have that in common as well.

“It’s nice when it’s not awkward, isn’t it?” she asks.

I assume Jackie is referring to our blossoming friendship until her eyes go to Vince, who does a silly dance as he plucks his darts from the board. Jackie’s brown eyes go melted-chocolate warm and she releases a contented sigh.

“When it clicks,” she says, “when things flow, there’s nothing better.”

Davis winks at me as he positions himself for his next throw. My heart fills and a similar contented sigh presses against my throat.

“It is nice,” I admit, propping my elbow on the back of my stool.

It’s time to give myself permission to let things be nice for a while.





Davis


Grace’s elbows are on my dining room table, the remnants of a homemade (thank you very much) steak dinner on her plate. Her chin is on her fist and she’s talking animatedly about what I missed at her shift tonight. I invited her here rather than go to McGreevy’s.

“And then,” she says with a laugh, “Dax comes out from the office and admits he found his keys. They were in the safe.”

I laugh with her. Not because the owner of McGreevy’s locked his keys in the safe but because Grace is gorgeous when she’s turned on. I like turning her on—it’s my favorite pastime—but she’s equally gorgeous when she’s turned on by her work. She loves her job as much as I love mine.

“Do you have any aspirations to own your own bar someday?” I ask.

Her smile holds, but there’s a tremor of concern behind it.

“I didn’t mean for that to sound like you don’t have any. I’m just curious.”

“Oh.” She blinks and shakes her head slightly, confirming that was exactly where her mind went. “Sorry. My mother has been down my throat to become a lawyer for years, so my career is a bit of a sore topic.”

“Ah, parents.”

“Your grandmother encouraged you, didn’t she?”

I nod. “She told me life was short and to make sure to do something I loved.”

“What did she do before she retired?”

“She was a teacher and a poet—still is a poet.”

“Really?” Grace leans on her folded arms, stretching closer to me. I can’t blame her interest—my grandmother is fascinating.

“Yup. She was published several times under a pen name, but she kept her day job teaching because she loved encouraging the country’s youth—her words.”

“I like her so much.” Grace’s smile is reverent.

“Yeah, so do I.”

“She told me the same thing she told you, you know. Only do work you love.”

I know. I overheard. I opt not to share that with Grace.

“I don’t want to own a bar.” She says it like it’s a major confession. “I don’t want the headache. I like showing up and then leaving. I’m a manager, but other than scheduling snafus, there aren’t too many issues to worry about. Once I ordered vodka instead of rum and we had to buy bottles from a local liquor store. If running out of rum is the worst of my fears, I’m okay.”

“Captain Jack Sparrow would disagree.”

She grins. “Why is all the rum gone?”

“Your pirate accent needs work.”

“Yeah. I’m rusty.” She wrinkles her cute nose. Just fucking adorable.

“It suits you, Gracie—the bar gig. You’re great at what you do.” I lift my brows. “Plus, you look smokin’ hot doing it.”

“What about you? Are you going to analyze stocks forever?”

I laugh at her generic term. “You have no idea what I do, do you?”

“Not…completely. But the details of your work don’t matter to me. You’re great at it, and you do well.”

“I do very well.” Hey, it’s not bragging if it’s true.

“Number one.”