Chaser (Dive Bar #3)(13)

With the goal of a relationship in mind, I quashed out the rising surge of lust. It wasn’t easy, given Karen’s inviting eyes, and the fact that it had been a while since I’d last hooked up. Almost a whole week. But I ignored my simpler urges and focused on the plan.

“Actually, I was thinking we could sit down for a while first,” I said, leading her to a candlelit table in the corner.

Her pert nose wrinkled. “You want to sit down?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Apparently there were a lot of reasons why this was a bad idea, because she took a deep breath and opened her mouth to start in on them.

I got there first, however. “We’ve been friends a long time, Karen.”

“Yes, but—”

“It occurred to me that we’ve never really just hung out together.”

She blinked.

“You know, had a drink, and talked and stuff.” I pulled out her chair, being the perfect gentleman. That’d show Nell. And you could bet she was in the kitchen right now watching … judging. Lydia too, most likely.

“You want to talk?” Karen plonked down in the seat, wrinkles lining her usually smooth forehead. “What about?”

I took my seat opposite. “Ah, well. Anything really. How’s your work going?”

“The diner’s fine.”

“Great.” I nodded. “And your family?”

“Fine.”

Oh shit, what to ask her about next? It struck me I actually didn’t know anything about her family, which made it hard to figure out a follow-up question. Equally though, it seemed a bit awkward to admit that, after the years we’d known each other, I didn’t even know if her parents were local or if she had siblings.

The long line of her throat rippled as Karen swallowed and came to my rescue. “Um, how are your parents?”

“Good, thanks. They’re actually on vacation in Hawaii right now.”

“Lovely.”

“Yeah. Mom’s been looking forward to it for a long time.”

“Right. Wonderful.” She paused.

I was stuck for a conversation topic again. Damn it. Dating was harder than it looked. Normally I only ever had real conversations with our close-knit little group. Apart from that, I just flirted with the ladies, which was a game I knew well.

Hopefully Rosie would come take our order soon. Alcohol as a social lubricant could only help.

“Everything’s okay with this place?” Karen saved the conversation again. She was clearly better at this than I was. Thank God somebody knew what they were doing.

“Absolutely,” I said. “The bar side of things is running smoother than ever. Nell and Lydia have been sourcing more local organic produce to feature on the seasonal menu.”

“Mm.”

“Things are … good.”

We both let our gazes wander, taking in the room. The Dive Bar was only half full, what with it being early in the week. Depeche Mode was playing. Lydia must be in charge of the music. We each took turns to keep things fair. Boyd’s headbanger shit could be a little hard to handle, however, so we only gave him an hour or two a week.

Fingers fussing with the napkin, I slumped my shoulders, trying to loosen up. It wouldn’t do to let anyone know how on edge I was. Jesus, it wasn’t like I’d never met a woman for a drink before. But it had never been with a view toward anything long-term. Wonder when I should broach the subject of her and me being something serious.

“Have you ever eaten here?” I asked finally, winning at conversation. Someone ought to give me a gold star. Or a cookie. Or a drink. A drink would be nice. Where was Rosie to take our order?

“No, I haven’t.”

“Now that’s a damn shame. We need to fix that pronto.”

A hint of a smile curved the edge of her lips. “People tell me the food’s delicious.”

I outright grinned, always pleased to hear good feedback. “It is.”

“A lot pricier than the diner, though.”

“Well, it’s a different kind of dining experience.”

Nothing from her.

“You know?”

All expression had fallen from her face. “No, I don’t believe I do.”

“Don’t get me wrong, the diner does great basics,” I said. “Your pancakes in particular. Man, I could eat a truckload of those things and still come back for more. They are superb.”

“Basics?”

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

“And you’re what? Gourmet I suppose?”

Damn. “Well…”

“Just because you cover your pizzas in arugula and other fancy shit doesn’t make you better than us, Eric.”

“I don’t think we’re better than you.” Though I did really. The Dive Bar was a work of art. In comparison, the diner had all the style and atmosphere of a hot dog stand. “Calm down.”

“Not everyone wants to hang out with hipsters.”

“Hey, now. We’re not—”

“Whatever,” she snapped, obviously done with this line of conversation. Which was fine with me, given I didn’t want to get into a fight about the relative merits of our workplaces. “Is this food you’re talking about going to come soon? I’ve only got an hour before I’m meeting a friend at the gym.”