Rock Chick Reborn (Rock Chick #9)(14)

Not to mention carry that kickass clutch.

I’d turned my attention to the hostess’s shoes as she guided the way to the table, thinking they were a little bit of all right and I’d ask her where she got them when she turned and murmured, “Careful of the carpet.”

“Thanks,” I replied, lifting my eyes to her face.

She gave me another polite smile before again turning forward.

I looked beyond her, wondering why things seemed calm and sedate, considering the Rock Chicks were in the house.

No one was shouting, crying, whooping, laughing so loud the windows shook, and I heard no loud conversations about sex.

I supposed this was Barolo Grill.

We were a crazy bunch of bitches but we could get our game faces on when getting thrown out might mean you wouldn’t get to eat your risotto alla milanese (yes, I had pre-checked the menu, and yes, I totally knew every course I was ordering—all four of them).

I just hadn’t decided what cocktail I was going to start with.

What I had decided was that when I had the ambience of Barolo Grill around me, I’d go where the spirit moved me.

This was my thought when the spirit moved me to jack my ass around and take off running the other way.

And this was because the hostess was not leading me to the Rock Chicks.

She was leading me to a table where Moses Richardson was rising from his chair, eyes locked on me. He was wearing a black shirt, a superbly cut dark-gray blazer, crisp jeans, and he looked good enough to eat.

Way better than the four-course meal I’d picked out.

All right.

What . . .

In the fuck . . .

Was going on?

I didn’t run. I couldn’t run. And not because I was in a fancy restaurant and wearing high heels (and I was thanking God I’d chosen the black body-con, midi dress with the bateau neck and art deco pattern that, yes, even I could say I rocked).

Because Moses Richardson was watching me walk his way, looking fine, looking alert (which was also fine) and looking like he might chase me if I ran.

“Your dinner partner for this evening,” the hostess murmured when we stopped at his table. “Enjoy,” she finished, then she wasted no further time and took off.

She didn’t even motion to one of the chairs or hand me the menu that was sitting on one of the two plates.

I stared at Moses.

He watched me.

I kept staring at Moses thinking Indy had phoned me her damned self to set this up.

But I’d talked with Daisy, Jules and Ava about that night and what we were all wearing.

I’d been played.

By the Rock Chicks and the Hot Bunch.

Those boys had such big mouths.

I should have known this was not a Rock Chick night. Barolo Grill was Indy and Lee’s place (though I didn’t know how, I’d made fifteen reservations for them here, and for one reason or another in the life of an RCHB, one of them was always cancelling).

“You’re not running away,” Moses observed.

“I’m too busy plotting multiple murders.”

He smiled.

Lordy.

He moved to pull a chair out.

“Are you going to sit?” he asked.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I answered.

He settled in while standing there. “I’ve got all night.”

And he looked like he did. He looked like he didn’t give a shit we were both standing, staring at each other at a table at the swanky-ass Barolo Grill.

“If I ran, would you chase me?” I asked curiously.

“Yes,” he answered.

Hmm.

“Please sit down, Shirleen,” he said in that honey voice.

It was the “please” that got me.

I shifted his way, turned, aimed my ass at the chair and sat.

He helped me bring my chair under the table.

Right.

Did I just do that?

Why did I just do that?

I should not have done that.

I set my clutch to the table only because it was in my hand and I was going to push up on it to get out of my chair.

“I should—” I began.

Honey poured into my ear because his lips were right there.

Which meant it felt like it poured down my neck.

And south.

“Just relax. It’s a man and a woman having dinner. Enjoying each other’s company. In this moment, what goes from here doesn’t matter. Just be in the now . . . with me.”

I drew in a deep breath.

A man and a woman having dinner.

A juvenile corrections officer and an ex-drug dealer having dinner.

I couldn’t do it.

My whole body tensed to bolt.

The honey came back.

“In the now, Shirleen.”

I turned my head and looked into his eyes.

“You’re not in the now,” he told me when his gaze caught mine. “You’re in the past. Or you’re in the future. The now is just this table. Food. Wine. Conversation. And then it’s done.”

“What are we gonna talk about?” I asked.

“Whatever you want.” He kept hold on my gaze. “And nothing that you don’t want.”

“You’re being very accommodating,” I noted.

“I want to have dinner with you.”

He wanted to have dinner with me.