The Kiss Quotient(89)
Stella waited for him to ask about her. He tapped his fingers on the table in time to the classical guitar music playing in the background. He took another drink of water.
“I alternate between lap swimming and running every day,” he added.
“No martial arts?”
“Eh. I took a fencing class in college, but it seems silly in this day and age.”
That meant Michael would probably trounce him in a match. She’d kind of enjoy seeing that.
“I like martial arts movies,” she said.
“That’s so unlike you. I’m more of a documentary person, myself.”
As Philip droned on about the latest documentary he’d seen, Stella’s mind wandered. She found herself reimagining the night of the benefit dinner. In her fantasy version of that night, Michael didn’t break up with her. Instead, he declared himself helplessly in love with her. Enraged beyond all reason, Philip challenged him to a duel, and the men faced off outside next to the pool. Because they didn’t have swords on hand, they used golf clubs.
When she smiled at her fanciful thoughts, Philip interpreted that as encouragement, and he grew more animated as he spoke of his fascination with exposés and political commentary.
Stella wondered what a match between a kendo artist and fencer would look like. It would probably be pretty funny if they were using irons and putters—assuming they had enough control not to bludgeon each other to death. They really needed a scene like this in a K-drama. She’d watch it over and over.
The hero didn’t even have to win. All he had to do to get the girl was fight for her. If he lost, she’d kiss him better.
When they stepped out of the restaurant onto the crowded sidewalk, Philip smiled at her and captured one of her hands. “I think we get along really well, Stella. We should do this again.”
Then he leaned down to kiss her.
* * *
? ? ?
As Michael walked with Quan toward his favorite Korean BBQ restaurant on University Avenue, he couldn’t help scanning the sidewalks for glimpses of Stella. Her house was only blocks away. While it was unlikely she’d be out doing late-night shopping, it was possible.
Even so, he was unprepared when he saw her standing outside a Mediterranean restaurant across the street. Her hair was up in its usual bun, her glasses were in place, and she wore her regular oxford shirt, pencil skirt, and pointed pumps. His Stella, his brainy, sweet—
Was that Philip James? Was he about to kiss her?
Michael saw red.
His muscles tensed, and he lunged. Quan’s firm grip on his arms drew him up short.
“Easy, man.”
Before Philip’s lips could touch hers, Stella turned her face away and took a step back. She pulled her hand out of his grasp, saying words that couldn’t be heard from this distance but were clearly rejection.
Instead of taking it like a man, Philip advanced toward her with a predatory glint in his eyes.
“Okay, he’s asking for it,” Quan said.
Quan let him go, and Michael crossed the street without consciously taking a single step. If there were cars in the way, he didn’t notice them. He plowed straight through them for all he knew. Before the bastard could touch his dirty lips to Stella’s side-turned face, Michael yanked him away and slammed his knuckles into Philip’s eye.
As Philip staggered back, Michael drew a stunned Stella into his arms. Beneath the angry surging of his heart, a sense of rightness settled in place. The feel of her, the smell of her, his.
“Are you okay?” he whispered.
She blinked at him in bemusement. “Did you really just punch him in the eye?”
“That little shit was about to force himself on you. Again. No one forces you. Ever.”
Philip lowered the hand from his quickly swelling eye to stab a finger in Michael’s direction. “We’re on a date. There was no forcing involved.”
Stella pushed away from Michael and adjusted the purse straps on her shoulder. “I’m going home now. Alone. Good night.”
“Stella, wait.” Philip tried to follow her, but Michael stepped in his way.
“You heard her. She’s going home alone.”
When Philip looked like he might press the issue, Quan came up beside Michael. His hands hung loose at his sides, but he was poised for violence, his eyes cold. “Do we have a problem here?”
Philip took in the barricade formed by Michael and Quan and backed off. His mouth worked like he wanted to speak, but in the end, he clenched his jaw shut, glanced longingly in Stella’s retreating direction, and left.
Michael squeezed Quan’s shoulder. “Thanks.”
Quan’s lips quirked, and he tipped his head toward Stella. “You should go check up on her.”
“Get a table. I’ll find you there.”
He ran after Stella and fell in step beside her, but instead of slowing down, she increased her pace, keeping her gaze focused straight ahead.
“I had the situation under control. Don’t forget I own a Taser.”
Her abruptness and impersonal tone snuck right underneath Michael’s guard and irritated the shit out of him. He still dreamed about her daily, and she was seeing other people. It hadn’t even been two whole weeks.
“Couldn’t wait to test your new skills out, I see.”