Bring Down the Stars (Beautiful Hearts Duet #1)(30)

“Wow, this is yours?” I said.

“Just got her last month,” Connor said, opening the passenger door for me. “She’s pretty sweet.”

“I love the color.”

“The gun metal gray isn’t standard. I had her custom-painted.”

I sank into luxurious leather and a potent mix of new-car smell and Connor’s cologne.

“I don’t know much about cars,” I said when he got behind the wheel. “What kind is it?”

He grinned and revved the engine. It sounded like a rocket ship readying for takeoff. “Dodge Challenger Hellcat coupe. 707-horsepower, 650 pound-feet of torque.” He glanced at me slyly. “Does that mean anything to you?”

“Not really.”

Connor laughed. “You don’t have to know her specs to enjoy how she drives.”

He shifted into gear and expertly navigated off the curb and down Pleasant Drive, his car purring beneath us. I sat with my hands folded in my lap, almost afraid to touch anything this expensive. I was a farm girl who rode a bike all over town. Feeling I’d been miscast in a movie, I sought comfort in the beautiful text that brought me here in the first place.

“Did you tell me your major the other night at Yancy’s?” I asked. “Was it Creative Writing?”

“Economics.”

“Oh. Same as Weston.”

“We tend to do things together. A habit since prep school.”

“Are you going to join him on Wall Street?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said. “I haven’t figured it out yet. I could go on Wall Street, or work at one of my dad’s companies. I’m not really a nine-to-five kind of guy.” He laughed. “Hell, I’m not really a ten-to-three kind of guy. I think owning my own sports bar would be pretty perfect. I like hanging out, talking hockey or baseball. Just having a good time, you know?”

“Sure.”

No wonder his tone and manner were so easy-going. Connor never had to wake up early unless he wanted to. He needed no crap job to keep money in the bank. No scholarship to pay for school. No lean months when he wondered where rent was going to come from. He slouched in his custom-painted car, a wrist slung over the wheel.

He has no fear, I thought. No fear it could all be taken away at any second.

I feared. Working my ass off for what I wanted was ingrained in me. It made me who I was, and fear continued to form me like clay every single day, molding me into the person I had yet to become.

My stomach tightened. I reminded myself that having money didn’t guarantee a perfect life, but the feeling of being miscast grew stronger.

“Running your own business is a lot of work,” I said.

“I can hire people to do the heavy lifting. I want to hang out and talk to customers, make them feel good. Make ‘em laugh, take their minds off their worries.”

“That sounds…nice,” I said.

“Tell that to my parents.” He pulled into the Maison Rostand driveway and found a parking spot.

“They don’t like the sports bar idea?”

“Not even a little.”

His expression darkened as he killed the engine and abruptly exited the car, unsmiling for the first time since I’d met him. But his smile was back as he opened my door for me, and offered me his arm. A perfect gentleman.

The French restaurant was a tall, elegant building—a bit of 18th century Versailles set smack in the middle of the Massachusetts countryside.

“Have you been here before?” I asked, as we crossed the parking lot.

“Once,” Connor said. “My parents came to watch one of my games. They brought me and a couple of teammates here after.”

“One of your baseball games, right? What position do you play?”

“Center field,” he said. “You ever come to a game?”

“No, I’m usually too busy with classes and Mark wasn’t…” I swallowed the rest of the sentence.

Dammit. Now I’m the girl who brings up an ex on a first date.

One of Connor’s eyebrows raised. “Mark?”

“My ex-boyfriend,” I said. “We broke up at the start of summer. He wasn’t a big sports fan and I was too busy. Weston’s track meet was the first event I’ve been to at Amherst.”

As he opened the restaurant door, Connor’s stunning eyes caught and held mine. “I’m glad you made an exception.”

The tightness in my stomach relaxed. “Me too.”

The foyer of Rostand’s was elegant marble and plaster, with muted lighting and rich décor. The scent of grilled steak and chocolate laced the air.

“It’s like a little piece of Paris,” I said, glancing around. “I’m trying to imagine a bunch of baseball players in here.”

“We were on our best behavior.” He shot me a wink. “At Roxie’s later…not so much. Ever been?”

“Never heard of it,” I said, as we waited to be seated.

“Really? It’s a roadhouse about an hour out of town, on this little dirt road. Kind of a rough crowd, but I dig it.” He whipped his head to me. “You want to check it out instead of eating here?”

“I don’t know if it’s my scene,” I said, smoothing down my skirt.