I Want You Back (Want You #1)(8)

“A woman after my own heart. The beer on tap is listed on the second to the last page. And might I suggest you try the Spring Splendor from a microbrewery in Wisconsin? It’s a full-bodied IPA with hints of apple blossom, green wheatgrass and honey. It’s the quintessential beer for spring.”

Fucking hipster.

“While my beautiful date is debating what her heart desires”—besides me went unsaid—“have the bartender pour me whatever seasonal Schell you’ve got on tap. Sixteen ounce.”

The dude bristled.

Lucy said, “I’ll have the same.”

As soon as the guy left, she leaned in. “This date ain’t starting out so hot, ace.”

“Why? Because I was brusque to the server who was salivating all over my date?”

She blinked at me. “Salivating? Really?”

“Slathering on the flattery too.”

She snorted and busied herself scouring the menu.

“Salivating and slathering is my job, hot stuff. Not his.”

Without missing a beat or looking up from her menu, she said, “Hit me with some flattery.”

“I can’t decide if I’ll wrap my fingers in your silky hair the first time I kiss you or if I’ll curl my hand around the back of your neck as I taste my fill of those full lips of yours. I may not kiss you tonight, but by our third date you will know how perfectly wicked it’ll feel to have my mouth all over you.”

Lucy slowly lowered the menu. Her pupils had nearly disappeared in her dark brown eyes. “Are you a good kisser, Jaxson? Or do you just talk a good game?”

“Anytime you want to find out, baby, all you gotta do is ask.”

She smirked . . . and damn if it didn’t straddle the line between evil and challenging. “Fair warning that this verbal foreplay is all you’ll get from me tonight: I don’t fuck on the first date.”

“So I can’t call you loose.” I smirked. “But then again, Luce, I guess I can.”

She started laughing. The sound of it had me joining in. We were still snickering when the waiter—not the brownnosing host boy—delivered our beer.

I raised my mug to hers for a toast.

But she beat me to the punch. “To loose women and annoying men.”

“Sk?l.”

After that first sip, I said, “What kind of pizza are we ordering?”

“Pepperoni and green olive.”

I shook my head. “Sausage and black olive. With hot peppers.”

She shook her head right back at me. “With green peppers and green onions.”

“Nope. With purple onions and mushrooms. Chicago deep-dish pan style.”

“Wrong. Thin crust.”

The waiter returned. “Are you ready to order?”

I kept my eyes on hers. “We’ll take a large hand-tossed crust, loaded with all toppings except anchovies.”

“Extra cheese?” he asked.

We said, “No,” simultaneously.

“The man can compromise,” she muttered before taking another swig of beer.

I just smiled. “So, Lucy Q, are you a native Minnesotan or a transplant?”

“Native. Born and raised in the Twin Cities. How about you?”

“Same.” If I told her I didn’t live here now this would be our first and last date. “And your family?”

“My mom lives here. She and my father divorced when I was ten. My sister lives here too.”

“Older sister? Younger?”

“Older by two years. What about your family?”

“Most of my family lives here. I have one brother. Younger by two years. I have a lot of cousins. We spent so much time together growing up that they’re almost like my siblings.”

“Sounds fun.” She made a ring on her cocktail napkin with the bottom of her beer mug. “Ever been married?”

“Nope. Never came close.”

“Me neither.” She gave me a curious look. “What do you do for a living?”

“Guess.”

“How did I know you were gonna say that.” She continued her perusal of me. “You’re a finance guy. Probably a stockbroker, given the annoying conversation about salary that I overheard.”

“Nope. Not even close.”

“Is Jaxson your first name or your last name?”

I said, “First,” and nothing else.

“What’s the big deal about you not telling me your last name or what you do for a living?”

I slumped back in the booth with a sigh. “Me telling you will change things. And I like you and how this is going, so I’m not ready to wreck it.”

Her eyes searched mine. “I’ll let you hedge. For now.”

“Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind there will be a second date, despite your erroneous statement that this date wasn’t going well. What do you do for a living?”

“Guess.”

I had that coming. “You’re a baker.”

“What about me caused you to make that claim?”

“Because you smell amazing. Like lemon cupcakes coated with sweet buttercream frosting.”

“That’s my body lotion,” she retorted. “Try again. You have two more guesses about my occupation.”