California Sunshine - Page 25

The PCT event is being held at a sports bar near the post office. It’s a short walk from the hotel up on the hill, and we get some spectacular views of the large lake as we head out on our sort-of-date.

“Feeling any better?” Nova asks, drawing my attention away from the sparkling water. There’s a smile on his face, but concern in his eyes. “You were a little flustered at the post office earlier. Even before we, um . . .”

I chuckle. For being nicknamed Casanova, he can be kind of awkward at times. “Shared a not terrible kiss?”

He chuckles. “Still claiming it wasn’t bad, huh? What about our kiss in the hallway? Better?”

“A little,” I tease, the corners of my lips turned up in a playful smile. “You’ve got two more to go. Who knows, you might even rate as high as decent after a few drinks.”

We both laugh as he rushes up the stairs to get the door for me. Being with Nova fills me with laughter and warmth, pushing out all the nasty shit that got injected into my day by . . . I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Rachel was right. Fuck him. I’m not letting that asshole ruin my day again. Or my night. When I open my eyes and meet Nova’s gaze, he has the same questioning concern from earlier. I smile and make my way up the stairs, reaching for his hand. He’s happy to let me, giving mine a light squeeze.

“Sorry,” I say, then add, “Yes, I’m doing better.” I don’t know which of us I’m trying to reassure, but Nova’s gaze lightens and his smile gets firmer. It draws my eyes to his lips, and I find it hard to resist the urge to kiss him. So I don’t. I step up to him, placing my hand on his strong, toned arms. I kiss him gently, then pull back with a sparkle of joy in his eyes and mine.

“No cheating. That doesn’t count as one of the three,” Nova teases.

“I know,” I tell him, linking my arm with his. “For luck. Maybe your next two will turn out all right.”

We both laugh as he guides me inside.

The interior is decorated with a myriad of team banners, old jerseys, team photos, and a hundred other pieces of memorabilia. Most of it celebrates the many pro teams from Los Angeles, but also college and local high school teams. A couple of screens in the corners and over the bar are showing different sports channels, but it’s the large screen on one end with a baseball game that’s drawing most of the patrons’ attention.

A pretty redhead approaches with a plastered smile, the kind most servers wear on a busy Saturday night. Her shirt is too tight, but not as tight as her slacks, and her ample cleavage is on full display. I glance at Nova, who’s looking back at me like he doesn’t even see the girl in front of us. In a crowded room, it’s like I’m the only person he sees. It makes me a little giddy. “We’re here for the PCT event,” I tell the waitress, and she points us toward a set of doors leading to a patio area out back.

There’s perhaps two dozen people already milling about in the fenced-off area by the time we arrive. Nova recognizes a few of them from the post office, waving as he guides me toward a small, unclaimed table near the back. He pulls out a chair and gestures for me to take it. “Quite the gentleman, huh?” I quip.

Nova grins as he reaches down to tilt my face toward him. He leans in close, drawing a single finger along my jawline, torturing me in the most exquisite way. “If that’s what you need from me, I’ll make an English Lord look like a redneck,” he says before kissing me.

Unlike the first two kisses, this one is soft and tender, opening himself up and offering to be whatever I need without hesitation. It warms my chest and curls my toes. If I was standing, I’d probably be doing one of those cheesy rom-com foot pops they do in Disney movies or on the Hallmark channel. Yet it’s the best, most honest kiss we’ve shared today. And I desperately want another. Nova draws back, grinning like he can read my mind. Then again, my cheeks are so hot half the courtyard could take one look and know how much Nova’s kiss affected me.

A waiter stops by the table for our drink order, dropping off two glasses of water. I gulp mine, hoping it will quench the burning in my cheeks and in my core long enough for me to get through dinner. Nova lets me order first, and I spot a hazelnut brown ale on their beer menu. Nova orders a West Coast IPA and some mozzarella sticks, which leaves me licking my lips for a different reason as our waiter heads off to get our drinks.

Nova chuckles. “Thought you might like those.”

“Oh?”

“I figure you must have a thing for cheese.”

“What makes you think that?”

“It makes sense considering your three perfect foods,” he tells me. I cock an eyebrow at him. “Pizza, cheeseburgers, and chicken parmesan all have a single ingredient in common: cheese.”

“What about tomatoes? Or flour?”

“Different sauces. And who gets excited about flour?”

“A baker.”

Nova shrugs. “Fair point. But I’m still betting it’s the cheese.”

I try and fail to hide my grin. “You might be right.”

Nova leans back with a knowing smirk. “Well, while we wait, do you want to mingle?” he asks, waving toward the growing crowd. I nod, and he springs up to pull my chair out for me. Damn. He really could put an English Lord to shame.

Our waiter finds us with our drinks while we’re talking to a couple from Indiana and two brothers from Virginia who insist we need to try the Appalachian Trail sometime. I sip the sudsy brew, humming with appreciation at the rich nutty flavor. My eyes flick toward Nova, who’s watching me with hungry eyes, all interest in food and drink disappearing. “Want a taste?” I ask, holding up my pub glass.

He leans in close, and I find myself holding my breath. “Badly.” He pulls away without taking a sip, leaving me with little doubt about what he wants a taste of.

We spot the basket of mozzarella sticks arriving at our table and head back to place our orders. “Trust me?” Nova asks.

I consider the question. It could be taken in so many ways, yet it doesn’t take long for me to answer, knowing I mean it in every way. “I do.”

Nova grins like it’s the best news of the night, then turns to the waiter. “Your two best cheeseburgers, please.”

“Nice choice,” I say after the waiter leaves.

“An easy one,” he replies. “Although I should have ordered some of the fried pickles for Bats. They’re his favorite. We used to get them all the time at . . .” Nova trails off, realizing he had either said, or was about to say, something he shouldn’t have.

“Used to?” Nova sighs and leans back in his chair, deciding that’s the best time for a long gulp of beer. “Let me guess. Crossing the line between trail and home.” I frown, leaning back and turning my attention elsewhere.

Nova shuffles in his chair, then his hand is holding mine. He draws comforting circles with his thumb, drawing me back to him. “It’s not like that.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “Honestly, I don’t care about that rule. If there is anything you want to know about me, just ask.”

The look in his eyes says he will too. “So . . .?”

“We used to spend a lot of time in sports bars back home. But the reason we don’t anymore, that’s not my story,” he tells me.

I consider this for a moment. “Grinder?” Nova shakes his head. “Bats? But wasn’t he on the football team? What happened?”

Nova sighs sadly. “Like I said, not my story. You’ll have to ask him. But I promise, I’m an open book. I won’t hold back.” I nod in understanding.

We spend the next few minutes in comfortable silence, holding each other’s hand and munching down on mozzarella sticks until our burgers arrive. When they do, my eyes go wide with delight. Our waiter places a BBQ pulled pork burger in the center of the table, joined by a bacon and avocado cheeseburger. I have to remind myself to close my mouth before I drool over the food. Nova cuts the burgers and motions for me to choose. I dive in on the bacon and avocado, moaning my approval. Nova laughs before diving into the pulled pork.

Soon, there’s only a few fries left. Nova holds my hand, running his fingers absently across my palm and sending shivers up my arm. He looks at me with a different sort of hunger in his eyes. “We could stay and mingle . . .” I consider the offer, but shrug a single shoulder. “Or we could head back to the hotel?”

Rachel’s advice from earlier comes to mind, and I grin. “Fuck, yes.”

***

Tags: Chris Mor Thriller
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