Then he sat back in his seat and his eyes moved to the library.
I took an unsteady breath and took a sip of my coffee.
Another hazelnut latte. It didn’t occur to me yesterday but it occurred to me then that he had to have asked Sunny or Shambles what my usual was and got it for me.
A nice thing to do.
Having this thought, my eyes moved to the library too. I’d gotten smart and parked on the street but on the side opposite the library, about a house down. I’d also kept the heat pumping. But before this, I laid out the stash.
“I take it, you’re here, no sign of him yet,” Chace noted, eyes to the library, lifting his cup to his mouth and taking a sip after he was done talking.
“Nope,” I replied and watched him take a sip.
It wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed. I way had. But having had those lips on mine and now sitting in my truck with him so close and no drama happening, it hit me in a way it never had before how attractive his lips were. The bottom one full, little sexy ridges in it, the top one well formed, more ridges, a perfect match.
It also hit me how square and strong his jaw was and that I’d never seen it, not once, with stubble on it. Not even a hint.
But I bet he’d look good with stubble.
Then again he’d look good with anything.
It further hit me that he had very cut cheekbones. So cut, they hollowed out his cheeks. Since he had a perfect, straight, strong nose, blond hair and blue eyes, that jaw, those lips, his cheekbones and those hollows adjusted his Man Category. Without them, he’d be the cute boy next door.
With them, he was the rugged, rural mountain town cop who’d seen it all, wasn’t impressed by much and didn’t take any shit.
It seemed strange, yet hot, that he dressed well, had a nice SUV, never had stubble, obviously took care of his body but yet his thick, dark blond hair hinted at unruly. It was swept back from his face in a natural way that didn’t suggest usage of product. I’d seen, on occasion, when there was wind and I’d noticed him outside, that locks of his hair would fall on his forehead. Or when I’d happened to see him running and he was sweating, I’d seen his hair plastered there. But usually, it looked nice, neat, taken care of.
But there were bits of it that curled around his ears and his strong neck. Unruly bits that curled in as well as out. A hint of wild. A hint of unkempt. Just that barest hint he needed a haircut but in a way, if I was asked, I’d get down on my knees and beg him not to do it. In a way that those unruly curls made me want to reach out, take hold of one and tug.
My belly melted again.
Chace’s head turned to me
“Got bad news.”
I blinked at his words that took me out of my very pleasant thoughts.
“What bad news?” I asked.
“Made plans last weekend with a buddy of mine. Goin’ to Deck’s tonight to catch the game. Which means I can’t take you out to dinner.”
I didn’t know we were going out to dinner. Even so, this news was fairly devastating since now I did know but we weren’t going so that was a huge bummer.
“Deck?” I queried.
“The cameras?” Chace for some reason queried back.
“Uh…” I mumbled, uncertain of my response to that and his lips tipped up.
“He’s my buddy who had the cameras. He’s a private detective, amongst other things. Lives in Chantelle. He helped me install ‘em Friday night.”
I felt my brows go up. “Amongst other things?”
“Actually, he isn’t a private detective. He just tells people he is. What he really is is a little scary. I ignore what he does because I’m a cop and if I didn’t I’d probably have to arrest him. We’re tight, have been since high school. He moved back this way about two years ago. Before that, by his account, he lived about everywhere. Since I think he’s not exaggerating but downplaying it, I figure he’s lived about everywhere and except for getting an audience with the Pope, done about everything.”
This Deck sounded interesting.
I didn’t share that. I just muttered, “Oh.”
“I’d cancel but Deck can be a dick when you cancel. He also doesn’t invite the boys over unless he intends to go all out. His own homemade beer that’s really fuckin’ good. Mexican layer dip and brownies that he makes that are even better. No joke. The man is six foot four, two hundred twenty pounds of muscled bulk and he makes dip and brownies. It’s a spread. And it’s a hassle puttin’ up with his attitude, you don’t show. So, I’m gonna show. But I’ll call you before you go to bed. I’ll make a reservation at The Rooster. We’ll go there tomorrow night. Can you be ready by six thirty?”
No, I couldn’t be ready to go to The Rooster at six thirty.
The library closed at six. Shutting everything down didn’t take forever but I wasn’t out until at least a quarter after. That meant I was home just moments before six thirty.
The Rooster was my favorite restaurant ever. It was a fancy steak joint in the mountains about a half an hour away. The views were amazing. The steaks melted in your mouth. The prices were astronomical but you’d sell your kidney without blinking just to trail your finger in their tri-peppercorn sauce and lick it clean.
I’d eaten there five times, all special occasions, and I’d never had anything that I didn’t consider the best I ever had. This was saying something since Denver had some amazing eateries and I partook copiously while living there when I was at Denver University and going back for my Master’s.
It was also one of the only places close by where you could dress up. Even in Denver, jeans were acceptable practically everywhere and considered formal attire in some circles depending on your top and footwear. But in Denver, women, and men, found their occasions to run the gamut of gorgeous apparel.
In the mountains, this was few and far between and in our area, The Rooster was one of the only places you could get by with going for the gusto.
On my first going out on a date well… date with Chace, I wanted to go for the gusto.
But I couldn’t go for the gusto if he was showing up on my doorstep about a nanosecond after I got home from work.
So no way I could be ready by six thirty.
I still said, “Yes.”
Chace didn’t reply. He just studied me.
Then he demonstrated yet again he could read my mind.
“How about this, can you be ready at seven thirty?”
That was way better.
“Yes,” I whispered on a small smile.
He grinned before he looked away, lifted his coffee cup but said to the lid before he took a sip, “Lookin’ forward to the show you got planned, baby.”
Panic instantly oozed from my every pore.
I liked my clothes. They were nice. Good quality. I thought they suited me. I had a few good getups for when I went back to Denver to meet friends or my family had special occasions that called for a little effort. And when I made an effort, I didn’t mind making a statement. Though, only a minor one.
But I had not one thing to wear on a date at The Rooster walking in on the arm of all the beauty that was Chace Keaton.
My mind quickly flipped through my options and this time, it settled on Lexie.
Krystal wore tank tops even in the winter. She might put a cardigan over them if she was heading outside, but even when it was super cold, that was all the effort she put into covering up and keeping warm.
Lauren always looked good. She used to be some executive but it was clear since she hit Carnal she’d embraced the biker babe lifestyle. This included her wardrobe if, compared to the vast number of other biker babes who lived in the vicinity, she injected a healthy dose of class.
But Lexie used to be a buyer at a department store. She wore high heels all the time, even high-heeled boots in the winter. Her husband was not a biker, he was a mechanic. A mechanic who owned a Dodge Viper and lived in one of the swank condos in the hills on the south end of town. Not to mention they were currently moving into an enormous house in an even more swank development in the eastern hills. I didn’t see him often but when I saw him with Lexie, he didn’t look like he could be in a beer ad. He looked like he could grace the cover of GQ. So Lexie didn’t embrace biker babe chic or mountain girl cute comfort. She always, but always, looked phenomenal.