Harper laughed, but it was a sad sound. “I don’t care about the stupid tickets,” she admitted, her voice muffled. She was speaking so softly, he could barely hear her over the music, but what she said next was clear enough that he could almost read her lips. “It’s… you. I miss you.”
His first sensation: relief. Pure and overwhelming. Adam had to grip the edge of his chair to hold himself still. He didn’t know what to say next. Their friendship-what was left of it-was so fragile, he feared that the wrong words could smash it beyond repair. “I-”
But before he could say anything, right or wrong, one of the white jumpsuit Elvises hopped oft the stage and strolled right up to their table, close enough that Adam could see the plastic studs holding the rhinestones in place. “How about a serenade for our young lovers here?” the Elvis asked, and the audience roared with approval. Harper’s face flushed red, and Adam wished he could hide under the table-or, better yet, shove the Elvis under there until he and Harper had safely left the building. But they did nothing, and Elvis began to sing.
“Love me tender,” he crooned. “Love me true…”
Adam buried his face in his hands, but it didn’t make the nightmare end.
“For my darlin’ I love you. And I always will.”
“… and let’s just say that I will never again bite into something without checking to see if it’s still breathing,” Jackson concluded, shaking his head as if in dismay at his own foolishness.
Miranda laughed-perhaps a little harder than the story merited, but then, she was spending her birthday with a cute, older guy who, in his own words, thought she was “adorable,” “hilarious,” and “fantastic.” A little extra laughter was a small price to pay. “That’s unbelievable,” she said, gasping for breath.
“I swear.” Jackson put a hand over his heart. “It happened exactly like I said.”
When they’d been booted out of the bar, Miranda had been sure her date was over before it even began, but Jackson had just shrugged and escorted her down the strip to Killian’s, a dark, opulent, outrageously Irish pub with thick burgers, heaping plates of mashed potatoes, and towering mugs of beer. Miranda stuck to salad and soda.
“I’m really glad you agreed to come out with me tonight,” Jackson told her.
Miranda searched for a suitably snappy response, but under the table she suddenly felt the light touch of a hand on her knee, and her witty bravado melted away. “Me too,” she said sincerely, and, though it felt unthinkably bold, she rested her hand on top of his, lightly twining their fingers. Jackson stared at her so intensely that she was tempted to look away, but she knew that in a situation like this, she was supposed to meet his eyes. So she forced herself to do it.
He’s gazing at me, the overanalytical part of her mind that refused to shut up observed. I never thought anyone would do that. It was only a few hours to her birthday, and Miranda allowed herself to hope that she would get to start off her eighteenth year in the best way imaginable: with a kiss.
“Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked, appearing as if from nowhere. She was dressed in green from head to toe, and wore a four-leaf clover beret over her bright red-certainly dyed-hair. “Some more water?”
“We’re fine,” Jackson said, but she had already leaned in to start pouring.
“Jesus!” he screeched, as half a pitcher of ice water sloshed into his lap. He jumped up, but it was too late-a large dark spot was quickly spreading across the front of his pants.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” the waitress cried, slipping out of the fake Irish brogue she’d adopted for the rest of their meal. “Here, let me-” She leaned toward him to start patting him down with a napkin, but Jackson squirmed away. “I got it,” he snapped. Sliding out of the booth. “Miranda, I’ve got to-”
“Go,” she urged him, marveling at how quickly her perfect date could go south. Not that it was a surprise. The perfection of the afternoon had seemed bizarre. It was all too unbelievably smooth and perfect to be true. This comedy of errors, on the other hand, was totally in keeping with the way Miranda’s life usually went. “I think the bathroom’s that way.” She pointed, but he was already gone. He’ll come back in a minute, she assured herself, but she couldn’t make herself believe it.
“Clumsy waitress, eh?” a familiar voice chuckled from the next booth over. Miranda peeked her head over the top of her booth to see Kane staring up at her. He shook his head. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.”
As always, she felt an unmitigated blast of joy at seeing him-so it took her a moment to wonder at his presence. “What are you doing here?” she finally asked.
“You’re not answering your phone,” he pointed out.
“I’m on a date.”
He smirked. “Yeah. I caught that. How’s it going?”
“It’s going great,” she boasted. “Fantastically. Best date I ever had.” Mostly because all her other dates had sucked. But that wasn’t the point. The point was to let Kane know that he wasn’t welcome to crash this one.
Even if, secretly, possibly, he was.
“I was afraid of that.”
“Afraid of what? That I’d actually have a good time?” Dare she allow herself to hope that he was jealous? Stop, she instructed herself. It doesn’t matter. I’m here with Jackson. Jackson was cute, smart, sweet, and, though he wasn’t Kane, he had one important thing going for him that Kane didn’t: He wanted to be with Miranda.
“He’s bad news,” Kane told her. “Don’t trust him. I’d leave now, if I were you, now that I’ve given you the chance.”
“Now that you’ve…?” The pieces fell into place: the suddenly clumsy waitress. The fact that Kane just happened to be sitting at the next table. Maybe even the bartender who’d randomly thrown them out of the bar. “Are you trying to ruin my life? Or just my night?”
“Just trying to help,” Kane said. “Get away from him. He’s-uh-oh. Don’t tell him I was here.” Before she could say anything else, Kane had ducked out of the booth and disappeared into a corridor. And then Jackson was back.
“Well, I’ve gone from soggy to damp,” Jackson said ruefully, sliding back into his seat. “So that’s an improvement. Still, maybe after dinner we could stop by my room, just to grab a change of clothes. If you’re up for it, I mean.”
It didn’t make any sense. This was Kane’s friend; Kane was the one who’d introduced them. He’d vouched for Jackson. And now he was trying to torpedo the date? It was as if he was jealous, but he couldn’t be jealous. And it didn’t matter either way. It didn’t matter what his reasoning was. She’d wasted enough of her time worrying about Kane-this was her chance to actually be happy, even if it was just for the night. She wasn’t going to screw it up. “Sure, as soon as we’re done here, we should definitely hit your room so you can get out of those wet pants.” She giggled as they both realized the implications of what she’d just said. They weren’t altogether unintentional.
Miranda was about to continue, to tell Jackson about the strange encounter she’d had while he was drying off, so that they could laugh about and then dismiss Kane’s ludicrous scheming. But Kane had asked her not to say anything.
And though she didn’t owe him anything, didn’t care what he wanted, and refused to spend another moment thinking about him, she kept her mouth shut.
Her skin was so soft.
Everything about her was perfect. That sweet, lilting voice that sang whenever she spoke. Her hair, which fell through his fingers like it had no substance, no weight, but was made of golden light. Her lips, which were now pressed against his neck, and her fingers, which crawled down his bare chest and massaged his back. Her pale blue eyes, closed now, shaded by delicate eyelids rimmed by eyelashes so light, they were nearly invisible.