The latter was said as gently as Teresa could put anything—and it had to be about Thom and his soon-to-be-here baby.
Damn it, that whole thing still stung, Cait thought. Even though it had been years, and was now totally and completely not her business.
Teresa cleared her throat. “Call me later, even if it’s two in the morning—in fact, especially if it’s after midnight.”
“Okay, I will.”
“And try to kiss him, will ya? I’m dying to know what it’s like! Oh, and if it sucks? Lie to me so I can keep my fantasy going. Thank you. Good-bye.”
Cait was laughing as she hung up and disappeared the phone into her purse.
A couple flights of stairs later, she emerged out onto the sidewalk, looked to the right and there it was in the distance: the iconic Palace Theatre vertical sign that ran up the corner of the building. Long the staple of Caldwell postcards and T-shirts, the forty-foot-high, spotlit jewel was exactly as it had been in the forties, the bright red, gold, and white swirls spelling out the name … and the fantasy of the stage.
The theater was the best kind of throwback, a gold-leafed, crystal-hung, red-carpeted palace that rebuffed the relentless fleece-and-sweatpants nature of modern life, and made you feel like a schmuck for not wearing a belle cloche and gloves when you stepped out.
Total Bette Davis fabulous.
Beneath the sign, she fell into line with a processional of other pedestrians, all of whom were walking over a mosaic’d stretch of pavement that also spelled out the theater’s name. And then inside the front receiving foyer, the iconic pattern of reds, golds, and whites was further repeated in the tile floor and the papered walls.
As the crowd filed in like cards getting shuffled into an orderly deck, she noticed that she was surrounded by couples, and wasn’t that yet another reminder of how long she’d been single. In fact, she could barely remember what it was like to go paired up somewhere, whether it was a party or a movie or the park on a nice day.
The last date she’d been on…?
Oh, jeez, it had to have been that setup her parents had arranged long-distance. What a nightmare—her mother and father’s theology had shown up at an Olive Garden in a suit and a tie, proceeded to order for her, and then stepped up on a soapbox to hold forth for two hours of her life that she was never going to get back.
Before that high point? It might … yes, it might even have been something with Thom. Back in college.
But she was breaking that dry spell tonight.
Rising up on her tiptoes, she peered over the sea of heads, hoping to find G.B. standing by the will-call—nope. Well, at least not that she could see. Maybe he was somewhere else in the lobby—
“Oh … my God.”
There was someone she recognized.
Over against the wall by the interior sets of doors that led into the lobby.
Standing alone, looking like he didn’t belong and didn’t care.
Slowing to a halt, she was knocked into from behind, someone’s elbow digging into her shoulder. The bump didn’t restart her in the slightest. Especially as he swung his eyes up and around—right at her.
It was the man from the truck last night, the one who had been parked next to her at the café.
The big, powerful man who had come up to her window and spoken in a voice that had made it impossible for her to fall asleep.
As her body flushed, she expected him to register a flash of recognition and then look away for whoever he was waiting for. He didn’t refocus elsewhere, however. He just stared at her.
Cait shook herself and got with the program, telling her feet to get going so she didn’t plug up the flow of people. Rising onto her toes again, she searched for G.B.
Nope.
And when she looked back at the other man, he was still staring at her.
Maybe he knew Teresa’s favorite singer?
When all he did was continue to meet her eyes, she wondered if he hadn’t been sent for her—and didn’t that seem somehow … inevitable—
Okaaaaaaay, she told herself as she made her way over to him. Let’s not go all Cupid on this, shall we?
Then again … wow. He was wearing black jeans and a black leather jacket, and that body of his did all the work and then some when it came to giving the clothes structure. Between his incredible eyes and that jawline, the only thing she could think of was that he should be photographed or drawn—someone needed to capture what he looked like permanently.
And on that note, she so wasn’t the only one who noticed him. Every woman glanced in his direction and did a double take.
He, however, was only looking at her.
“Hi,” she said as she came up to him. “I, ah, I don’t suppose you’re waiting for me?”
“Yeah, I am.”
Cait cleared her throat. “Oh, good. Okay. Well, this makes sense then.”
She waited for him to say something. Instead, his eyes slowly went down her body.
Holy … crap. She felt like someone had put her on a hot plate. And even though there were a hundred people around her? Instantly, it was just the two of them, and God help her, she liked it that way—as well as how he was looking at her: He was a stranger who was radiating sex, and rather than being offended, all she could think of was what it would be like to have him doing that while she was naked.
While he was naked—
Yeah, okay, time to step away from the ledge. Any fantasy of that was absolutely insane. She was a lights-out, under-the-covers, missionary kind of girl. Or at least, she had been … back when she’d had a sex life.
A decade ago.
When her lips had to part so she could grab enough oxygen, his eyes locked on her mouth—and he might as well have been kissing her. Pure, animal attraction flared out of his stare, his stance, his body … and she responded to it, her skin, her core warming even further.
Live now, a voice said in her head. Live while you have the chance.
As if he knew what she was thinking, he said, “I get off work at three thirty. Meet me.”
Not a question. Not even an invitation. A demand—like maybe he’d spent time thinking about them hooking up, and whereas it had never dawned on her to follow through on the chance intersection from the night before, he had made a point of crossing her path again.
“I don’t do one-night stands,” she blurted.
“Who says one will be enough.”
Right. Okay. Those words, framed by that deep growl? Talk about a carnal promise.
“I don’t know you.” Damn, her voice was husky.
“Does that matter.”
“Yes.”
He stuck out his hand. “Duke Phillips.”
Walk away, Cait told herself. This is not the seventies. No one has casual sex anymore—
Abruptly, scenes from Girls flashed through her mind. With him in the picture, naturally. Great.
“I’m here to meet G.B.” Wow, didn’t that sound like a protest.
He dropped his unshaken hand. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Wait, I thought he asked you to get me and take me backstage?”
“When I said I came for you, I can assure you, it was not on anybody else’s behalf.”
Cait’s mouth nearly fell open, but she caught it in time. Although come on, it wasn’t like she was sporting any swagger over here, what with the blushing routine and the self-talk about her very non-Girls existence.
“Three thirty,” he repeated.
“I’m sorry, I already have … plans.”
“I work at the Iron Mask. Use the staff entrance in from the back parking lot. Ask for me.”
Cait frowned. “Quick question here. Does this approach actually work for you?”
“I’ve never used it before. So you tell me.”