Her frown softened just a bit. She stepped away from him, moving so that the opened driver-side door of her car was between them. “What is it?”
He locked eyes with her. “I want another chance with you.”
Lina could feel her heart pounding in her chest like thunder. She blinked, sucked in a breath. But that only served to fill her nostrils with the woodsy, masculine scent of Rashad’s cologne. A shiver went through her body as she recalled the way that scent had smelled, clinging to her skin and to her bedding.
She raised her gaze and found him watching her in silence. Every bit of good sense she possessed abandoned her as she looked into his dark eyes. He was entirely too much man, and she couldn’t help but be mesmerized by him.
His soft lips parted. “Have a drink with me. I know a little place not far from here. You can follow me there, what do you say?”
Before she could think, the response fell out of her mouth. “Yes.” The moment she heard herself say it, she cringed, knowing it was too late to take it back.
He was already striding away, toward his pickup truck parked a few spaces away. “Great. I’ll drive slowly so you won’t lose me in downtown traffic.”
Resigning herself to go along with him as agreed, she climbed into her car, closed the door and buckled up. By the time she started the engine, he was already idling at the curb, ready to pull out into the road. She eased her car up behind his big truck and waited.
It took about ten minutes to arrive at the “little place” he’d spoken of, a bar called Shout Down Babylon. He parked in an empty spot right in front of the entrance, and she slipped into one a few spots over. By the time she’d unbuckled her belt, he opened her door and extended his hand to help her out of the car.
She took his offered hand and climbed out. Once her vehicle was secured, she followed him inside the small, one-story brick building.
The interior of the bar was smoky, as she’d expected. She could tell from the pungent scent that most of the people inside were smoking cigars or pipes instead of cigarettes. The wood paneled walls were covered with neon signs advertising beers and liquor, as well as a few battered license plates and sporting equipment. Among the artifacts were several photos of Bob Marley, Sean Paul, Mad Lion and various other performers of reggae, dancehall and soca music. One sign in particular caught her attention. She read the sign aloud. “Welcome to Bull Country. Warning: Bears Shot on Sight.” Shaking her head at the old athletic rivalry between two local universities, she raised herself onto one of the padded leather stools.
Rashad simply sat next to her, at his towering six foot two inches of height he didn’t need to stretch or stand on his toes to sit on a bar stool. As the bartender approached, he ordered a root beer.
When the bartender turned to her, Lina said, “I’ll have a ginger ale with lemon, please.” She knew better than to drink alcohol. It was hard enough for her to resist Rashad while sober. The last thing she needed right now was to make a stupid mistake with him, one she couldn’t take back.
With his bottle of root beer in hand, he asked casually, “How have you been?”
She offered a soft smile. “Pretty good. Actually, I just found out yesterday that I made senior partner at the firm.”
His easy grin broadened, his eyes lighting up as if to express his genuine happiness. “That’s great, congratulations! I know you’ve wanted that partner spot for a long time.”
She felt the blush creeping into her cheeks as he raised his bottle in her direction. She remembered the talks they’d had during their brief time as a couple. While he hadn’t been very forthcoming with details of his life, she’d openly shared her hopes and dreams with him.
He took a long draw from his bottle.
She squirted lemon into her soda and sipped from her own glass, noticing the awkward silence that had fallen between them. To break it up, she asked, “How about you? What have you been up to since I last saw you?”
He set the bottle down, his eyes connecting with hers. “You mean, other than thinking about you?”
She sighed, rolling her eyes.
He seemed to take the hint, and altered his approach. “I’ve been doing fine. I still work for the register of deeds office, still do the Wednesday night shows with the band, though we did take a little hiatus while Darius and Eve were on their honeymoon.”
She smiled at the mention of her best friend and her new husband. “These days, she’s glowing. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time.”
“Darius is certainly happy, it even shows through in his playing on stage. Speaking of the shows, I haven’t seen you at one in a while.”
She lowered her gaze from his. “I think you know why, Rashad.”
He frowned. “Not really.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I know you and I aren’t together anymore.”
Because of your secrecy, she wanted to say. But she held her tongue and tried to keep the annoyance off her face.
“You can still come and enjoy the music.”
Rolling her eyes again, she met his gaze, and instantly regretted it. There it was again, that look he was so good at giving her. The dark, coffee-colored pools of his eyes seemed to hold a mixture of sincerity and desire. The longer she stared, the more she felt herself falling into them, being dragged back into his world.
The electronic jukebox behind her suddenly started up, blasting Shaggy’s hit “It Wasn’t Me.” The pounding syncopation of the music snatched her right out of Rashad’s world and back into reality. Shaking off the remnants of his charms, she decided to use this evening to her advantage. “So, how bad do you really want Monk’s piano?”
His back stiffened, as if he didn’t like that she’d changed the subject. “I’m sure I want it more than you do. You’ve never been into Monk the way I am.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “True, but my mother is about as big a fan of Thelonious Monk as a person can be.”
Now his brow hitched in surprise. “You mean you want the piano for your mother?”
She nodded. “She’s been feeling poorly lately, and I know she’d love to have it. It’s just the thing to raise her spirits, and since I got the promotion, I figured, what the hell?”
He cupped his chin, moving his fingers along his smooth, clean shaven skin. “That’s honorable and everything, and no offense to Mrs. Smith, but I’m going to do whatever I have to, to win the bid.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I hope your mother’s health improves, but we’re talking about a piece of jazz history here. If it wasn’t for Monk, I never would have touched the eighty-eights. I have to have this
