Cardinal (12 page)

“Good job, Jen!” Oliver comes running. He holds
up his hand for a high-five. “We won!”

“We did?” I slap his hand.

“Yeah. I was the last man standing.”

I smile. Of course he was.

It’s not long before food is spread out over
every kitchen surface. There are Coney dogs with all the fixings, chicken gyro
sandwiches, fries, and onion rings, along with a grilled cheese pita for Oliver
and a huge antipasto salad. I immediately go for that, since my
gallbladder-less self shouldn’t eat the other items in front of my health conscious
brother. Despite my taste buds yearning for a gyro, I try to be excited about
the lettuce.

“Excellent choice,” Pete says as he stands
beside me and heaps salad on to his plate.

“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes.

When Pete moves on, Latson takes his place. “Hey,”
he says, trying to be inconspicuous.

“Hey.”

His eyes dart to a paper bag tucked in a corner
by the refrigerator. “That’s for you,” he whispers.

I raise a questioning eyebrow.

He nudges my arm with his elbow, indicating I
should check it out. I wander over slowly, taking a bite of my salad as I go. When
I make it to the bag, I reach in and pull out a small container. I open the
Styrofoam and my mouth instantly waters.

It’s a bacon double cheeseburger. He remembered
my hospital request before surgery. My gaze jumps to his. Is it wrong I want to
hug him for buying me ground beef?

“Covert ops,” he mouths and jerks his chin,
telling me to find a place to hide and eat. I whisper a grateful “Thank you”, then
silently disappear from the kitchen. I balance my burger on top of my salad and
lean over my plate to hide it. I make my way toward the balcony doors and slide
outside in attempt to be stealthy.

No one joins me for a full five minutes. I
enjoy as much of the burger as I can. To be honest, it tastes like heaven, but
sits a little heavy in my stomach. I finish only half, which is enough, before
Jules and Gwen decide to step outside for some fresh air. We talk about the summer
weather, and then Jules moves on to sandals after noticing Gwen’s cute purple
wedges. During all of the talk, I try to think of something nice I can do for
Latson. It was sweet of him to think of me.

“Jen,” Carter sticks his head outside, “Latson
and Dean are looking for you.”

My brow furrows. “For what?”

“Jam session.”

My interest is piqued. Jules and Gwen follow me
inside where I spot Latson standing in the middle of the room. He’s holding an
acoustic guitar in each hand.

“There you are.” He feigns ignorance as to what
I was doing outside. “Here. We’re going to entertain our friends.”

I reach for the neck of the guitar and realize
it’s my own. “How did you get this?”

“I have a key.”

My expression twists. “That’s not stalkerish or
anything.”

He shakes his head. “I asked Pete to go get
it.”

I turn around and find my brother talking to
Felix across the room. I catch his eye and point to the guitar, silently asking
“You went and got this?”

He nods and shrugs.

I’m always down to play, so I find a seat on
the couch next to Dean who is tuning his own instrument. “Are you sure you want
me to join in?” I ask. “I’m not in the big leagues like you.”

“You could be,” he says, which makes me smile. I’ll
gladly take that compliment.

Latson sits across from us as everyone else,
including Oliver, finds somewhere to sit or stand. He strums the strings of his
guitar and looks up. “Any suggestions?”

Dean looks at me. “You know Skynyrd. How ‘bout
…”  He strums the first unmistakable chords of “Sweet Home Alabama.”

Latson waits a moment then jumps right in. I
wait until I can catch up. By the end of the first verse I’m there, keeping
time and singing right along with them. Both Latson and Dean shoot me a look,
but keep playing. Am I not supposed to sing?  I keep going anyway. Halfway
through the song everyone in the room is either clapping or singing along except
for Oliver, who has no idea who Lynyrd Skynyrd is. We finish out of sync and
sloppy, but our friends don’t care. We still get applause.

“What’s next?” I ask. This is way too much fun.

“You choose,” Dean says.

I think for a few seconds, then start “Closing
Time” by Semisonic. No one joins in, so I stop playing. “Do you know it?”

“I know who I want to take me home,” Laston quips.

Smart ass,
I think. I catch Pete giving
me a questioning look; if he knew the song he’d understand. Still, I sass,
“You’re already home,” and start the intro again. This time the guys join me,
and when we get to the bridge, Latson kicks it up a notch. He rocks it with a
louder, harder edge. It forces me to think faster and throw more of my upper body
into playing, which I love. We end up locking eyes, and it feels like he’s
challenging me. I keep the pace and even manage to throw in a couple chord
changes of my own. This earns me an impressed nod, and I feel high. I’ve never
played with anyone who loves music as much as I do.

We finish to more applause, although I’m sure
these people would applaud anything Latson and Dean play. Dean holds out his
fist and I bump it with my own. “Niiiiiice,” he says, drawing out the word. “What
else do you know?”

We toss around song titles for a minute before
settling on “Wonderwall” by Oasis. This song plays out just like the last with
Latson and I vying for the upper hand. Other than Dean, I wonder if anyone else
notices the unspoken competition. It’s as if we’ve stepped into a modern
version of dueling banjos and Dean, like a patient parent, plays backup to our
rivalry.

When the song ends Latson shoots me a wry smile.
He shakes his head like I’m wearing him out, and I laugh.

“Can you guys play “First Love”?” Kenzie asks. “That’s
one of my favorites.”

Latson looks at me. “I don’t think Jen knows it.”

“That’s okay. I can sit one out.”

“You’re sure?”

I nod. “Go ahead. I’ve never heard it.”
Liar,
I chastise myself. I downloaded all of Sacred Sin’s music this morning. “First
Love” is off their second album.

The guys get ready to start and I relax. I like
to play, but I like to be entertained, too.

At first, I have no problem enjoying the song
with everyone else. Then, around the second verse, Latson decides it would be
fun to mess with me. He catches my eyes every time he sings certain words;
specifically you, me, love, and tease. I try to avoid his gaze and find myself
fixated on his arms, at the way his biceps flex and his muscles strain beneath
his tattoos. I admire the way his fingers move on the strings and, the longer I
stare at them, the more I imagine them moving over me. I close my eyes to erase
the thought and then open them to see him giving me a sexy smirk. Am I that
easy to read?  It’s obvious he knows what he’s doing.

And damn if he isn’t good at it.

By the time he finishes the song I’ve pictured
him kissing me three times. It feels like the temperature in the room has gone
up ten degrees. The guys decide to take a break, and I decide to head to the
kitchen for a bottle of water. Singing has made my throat dry.

Okay. A certain someone’s antics have made my
throat dry. There’s no use in trying to delude myself.

When I can’t find any bottles on the counter, I
open the fridge. It seems less intrusive than rummaging around the cupboards
for a glass. I push a carton of milk and some orange juice out of my way as I
search.

“Making yourself at home?”

I stand up straight. Latson is hanging on the
refrigerator door wearing a “you’ve been caught” look.

“I just need some water.”

He points to the bottom drawer. “In there.”

“Thanks.” I grab a bottle.

He shuts the door as I back away and twist the
cap. He leans against the fridge in front of me. “That was a lot of fun back
there.” His eyes dart toward the living room.

I nod as I drink.

“We should do it again sometime.”

I nod again.

“Except alone.”

I swallow.

“And naked.” He wags his eyebrows.

Oh my God. Really?  I cross my arms over my
pounding heart. “Haven’t you realized it’s going to take more than talk to get
me naked?” Although, right now, this tank top is feeling like a snowsuit I’d
like to rip off.

“A date it is, then. Tomorrow at seven. Don’t
be late.” He gives me a confident nod and walks away.

I have no words. My throat is dry again. I take
another drink.

I’m screwed.

What do you wear on a date with an ex-rock
star?

I send Jules a picture captioned
How about
this?
  I’ve paired khaki capris with a flirty black top. It says “I’m
fun,” but in a reserved way.

Absolutely not
, she
sends back.
Are you going to a luncheon?

That’s the problem,
I type.
I
don’t know where I’m going.

It’s true. All I know is I need to be ready at
seven o’clock and I’m running out of time.

I wish I could be there to help,
she sends.
Damn job. Let me see your dresses.

I sigh and head over to the closet. I have two
sundresses, both of which Jules talked me into buying the first week I was here.
One is sky blue with a lace overlay, thin straps, and a sweetheart neckline. I
would say it’s beach wedding appropriate. The other is a deep red and gold paisley
print, more bohemian, with a halter top and deep V-neck. Both dresses fall just
above my knee and show off plenty of leg. I take a picture of each and send
them to Jules.

#2!!
  She responds almost
immediately.
There’s some jewelry in the bedroom. See if my bangle
bracelets are there.

I walk across the hall to Pete’s room and find a
jewelry box on the dresser. I pull out several bracelets, try them on, and
decide on an intertwined set that looks like hammered brass. As I put
everything back in its place, I’m grateful for Jules. Without her I’d be
wearing shorts and flip flops tonight.

I pause to consider the thought. Maybe that’s
what I should be wearing. I mean, does a flirty dress send the right message? 
I have no idea what Latson hopes to gain from this date, aside from the obvious.
Hell, I don’t know what I’m
looking for, either. What I do know is it
never crossed my mind to back out. Whether I’m seeing him to tease him or for
something more, I’m not sure. But, whatever it is, it makes me happy.

Cardinal rule.

About an hour later, and not a second after
seven, there’s a knock on the door.

“Punctual, isn’t he?” My brother glowers over
his glass. Of course he would make it back from the gym in time to harass me.

“You said you were okay with this,” I huff as I
walk past him. “I thought we were making progress.” After last night’s party, Pete
conceded Latson and I do have something in common – music.

He finishes his protein shake. “That was before
I saw what you’re wearing.”

I make a face.
God forbid you ever have a
daughter,
I think. “I’m wearing perfectly acceptable date attire,” I say. Sure,
I’m not wearing a bra because my dress ties around my neck and has no back, but
it’s tight enough to keep everything in check. Other than that, I’m wearing Juliana’s
bracelets, strappy sandals, and my hair in loose curls. It’s not over the top
by any means.

When I get to the door, I compose my expression
and pull it open. I expect to see Latson in all his cocky, t-shirt-wearing
glory. Maybe he decided on one of those fake tuxedo tees to dress things up, or
maybe he chose a plain white one to get me going.

I’m wrong on both counts.

Standing in front of me is one of the most
handsome men I’ve ever seen.

Latson is wearing a lethal combination. Dark jeans.
A fitted black tee beneath a black sport coat. Just trimmed, styled hair that
looks like I ran my fingers through the front of it.

And his signature sexy smile.

He looks like he stepped off the pages of an
Abercrombie catalog.

“Hi.” His eyes drink me in. “Did you wear that
dress just for me?”

“No,” I tease him to calm my pulse. “This is how
I always look on a Monday night.” I glance over my shoulder. “Right, Pete?”

“Don’t involve me in this,” he warns from the
living room.

I turn back to Latson. “Yes, I wore it for you.”

His eyes darken and he loses a bit of his playful
attitude.

“ ... and any other guys we happen to come
across tonight,” I add. “I figure why not?  Maybe I’ll meet a hot waiter.”

“I heard that!” my brother yells.

I smile innocently as Latson shakes his head.

It’s probably not wise to stress Pete out with
my comments, so I step into the hallway. “Bye!”  I wave before shutting the
door. I check the handle to see if it’s locked and when I move to the side,
Latson’s hand brushes along the small of my back and lands on my hip. I try not
to react as he ushers me toward the elevator. “Where are we headed?” I ask.

“To a restaurant I think you’ll like.” He pushes
the button for the ground level. While we wait, he leaves his arm around my
waist and runs his thumb over the bare skin just above my dress. He leans in close.
“Unless the place has hot waiters,” he whispers. “Then we’re leaving.”

I look at him out of the corner of my eye and
try to breathe normally.

We make it to the parking garage where he opens
his car door for me. “I’m glad you get to ride in the front this time.” He
smiles.

“Me, too,” I say as I sit down and swing my
legs inside. He rounds the back of the car as I look around the interior. I
know nothing about cars, but I can appreciate a classic when I see one. I’m
busy running my hand over the cream-colored seat and inhaling the smell of
leather when he gets behind the wheel. “What kind of car is this?”

“A 1970 Chevy Chevelle.”

“She looks high maintenance. How long have you
had her?”

“Since high school.” He turns the ignition and
she rumbles to life. “My dad saved her from the junk yard. It took us almost
three years to restore her.”

He backs out of the parking space, and I study
his profile. It sounds like he and his father were close. He’s never directly
mentioned his mom. Is she still part of his life?

“Tell me about your family,” I say, curious. “We
should do the whole getting-to-know-you first date thing.”

“Really?” He raises an eyebrow as he steers
with one hand. “You don’t know enough about me?”

“I know next to nothing about you.” It’s true. Internet
aside, I know he owns a bar and he’s good at sarcastic banter.

He sighs like he’s humoring me. “What burning
questions do you have?”

“Well  ...” I tap my chin. “I know a little
about your dad. When was the last time you talked to your mom?”

He looks both ways before pulling out of the
parking garage. “A week ago Friday.”

I like his answer. That was the holiday weekend.
“Did you take Oliver to visit for Memorial Day?”

“No.” He glances at me. “It was my birthday.”

What?  My eyes grow wide. “I missed your
birthday?  Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You were recovering from surgery,” he says
like that’s an acceptable excuse. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

It is a big deal. I’m sure everyone knew but
me.

“What’s wrong?” Latson asks.

“I wish I would have known. I feel bad.”

“Why?” His tone turns suggestive. “What would
you have given me?”

“Stop,” I chastise him. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

He grins and I shake my head. “Anyway ... what
gifts did you get?”

“None.” He stops at a light. “My mom thought it
was her birthday.”

I frown.

“She has dementia.” He gives me a sad smile. “When
I showed up with a cake she thought it was for her.”

Oh no. “That’s ...” I trip over my words. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Latson steps on the gas. “She
lives in an assisted living home and she seems to enjoy it. She’s not the same,
but she’s still my mom. A few times she’s mistaken Oliver for me and me for my
dad.” He meets my eyes. “I don’t mind, though, because it means she still
remembers something.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Does anyone
else visit?  I mean, do you have help?”

“I take O to see her once a month. My dad goes and
sometimes Dean drops by.”

That makes no sense. “Why would Dean visit?”

Latson slows the car and turns a corner. “My parents
raised Dean. We were a foster family, and he was a placement.”

I stare at him in awe. “That’s so cool.”

My response takes him by surprise.

“Your parents fostered,” I explain. “I bet you
had kids around all the time. Mine wouldn’t even consider an exchange student.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well. There was never a
dull moment.”

“I would have given anything to have another
girl in my house,” I sigh. “Pete, Josh, Adam … I love them to death, but all
they did was eat and make messes. Both of my parents worked, so my brothers got
stuck watching me. They didn’t appreciate it. I spent many an afternoon playing
Barbie dolls by myself.”

Latson pouts with fake sympathy.

“All they knew how to cook was macaroni and
cheese, pizza rolls, and toast. Sometimes the mac and cheese was served
on
the
toast.”

“It had to get better as they got older,” he
says.

I give him my ‘oh please’ look. “It did, but
only because I got older, too. I didn’t need them as much.”

“Poor Jen. I know deep down inside they cared. Hell,
they fed you. They could have let you starve.”

I roll my eyes.

“And I’m sure they gave your boyfriends hell
when they came over.”

“As a matter of fact, they didn’t,” I say. “Pete
and Josh were out of the house by then, and Adam was ready to leave. My dad was
the one who stepped up for me.”

“Good ‘ole dad,” Latson says as he makes
another turn. “I can relate. Mine was really protective of Audrey.”

I’m a little stunned he mentioned his sister. We’ve
never discussed her, not that we’ve had the opportunity. I want to tell him I’m
sorry about her too, just like his mom, but it feels like I’d be overstepping. I
don’t know if the topic of Audrey is, or will ever be, up for discussion.

 Not much later we make it to our destination. Latson
pulls to the curb in front of a valet stand, next to a sign that reads, “Geja’s
Café. Fondues and fine wines.” A valet opens my door and helps me out of the
car, while Latson rounds the front and hands another his keys. Once that’s
taken care of, he wraps his arm around my waist again, and we walk down a small
flight of stairs to the restaurant.

“Fine wines,” I muse. “Are you trying to get me
drunk?”

“Possibly.” I get the lopsided dimple smile as
he opens the door. “Honestly, I was thinking more about the atmosphere when I
picked this place.”

We’re greeted by a hostess who finds our
reservation, then leads us through the restaurant to a table for two in the
back. It’s set in an alcove with thick, tapestry-like drapes flanking each side.
It’s intimate, as is the entire restaurant. The room is candlelit, the
tablecloths are a rich, deep red, and the walls alternate between old-style brick,
red paint, and shelves upon shelves of wine. Spanish-style classic guitar fills
the room, and it appears only couples are dining tonight. The place oozes
romance, and I can see myself getting swept away if I’m not careful.

The hostess leaves us with menus as we settle
in our seats. As I reach for mine, I wonder how many times Latson has been here.
Specifically, how many women has he wined and dined this way.

“What do you recommend?” I ask as I open my
menu. “I’ve never had fondue before.”

“Never?”

I shake my head. “You must come here a lot. Name
your favorite.”

Instead of taking the bait and telling me, he
picks up his menu as I continue to peruse mine. There are so many options and
they all look delicious, especially the desserts. I want to try one of everything,
but I don’t want to order the most expensive item available.

“We should get the Premiere Dinner,” Latson
says, pulling my attention away from the chocolate covered fruit. I look up and
my jaw drops.

“What are you wearing?” I blurt out.

“What?” He looks confused. He’s leaning back in
his seat wearing a pair of black framed glasses. They’re just nerdy enough to
be hot, especially on him. Paired with the jacket, the hair, and the lighting he’s
gone from Abercrombie model to Clark Kent.

“What’s with the glasses?” I ask.

“Oh. They’re for reading. The print is small.” He
takes them off and slides them into an inside lapel pocket. “I guess you’re
learning some of my secrets tonight.”

“I guess so.” I blink. I want to tell him to
put the glasses back on. Not that he doesn’t look good without them, it’s just  ...
wow.

Our waitress appears and Latson orders the
dinner he mentioned for both of us, along with a bottle of red wine. Once she’s
gone, he says, “I hope that’s okay.”

I nod. I was checking out what he ordered as he
spoke. I’ve got four courses of deliciousness headed my way. “Is that what you
usually get when you come here?”