Chasing You (Thirsty Hearts Book 4) (7 page)

“Thank you. We like her,” Sarah replied with a grin. “Shall we?”

The rest of the adults walked to the back of the house and into the Larson’s sunroom.

Alexa swung her purse to the floor next to the wicker loveseat and sat. Instead of sitting in the chair angled next to her, Graham squeezed into the space next to Alexa. He adjusted in the seat with his knees widened in a man-spread that demanded contact with Alexa’s legs. She shifted away, and Graham only stretched his legs wider.

Sarah busied herself arranging a stack of papers on the coffee table, so she didn’t react to Alexa’s glare and pursed lips.

Alexa knocked Graham’s leg with her knee, and he stretched his arm along the back of the loveseat behind her head. She scooted forward and scowled again.

He turned to Alexa as she fidgeted. “You comfortable?”

“Perfectly.”

“Great.” Looking at her like the Cheshire Cat made her shoot him another chilly stare. Graham snagged one of her curls as it floated past his fingers. He twirled it on his index finger and let it go.

“Oh, I made coffee and all that. Be right back.”

Sarah hurried back into the main part of the house. Alexa rotated toward him.

“Are you going to keep pestering me like a third-grade boy on the playground? If so, maybe we should send you upstairs for an early bedtime, too.”

Graham detected a tick of amusement, so he didn’t care that the other ninety-nine percent he heard was irritation. He leaned closer and dropped his voice.

“Maybe. I’m terribly immature. I wish you had actual pigtails. You’d be so cute.”

Alexa stared for a moment, then burst into laughter. “I don’t do pigtails.”

“Too bad. I like having handles.”

“Are always such a perv?” She closed the rapid fire question with pursed lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Alexa gave him a shove, knocking him against the arm of the loveseat. Then, she straightened up when Sarah returned with refreshments on a wooden tray. Graham pulled his legs together and rested his palms on his knees.

He could behave—if he wanted to—but he didn’t. And, he might never get her to admit it, but Alexa didn’t want him to behave. The dance of jade in her eyes scintillated. Graham knew she could handle him.
Anytime she wants.

A
lexa said
goodbye to the last client leaving pilates class on Saturday afternoon and glanced over at a now-familiar sight. Graham stepped off the pull-up machine, grabbed his things, and walked her way, angling his path to cross hers just past the elliptical machines.

“Are you about to get out of here?”

“I have a little bit more work to do but basically, yeah.”

“You maybe want to grab a drink?”

Alexa tugged at the ends of the towel draped around her neck. “I’m not up for that tonight. It’s been a long week.”

In addition to all of the business on her plate, Adam had texted her to let her know that his plans to visit Austin were starting to come together.

Her fling with Adam caught her off guard last November.

The intensity of their liaison sent her fleeing back to the continent, glad for the ocean between them. Adam came at you like a storm—thunderous, beautiful, and dangerous on the horizon.

Seeing Graham elicited much the same response as well as the same urge to grab her passport and flee the country. Soon, they might both be in Austin, filling up her dance card. The possibilities kept a perpetual quiver in her stomach.

She managed to smile through her mental conundrum, which Graham interpreted as encouragement.

“What better way to relieve stress than a night out with a friend.”

“Is that what you are?”

“Of course. Come on.” A siren song lifted his tone, melting her resistance.

Her cheeks flushed with heat, and she took a sudden interest in a piece of lint on her yoga pants.

“I don’t know. I want to avoid a…romantic dinner scenario. This whole thing…” She waved her hand over her head and dropped her voice. “We’re not a Valentine’s day couple.”

Graham’s eyes narrowed, more determined than angry. “Come on. It’s dinner. Not Russian roulette.” He tilted his head charmingly to the side, evaporating some of Alexa’s resolve. “I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Graham stuffed his hands in the pockets of his loose track pants as if to prove his point. His hair flopped across his forehead, framing his expectant brown eyes. How had she not noticed how impossibly long his lashes were? Keeping his hands to himself was looking like less of a selling point.

His lips parted into an easy smile. “Valentine’s is tomorrow. Today is
not
Valentine’s Day. We’ll meet somewhere very unromantic like Tig’s. The Irish Bar. They have trivia tonight. It usually gets started around eight thirty or nine. It’ll be very un-Valentine’s-like fun.”

Alexa wavered, and she swallowed her knee-jerk response. She knew more than friendship was on the table, and the thought of having one more night with him helped her find her “yes.”

“Fine. Tig’s it is. Besides, I have some other building issues I’d like your help on.”

“Nope. We can talk about ourselves and get to know each other. Friendly, informative conversation. No work talk. That’s a must, or I’m rescinding the invite. I’ll promise to keep my hands to myself.”

His playful tone drew a grin from her. “Okay. Friendly conversation.” Alexa extended her hand to shake on it. “We have a deal.”

Graham clutched his hands to his chest, shrinking back. “Can I touch you? I don’t want to violate the rules right out of the gate?”

She swatted at his hand and grabbed it, shaking it back and forth. “Keeping your hands to yourself was your suggestion. Not mine.”

“Maybe we can add an addendum to the agreement then.” He chased her elusive eyes with his own and caught her.

She smiled. “We’ll see. Tig’s. Eight o’clock? I need to run home and change.”

“Me too. But text me your address. I’ll swing by and pick you up—maybe a few minutes earlier. Seven forty-five?”

“I don’t usually let men pick me up at my place when I barely know them.”

He looked offended, and Alexa felt a pang of guilt. As always, Graham managed to respond with humor.

“Afraid I’ll tie you up and throw you in my trunk? I think I could have done that already.”

“Charming.”

“Let me be a gentleman and pick you up at your door. Flowers in my hand. Shoes spit shined.”

“That’s venturing close to romance, but fine. I’ll text you my address.”

Alexa found Graham’s cackle and grin oddly relaxing.
I must be getting used to him.
She escaped to her office, focusing on what she had to do before she went home to keep from contemplating that fact too much.

* * *

T
he small house
where Alexa lived sat at the end of a winding street near the wine bar in an up-and-coming neighborhood south of the lake. Graham checked his watch to make sure he was neither late, nor too early.

Satisfied with his promptness, he climbed out of his SUV and made his way to Alexa’s door, which was painted a vibrant, sapphire blue. The color reminded him of her perky little sports car.

Next to the bell, he saw a small handwritten note.

Bell broken. Use the knocker.

So, he tapped the brass door fixture three times and waited. A clack of high-heeled shoes on tile came closer before the door peeled open.

Alexa had her hair pulled up in a high ponytail over her head. Rough tendrils fell beside her face, framing her high cheekbones and catlike brown eyes. Her makeup was soft, except for a deep red lipstick that reminded him of cherry candy. Graham resisted the desire to grab her and taste it.

“Hi. You look gorgeous.”

“Thank you. I try.”

“You’ve succeeded just about every time I’ve seen you.” Graham braced one hand on the doorjamb and leaned forward. “Are you ready to go?”

“Sure. I’ll get my purse.” She turned, and he caught the back view of her stunning outfit. The halter top of her jumpsuit left her back completely bare. The fabric dipped down into the curve just above her ass. His eyes trailed back up, and with her hair pulled up, he noticed for the first time that she had a dusting of tiny star tattoos on the back of her neck, stretching down just to the top of her spine.

“Tattoos? I never would’ve figured you for a tattoo girl.”

“Yeah, well. That’s kind of a funny, drunken story from college. To be honest, I don’t quite remember. I went through kind of a hippie-dippy, crystal-gazing phase. The constellation seemed like a good idea.”

“Which one is it?” Graham squinted to see if he could make out the pattern of stars as she bent over to scoop up her clutch purse off the couch.

“Taurus. It’s my sign.”

“You believe in that stuff?”

“And what if I do?”

“You don’t believe in that.” His spoke with sure finality. Her practical side wouldn’t allow it.

“Not really. But when you’re drunk and nineteen, it’s a better idea than a bull’s head. Although, in this town, I might be able to pass that off.”

She started to face him, but he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Hold on. Let me see.”

She straightened and tipped her head forward. Fixated, Graham traced the line from one star to another with his index finger. “Interesting.”

“Hands on me, already. You, sir, are terrible at keeping promises,” she murmured at him with chin still dropped toward her chest.

Graham stopped his hand, but didn’t remove it. “You make it hard.”

“Do I?” She crooked her neck and looked at him sideways. The corner of her mouth curled like a beckoning finger.

“Difficult.” His cheeks warmed along with the rest of him. “I’m beginning to think ten percent bad girl is an underestimate.”

Alexa whipped around. “Maybe. What’s the verdict? Thumbs-up or thumbs down on a tattooed woman?”

“I’ve never had a problem with a tattooed woman or any other type of woman to be honest with you. And I like surprises.”

Alexa’s tattoo surprised the hell out of him. What other markings on her body might he have missed? The next time he had a night with her, he’d have to be sober as a sentry.

He thought of trailing his fingers from her scalp down the sides of her perfectly sculpted face. He’d keep going to her neck, her shoulders, curving around her high rounded breasts and down her stomach. By the time his mind made its way around her hip to her tight, toned ass, he could barely remember why he was there in the first place.

“So, dinner…I went ahead and reserved a table at Tig’s. Sometimes on trivia night, the tables fill up.”

“Great. I hate waiting.”

“I’ll make a note of that.”

Graham stepped out the door in front of her so she could close and lock it behind her. He stood close, and the scent of jasmine with an under note of musk wafted toward him, seemingly emerging from the smattering of stars. His mouth hovered inches away from the smooth, decorated curve of her neck. Then, she took one step back and turned right into his chest.

Maybe he should’ve stepped backward, out of the line of fire, but instead, he held steady, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her into his body.

She gave him more side-eye, and a trickle of laughter escaped her crimson-painted lips. “I know last time we were in this situation, I fell into bed with you. This time, you’re actually going to have to buy me dinner.”

Alexa spun out of his arms and left him standing on her front stoop. Graham focused on the swivel of her ass.
Not yet.

He pressed the key fob in his pocket. The sharp chime of the door unlocking took his concentration away from her body and propelled him forward.

They had a reservation.

“
I
s blue your favorite color
?”

Alexa and Graham sat in the center of the restaurant at a two-top table, surrounded by couples. It might not be Valentine’s Day, but romance wafted through the room like throat-stinging perfume.

Each table had a single, long-stemmed red rose in the middle and flickering candlelight. Alexa picked at her chicken Caesar salad—dressing on the side—distracted by all the nuzzling at other tables, so Graham’s voice startled her. “It is. How did you know?”

“Your car. Your door. And when we got inside in different light, your jumpsuit—it’s navy, not black like I thought. Plus, the pillows on your couch. All blue.”

She widened her eyes, letting the unexpected pleasure from his insight bloom. “I’ve always liked blue. Baby blue, navy blue, sapphire, cerulean, all shades of blue. It’s peaceful. What’s your favorite color?”

“If I had to pick, I’d say green. Honestly, I don’t know that I have an absolute favorite color.”

“Doesn’t everyone have a favorite color?”

“I like different colors for different things. I like a black car, but I like bright colors in my house. Yellow, orange, red.”

“Where does green come into it?”

“I like nature. When you said peaceful, I thought green.”

“Maybe you like camouflage. It sounds like your favorite color changes with your surroundings. I say peaceful, and you say green.”

Graham dropped his fork on the edge of his plate and wiped his face with a napkin. “Some likes change with context.”

All the times her friends accused her of commitment phobia, and now Alexa was on a date with a guy who couldn’t commit to a favorite color. The irony made her snicker.

Graham swallowed a bite of his Irish stew and shook his head. “Is that funny?”

“A little. You’re so noncommittal.”

He stared at her over the rim of his whiskey glass and took a swig. “Not always. When I see something that I want, I make sure it doesn’t get away.”

The boldness of Graham’s pursuit left her feeling cornered—which she should hate. But the more he pressed, the more comfortable she got in that corner.

Alexa stabbed a piece of grilled chicken, and Graham chuckled. “Something tells me you’re much the same.”

“Sounds about right.”

“So, what do you want?”

As suggestive as the question could have sounded, Alexa could tell Graham was sincere. “I want to help my clients transform—their bodies, their health, their lives. I want to give them a new way to experience life.”

“No, not in business. What do you want?”

The thought of giving him a personal answer made the hairs stand up on her neck. “That’s a heavy question for first date.”

“We could talk about the weather. Or the Super Bowl. Or politics.”

“I don’t know that politics is any better a topic.” Alexa waived Graham’s suggestions off with the back of her hand. “What I want for myself is the same thing I want for my clients. That’s why I’m drawn to helping them that way. New experiences, new opportunities to transform.”

“You have a noble streak. That’s another thing I wouldn’t have expected of you.”

A flare of anger burned in her throat. “You mean, like the tattoo? What is it exactly that you expect of me? Now I’m fascinated to know. Not tattoos. Not nobility.” Alexa looked down and swirled her red wine. Then, she met Graham’s gaze head on. “I’m a scared to think what you thought of me when we met.”

“I didn’t have time to think much of anything. You were out the door too fast. I’ve never chased a woman off that quick. Usually, they’re content to stick around.”

Alexa assessed the emotion in his words, unsure if it was plain hurt or hurt pride. “That really bothered you. My leaving. It shouldn’t. It had nothing to do with you. I had somewhere to be.”

“We spend an amazing night together, and you hightail it like you’re being chased by a ghost. But you say it has nothing to do with me.”

“Obviously not. If it were about you, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“Point taken. Would you like something else to drink? We may want to order doubles. Once trivia starts, the servers get pretty slammed.”

Alexa took Graham’s advice and ordered a double vodka soda for after dinner. The waitress also delivered several sheets of paper and a pencil, so they could record their answers for the trivia contest. Graham began reading.

“We need a team name. Maybe, ‘Mistaken Impressions.’ My nod to letting my wounded male ego shape my impression of you.”

Alexa raised her half-empty glass in approval. “Clever, but you never told me what that impression was.”

“I don’t know how to say this without pissing you off.”

“How about I grant you amnesty in advance for the stupid thing you’re about to say?” Alexa struggled to keep her tone light.

“Deal. I think. I thought you were a party girl.”

“And a party girl is...?”

“Gets drunk. Only wants sex. And…probably not that serious a person.”

Alexa knew that’s what he’d thought, but hearing him say it threatened to send rage crashing over the dam of her composure. She sat back and knotted her arms in front of her chest.

Graham leaned closer, eyes wide. “I’m trying to be honest. What else was I supposed to think? Seriously, I had no other information to go on except how fast you left and how good a time we had the night before.”

Alexa’s shoulder blades squeezed her spine straight, and she exhaled through her teeth. “I guess you’re right.” That wasn’t
all
she was, but his assessment was probably true. She forced the admission to herself, and then watched as her affirmation loosened the cords in Graham’s neck. “You really thought I was going to bite your head off.” Alexa finished her wine and watched him sit back and adjust himself in his seat.

“I don’t think most women would be too pleased about what I had to say. A lot of them like to pretend they’re more serious than they actually are.”

“And a lot of men pretend that they don’t like us that way, but in my experience, they do.”

Graham shrugged. “It all depends on what you want out of the relationship. I don’t mind getting serious, but it takes time. I dated a woman several months ago, and we’d only been out on two or three dates when she ambushed me at her apartment with a surprise dinner with her parents.”

Alexa blew the edge off her irritation with a laugh. “That’s pretty gutsy. How did it go? Were her parents impressed with you?”

“I guess, but it was awful.” Graham swiped a palm over his grin, sputtering his first words through manicured fingers. “Her mother kept winking at me and giving me sly thumbs up.”

He punched the air enthusiastically with the gesture and a crazy smile. “When her parents left, I asked her why she did that to me. She didn’t think it was a problem. ‘After all, we’re getting serious.’ I disagreed, and that was all she wrote.”

“Not all women are in a hurry to lock a man down.” Argument turned up the pitch in her voice.

“I see. So, what do you want?”

“Good times. Interesting conversation.”

His lids lowered over his darkening brown eyes. “Friendly conversation. Isn’t that what we decided?”

“Yes.”

“We can be friends, right? Regardless of what’s gone on before.”

“I can manage that. Does that mean this isn’t a real date?”

“It’s a date, but it’s good that we’re on the same page. You’re getting me all liquored up, and I don’t want you to take advantage of me.”

“And what? Have my parents and my grandmother pop up from behind the bar? Maybe there’s a minister back there too, and we can get hitched before dessert.”

Graham shivered as if she’d doused him with ice water, then laughed and took tug of whiskey. “Are you getting dessert? You’re eating so healthy. It makes me feel guilty.”

“Order what you want. I am probably going to skip dessert since I’m drinking.”

“There must be something someone could offer to tempt you out of your hard-core eating habits. What’s your diet kryptonite?”

Alexa squinted as she grasped for her dietary weakness. “I like candy. I’m especially fond of Skittles. I also like M&Ms, Reese’s Pieces—all the tiny candies that you can eat by the handful and blow your diet. I make sure to keep them out of the house, except for emergencies.”

“So much discipline. It’s impressive.”

“It’s practiced discipline. Back when I used to model, I couldn’t afford to let my diet go to hell. Gain too much weight, and it’s money out of my pocket. I’ve always been a very serious businesswoman—slash party girl.” The mildness of her tone softened the dig.

“I have a weakness for almost everything. Potato chips, French fries, burgers, ice cream. I’ll do candy. Snickers bars might be the world’s most perfect food.”

“I think quinoa might have something to say about that. Or kale or blueberries. Super foods, Graham. You’ve got to get your super foods.”

“But Snickers satisfies.”

“There are other, less fattening ways to satisfy.”

His eyes and smile turned wicked. “Really? Tell me more.”

“A nice hot, wet…bowl of oatmeal, for example. Fiber is very filling.”

Graham’s grin widened as he scrunched his brow and shook his head. “Disappointing.”

Before Alexa could respond, the screech of a microphone too close to a speaker turned everyone’s attention to one end of the bar. A shaggy-haired guy in a flannel shirt fiddled with a switch on the mic, then tapped it. He introduced himself and launched into the rules for trivia.

“At the end of each round, we’ll come by and collect your answer sheets, and if we miss you, go ahead and bring it up front. Tempting as it is, no phones. No cheating. Remember, it’s all in good fun.”

* * *

T
heir fields
of random knowledge complemented each other, yielding a perfect score through the first two rounds of trivia. What Alexa didn’t know about the Beatles, Graham could answer instantly, and she surprised him again with her grasp of all things scientific. The periodic table, the solar system, and anatomy—Alexa handled all of the topics with ease.

“Do you go home at night and study science books?”

“I read things and watch science shows on TV.” Alexa moved her empty cocktail glass to the edge of the table for the passing busboy, and her pencil rolled off the table. “Then, it’s like any of these ridiculous questions. You’ve collected random factoids along the way, and half the battle is being able to pull them out of your ass when required. I have good ass-to-brain recall.”

Of course, Graham knew that she had a good ass, but the brain part still came as a surprise. He let the matter drop, though. Expressing continued shock that she wasn’t some bimbo would only get him into trouble.

Her hair swung to one side as she bent down to pick up the pencil. His eyes went to the sweep of her neck, bringing to mind her stellar tattoo. At some point in the near future, he’d trace those stars with the tip of his tongue. Contemplating it made him rearrange himself in his seat. Thank God, he still had a napkin on his lap.

The waitress cruised by their table to drop off new answer sheets, and the emcee started round three with a few pop culture questions.

“Question four: What 2016 presidential candidate declared in a 1991 interview with
Esquire
magazine, ‘You know, it doesn’t really matter what the media write as long as you’ve got a young and beautiful piece of ass?’”

Graham didn’t wait for discussion before he wrote down Donald Trump. Alexa flinched and wrinkled her nose.

“What an absolute pig.”

“It’s hard to take anything he says too seriously.”

She stiffened and shot a cold look across the table. “I can’t stand him, and I find his success totally depressing.”

Graham racked his brain for a way to humorously change the topic. He found the presidential race mostly amusing, but he could tell Alexa did not.

“Maybe instead of talking politics, we can debate religion. Where do you stand on the infallibility of the Pope?”

Alexa didn’t smile, but her shoulders slackened. “I’m not Catholic, so you can probably do the math.”

“No Catholic school?”

“Nope. I am a proud product of the Oklahoma City public school system.”

“Too bad. I’m a fan of the outfits.”

She threw a chip at his head. Graham deflected it, then picked it up and ate it.

“I went to private school, but not Catholic. Unfortunately, my school was all male. We missed out on the cute, plaid skirts altogether.”

“I suppose that’s one good thing from single-sex education. The girls can worry about their education and not horny, slobbering boys in the hallway.”

“I’ll have you know that I never once slobbered.” Graham tilted a smile at her and popped another chip in his mouth. Alexa shook her head.

“I’m not so sure. I think I may have seen a little spittle on New Year’s morning.”

“Maybe so.” He leaned closer to her and grumbled in a low voice. “You gave me quite a lot to slobber over.”

“You have a one-track mind.”

“Not true. I’m perfectly capable of multitasking, but when I’m around you, one of those tasks is always going to be getting you back into my bed.”