Hard Case (Hard as Nails #2) (11 page)

“I’m having some work done here at the house and we have to leave for the day. There’s a small theater downtown that shows classic movies every Sunday.”

My eyes widen in surprise. “You want to take me to a movie?”

“Yeah, Rose. I want to take you to a movie. Dinner and a movie, actually. Even though you’re my client and it’s completely unethical, I want to take you on a date. Because I think I pretty much gave myself away last night about how attracted I am to you. I’m not saying it can ever be anything more. I’m just saying, I want to spend more time with you. On a date. And if you want, in bed.”

The boldness of his statement makes my head spin, but I can’t deny it’s what I want to. All of it. For as long as it’ll last, even if it doesn’t last past today. As I told him and he fully knew already, I’d had my shot at happily ever after and it hadn’t worked out. I’m willing to take happily for now with Slate.

I struggle for something to say, and finally settle for, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a movie in the theater.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I had you pegged as someone who went to the movies on a regular basis.” From his tone, I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or not.

“I love going to the movies. I just haven’t been in years. We weren’t really big on dating. We were together for so long that dating sort of faded away,” I explain to him. I can see in his face he has no idea what I mean.

I doubt Slate has ever been in a relationship long enough for things to change in such a fundamental way. But from what he said yesterday, I wonder if that’s because he’s never allowed himself to have it.

* * *

Slate

As I stare down at Rose, I question my decision to take her to a movie and even more so, my decision to make it an actual date. Fuck, I want her and she wants me, at least for now. And all I can think is that while my team is here, making sure we’re protected from further surveillance by King, I want to make this woman happy in a way that makes her forget the tragedy of what has happened and her determination to isolate herself in the future. I want to tap into the sweet, joyous woman who chose teaching kindergarten as her profession, which is why I say, “I’ve already checked what’s playing and I’m betting you’ll like it. Disney’s animated classic
Lady and the Tramp
.”

“I love
Lady and the Tramp
,” she says excitedly. “How did you know?”

“Just a lucky guess,” I tell her. “You strike me as someone who appreciates animated movies.”

“It’s the whole kindergarten teacher thing, isn’t it?” she teases me.

“Even if you weren’t surrounded by kids all day, I think you’d still love Disney movies.”

“Of course I would,” she admits. “That’s probably my favorite one, too. Sure, it’s a cartoon, but it’s such a romantic story.” She stops and narrows her eyes at me. “Are you sure you’re not making fun of me?”

“I’m having fun with you, Rose. There’s a big difference.”

She grins, and practically dances in place.

“Go get ready, sweetie,” I say, and I can tell by the way she freezes that my endearment startles her. It also pleases her, because she bites her lip and blushes. I want to take over biting her lip, but I tell myself to be patient. Now that I’ve admitted I want Rose in my bed, and she hasn’t said anything to tell me differently, we have time to get to know each other better. “There’s a great little sidewalk café a few doors down from the theater. How does that sound?”

She stares at me with those round, innocent eyes. “That sounds fantastic,” she tells me.

“Alright, then. I’ll meet you back down here in about thirty minutes or so?”

She clicks her heels together and salutes me. “Yes, sir.”

God, I want to kiss her so bad. Instead, I smile and walk back into the kitchen, my eyes on her as she practically skips upstairs.

* * *

Rose

We start our date at a little sidewalk café near the Downtown Theater where we’ll be watching the movie later. It really is just a sidewalk café. The shop window, where most places would have an entrance for indoor dining, is the counter where patrons order their drinks and sandwiches or wraps.

“We should come for breakfast one day,” Slate says absently while I’m looking over the menu. “They have the best muffins made fresh every morning,” he adds.

I decide on a turkey and cheese wrap with spinach, tomatoes, olives, and bell peppers. Slate grabs a roast beef sandwich.

“It’s not the most upscale place, I know,” he says as we sit at one of the metal tables bolted down into the sidewalk. “But you can’t beat the food.”

He’s right, the food’s amazing, and I’m glad he didn’t take me someplace fancy. It makes me feel like the divide between us is a little less vast.

After we eat, he walks back up to the counter and hands the barista a twenty-dollar bill.

“Was that a tip?” I ask him.

He shakes his head. “No, I’m putting twenty dollars down on someone else’s tab. There are a lot of people in the city struggling, and these guys like to offer coffee to the homeless, so I give them a little extra money every time I come by so they don’t have to offer as much of it for free.”

“Do a lot of people do that?” she asks.

“Some do. I’ve never really paid attention. Someone did it for me once, so any time I go somewhere that allows it, I try to give a little for the next guy. You know, it’s the right thing to do. You never know when it’ll be you standing there one cold winter morning with barely enough clothing to keep you a warm. A nice, hot cup of coffee and a fresh muffin can go a long way. Or a hot summer afternoon, you know? Get a glass of cool lemonade and a light sandwich to hold you over. It’s definitely helpful.” He shrugs. “I like helping. I’ve been in bad places before myself, you know?”

We walk up to the ticket window underneath the vintage marquee with the title of today’s feature spelled out in bold black letters.

“Two for
Lady and the Tramp
, please,” he says to the young woman behind the window. She takes his cash and hands him our two tickets, and we walk past the ticket booth into the entryway.

The Downtown Theater looks like one of those old theaters in the movies, where only really romantic or utterly hopeless scenes happen – nothing mundane ever seems to happen at these places; they certainly don’t inspire feelings of ennui. The entry way is lined with posters advertising movies, stage shows, and other performances coming up. Each poster is bordered by large yellow light bulbs glowing brightly and creating a glare of pure, decadent grandeur.

Slate holds the heavy wooden door for me to enter. I walk past him into the dimly lit room. We pass through a lobby and into another open doorway. The Downtown Theater looks like the kind of theater where the wealthy would go to watch the opera. It is definitely grand, with red carpeting and countless rows of seats on two different levels. There are even box seats near the stage. Apparently, Slate did not purchase box seats, and I’m thankful for that. Their angle and proximity to the stage would probably make it hard to watch a movie, since the screen is recessed on the stage.

We sit toward the middle, a few rows forward from center, as the theater quietly fills in. Soon, the room is full of the buzz of chattering movie-goers. I’m surprised at how many people show for the screening. The place fills almost to capacity with adults and children alike.

Soon, the lights dim even further, and a hush slowly falls over the audience.

I wrap my arm around Slate’s and lean in close.

We might not have a future together after my case is over. We might not even have this easy affection for more than today. But right now, it feels like we’ll have it forever.

Chapter Thirteen

Rose

When we leave the theater, it’s still light out. I cling to Slate’s arm, knowing I’m glowing as we walk back to the car. I feel like a kid again. I remember what it was about dating back in high school that made me enjoy it so much. Times like these are worth dating for. Even if it’s with a different person each time, sure, but it’s always nicer when you have a connection with someone.

And I can’t deny there is a connection between us. It goes deeper than physical desire. I’m not worried about someone trying to hurt me with Slate at my side.

“Do you want coffee or anything else before we go?” he asks as we pass back by the café.

“No, I’m fine. I’ve got what I want,” I answer, immediately regretting that I may have said too much to him. “I mean, I had enough earlier,” I try to recover, hoping he didn’t catch what I said the first time, but the look on his face tells me he heard me loud and clear.

Thankfully, he spares me and doesn’t say anything about it. We just keep walking toward the car.

He holds my door for me and closes it after I get in, such a gentleman.

“Thank you for the movie,” I tell him when he gets in the car.

“It’s no problem, Rose. I had fun. But before we head back home, I need to stop somewhere and speak with a friend of mine. Do you mind?”

Mind? No way. I’m curious to see what kind of man Slate would call friend. “Not at all,” I say.

He glances at me and smiles, as if he can read my mind.

Less than five minutes later, he pulls into a parking lot. My eyes widen. “Is this…?”

“That’s right, Rose. This is Nailed.”

Nailed Garage. The business he and his friends from the orphanage started.

He steps out of the car, then comes around to open my door.

My eyes take in everything, but it looks like any other auto repair garage I’ve seen, with several garage bays open, workbenches and toolboxes lining the back wall, a radio blasting a classic rock station, and several men in mechanic suits working on cars. There’s nothing ordinary, however, about the man walking toward us.

He’s not as tall as Slate, but he’s broad and muscular, with hard, masculine features and shoulder length, wavy brown hair. He looks dangerous, but when he sees me, something in his expression softens, making me instantly relax. I notice laugh lines around his eyes and even though I know nothing about him, I instantly think he plays a very important role for Slate’s group of friends. I imagine he’d be a leader, even a father figure to the boys, but he’d also make sure they didn’t take themselves too seriously.

“Slate, you going to introduce me to your beautiful friend?”

Slate puts his arm around my waist, and even though he smiles and his body remains relaxed, I get the feeling he’s claiming me. And instead of being offended at the thought, my insides go all warm and gooey.

“Jericho, this is Rose Carter. Rose, Jericho Grant, my business partner and the man who keeps this garage running.”

I hold out my hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Jericho.”

He nods even as he wipes his hands on a rag tied around his belt loop, then briefly shakes my hand. “Likewise.” He grins at Slate. “Never brought a woman by the garage, Brother. Something you’re here to tell me?”

Slate rolls his eyes. “Not planning a wedding anytime soon, Jericho,” he says, but he again tightens his arm around me. “I just wanted to stop by. See if you have news.”

When Jericho’s expression grows serious, Slate curses softly. “Street?”

Jericho shakes his head. “No. He and his woman have worked things out. Axel.”

Slate’s eyes widen. “Rose, can you give us a minute?” Slate says.

“Of course.”

Slate and Jericho don’t go far, just move about ten feet away from me so they can talk. As they do so, Slate nods or runs his hand through his hair or plants his hands on his hips. At one point, they both look at me and Jericho’s frowning. I can tell he’s not frowning because I’ve displeased him, but because Slate has probably filled him in on my story. And though part of me wants to hide, I force myself to lift my chin and gaze at him steadily.

Jericho doesn’t even bother trying to hide his answering grin, and they both walk back to me.

“Thanks for waiting, Rose. Jericho’s pretty busy, so we’re going to head out.”

“No problem,” I say.

“Again, nice to meet you, Rose,” Jericho says. “I hope I’ll be seeing more of you. If you ever need anything and Slate here is indisposed, reach out anytime.”

I glance at Slate, who still looks a little troubled, but smiles reassuringly at me.

I turn back to Jericho. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

With a final wave and manly chin jerk at Slate, Jericho heads back to the garage, while Slate bundles me back into his car.

We pull out and are back on the road for several minutes before I have the nerve to interrupt the silence. “Is everything okay? With your friend Axel?”

Slate glances at me as if just remembering I was in the car with him. His expression clears. “He’s in the Marines. Or
was
. All of sudden, he’s heading home. That’s great. But he’s not
supposed
to be heading home. He got in touch with Jericho about working at the garage, but he hasn’t shared a lot about what happened.”