Hard to Hold (True Romance) (2 page)

They’d moved on to her explaining how she and Shane lived in the same apartment building not far from the venue when Anne asked, “So how do
you
know Shane?”

Michael and her neighbor exchanged a quick but meaningful look.

“Oh,” she said.

“What do you mean by that
Oh
?” Shane jerked up the zipper of her coat against a sudden gust of wind coming in from outside the auditorium.

Anne glanced at Michael, who looked a little perplexed, an expression that added a dash of adorability to his attractive face.

She’d assumed that Shane and Michael had dated sometime and though the odds had been with her, she was, apparently, mistaken. She covered with, “Did you go to school together?”

The moment brimmed with a layer of tension, but Michael tilted his head in the direction of the moving crowd and answered, “Actually, we met at a concert. She hooked up with a friend of mine.”

Anne smiled. “She has the tendency to do that.”

Michael laughed. “Pretty girls often do, but then you’d know all about that.”

It took a split second before she realized he’d just paid her another compliment, though this one was definitely better than the first.

“Did you just call me pretty?”

From the indentation in his cheek, she could tell he was trying hard to waylay a smile. “You sound shocked.”

“I guess I am,” she confessed.

“I can’t imagine why.”

Though a blast of cold air swirled around them as they poured outside into the open, Anne had to admit—if only to herself— that this guy was good. In the course of a very short conversation, he’d warmed her insides like a strong, hot toddy.

“Hey, let’s go to Bomber’s. They make that Italian margarita,” Shane said, “and they’re on the way home.”

Anne cast a sideways glance at Michael and realized he was not alone. Flanked by a tall, slim guy with dark brown hair, they shared a comfortable rapport that told Anne they’d been friends a long time.

“Hi, I’m Anne,” she said, holding out her hand.

He accepted. “Ben,” he said.

“Did you date Shane, too?”

Shane bopped her on her shoulder. “You’re going to give Jamie the wrong idea about me.”

“He probably has the wrong idea about you already or he wouldn’t be so anxious to get you tipsy on tequila,” Anne suggested.

This comment initiated a squeal of protest from Shane. Several bawdy jokes then erupted from Jamie. After Ben joined in, Anne fell back a few paces and walked beside Michael again, who was tucking something into his pocket.

“Going to your car?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Ben has a house a couple of blocks from here.”

“You’re roommates?”

“If you call camping out in someone’s attic being a roommate. I just moved back to Albany after a stint in Portland. A leasing agent found me a place, but I haven’t seen it yet. It isn’t easy finding an apartment that takes dogs.”

“You have more than one?”

The question lit Michael’s face as if a spotlight had just been turned toward him. “No, just one, but she’s a beauty.”

And with only a little bit of prodding, Anne had him talking about his pooch, a Weimaraner named Sirus, which he clearly adored. Anne couldn’t help but think there was nothing more appealing than a man who loved his dog. In fact, the more he spoke about chew toys and his dog’s predilection for pancake batter, the more Anne wondered if, for once, her unnatural ability to bump into things hadn’t worked in her favor.

They reached Bomber’s Bar five minutes later. Patrons mingled outside, waiting for space in the crowded pub. Jamie and Shane headed inside to look for a table, but Ben waited by the door for Anne and Mike, whose conversation kept them a few steps behind.

“So how do you feel about margaritas?” Anne asked.

“More of a beer guy myself, but I’ve been known to toss back tequila for a good cause.”

“It’s Monday night,” Anne said, a little more brightly than she wanted to. The sudden, anxious feeling in the pit of her stomach was only slightly more disconcerting than the flush currently burning her cheeks. “That’s reason enough in my book.”

Mike shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, bringing his forward momentum to a screeching halt.

“Aren’t you coming in for a drink?” she asked.

He gave a big sniff, his eyes glassy from the sharp, night air. “I can’t, but thanks.”

She didn’t try to hide her confusion. She didn’t exactly expect the guy to drop down on one knee after talking to her for fifteen minutes, but his reluctance to join them for a drink took her by surprise. Geez, her radar was really off. She could have sworn he had at least a passing interest in being friendly.

“More margaritas for me, I guess,” she said, moving toward the door.

When he called her name, she turned, gasping as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a quick hug.

And by quick, she meant quick. They made contact for less than a split second, and yet in that fleeting moment, heat suffused from his body to hers. The only reason she registered the warmth was because she missed it the moment he was gone.

“It was really great to meet you,” he said.

“Yeah, you too,” she replied.

She exchanged a smile with his friend Ben, who looked equally confused by Mike’s refusal to come inside, then shoved through the crowd to catch up with Shane and Jamie. And here she thought she was starting off the week with an interesting prospect. Instead, she’d just gotten a hug from a guy who obviously didn’t want to give her the time of day.

Two

“
Y
OU’RE AN IDIOT
.”

Michael Davoli glanced at Ben and tried to come up with a sharp or clever retort. Unfortunately, nothing came to him. He’d just walked away from a chance to hang out with a vivacious goddess of a girl just because his nose was runny, his eyes were itchy and blinking with even more rapidity than usual.
Idiot
described him perfectly.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Michael muttered.

Ben took the invitation with relish. “Where to start? That chick was into you, man.”

“Maybe,” he said, not entirely certain. She was certain friendly and bubbly, but for all he knew, she was that way with everyone. Which, in a significant way, made her all that more appealing.

“She was cute,” Ben said.

“Definitely.”

“So why are we walking in the wrong direction?”

Mike pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose. The action covered the insistent twitch in his neck and shoulder.

Damned allergies. Damned Tourette’s. His condition only worsened when his immunities were down. He’d suffered through the concert on massive doses of antihistamine, which he’d counteracted with two triple espressos and his strong will to hear Tweedy play. The music had, as usual, given him an outlet for the pent-up energy spawned by his disorder. And he’d met a hot girl whose curves, even beneath a bulky winter coat, had invoked a completely different kind of energy—the best kind.

But he was on the downside of his caffeine high and not only did he not want to sneeze all over Shane, her new squeeze, or the pretty, vivacious Anne while they sipped tequila and lime, he also didn’t want his meds to cause him to pass out in front of a girl he wanted to impress.

“Man, I feel like shit,” Mike admitted. “Maybe another time.”

Ben shook his head and muttered under his breath. Though Michael should have known better than to invite further conversation on the matter, he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “What?”

“Like you don’t know.”

Mike stopped walking and shoved Ben in the shoulder to stop his forward momentum. “What don’t I know?”

“You’ve got to get over her, man.”

“I just met her.”

His retort popped out, despite the fact that he knew that Ben wasn’t talking about Anne. He was talking about Lisa. Ben made his point clear by giving him that “you’re a fucking idiot” look that always washed over his face whenever the subject of Mike’s ex came up.

“This isn’t about Lisa,” Mike said.

“Are you sure? You’ve been living at my place for two months. You haven’t gone out on a single date.”

“What are you, my
yenta
?”

Ben snorted. “I’m just saying that a guy who hugs a girl five seconds after he’s met her, but then turns around and walks away, is seriously screwed up.”

As much as he’d like to spout an instant denial, Mike continued toward Ben’s place without saying a word. He had just moved back home to New York from Portland, and one of his goals for returning had been to rejuvenate his love life. As the campaign coordinator for the Quality Education Initiative, he had a stable job. Though he was currently homesteading in Ben’s spare attic room, he had a great lead on a new place. He even had the world’s most perfect dog. Finding a woman with whom to share his bounty would be icing on the cake.

But despite Ben’s pathetic assessment of Mike’s love life, he hadn’t been entirely lonely since his return to his home state. He might not have invited anyone special on a one-on-one, nice-restaurant, movie date, but he’d hung out with friends and their pretty friends-of-friends. Even tonight, he’d almost experienced another spontaneous, wholly accidental fix-up. He hadn’t seen Shane in years and yet the very first thing she’d done when they’d met up again was introduce him to her very attractive, witty, and interesting neighbor.

The fact that he hadn’t gone into the bar or, now that he thought about it, asked for her number had everything to do with his stuffy head and nothing whatsoever to do with his former girlfriend.

“Lisa is ancient history,” Mike said before they crossed the street.

In the wake of Anne’s bubbly personality, Mike had trouble even conjuring an image of his ex. He and Lisa had been young when they’d met. They’d dated exclusively for five years and after awhile, he’d simply assumed that she would be with him for the long haul.

But she’d had other ideas. He hadn’t proposed, but the idea of marriage had occurred to him—shortly before she’d left.

Rationally and logically, she’d made the right choice. But emotionally, he’d been blindsided. While he couldn’t blame her for wanting to embrace all the opportunities a woman could have if she wasn’t tied down to her first real boyfriend, her departure had soured him on relationships for a very long time.

But he’d moved beyond that hurt now. He’d come home to New York to take his whole life to the next level. He had the job and the friends. Now, he just needed the right mate. And yet, the first time he met a potential contender, he walked away because he was tired and couldn’t breathe.

Ben was right. He was an idiot.

The minute Anne opened the door to Villa Italia Bakery on Broadway in Schenectady, the glorious scent of freshly dusted powdered sugar hit her like a cloud of pure delight. Inhaling, she stood in the doorway, dismissing each delicious odor until the roasted, piquant scent of espresso rose to the top note of the bakery’s indulgent perfume. She’d start with a double cappuccino and decide from there what treat she’d choose. After the confusing but invigorating chance meeting with Shane’s friend, Michael, the night before, she’d been restless. And although she didn’t have to go into the office until the afternoon, she still had enough work to require copious amounts of caffeine.

Anne fell in line behind the crush of mutually minded sugarfiends waiting to select from the amazing smorgasbord of cookies, pastries, brownies, cakes, and breads. She forestalled her overwhelming hunger by chatting with a few fellow regulars who, like her, took advantage of the bakery’s free Wi-Fi. Once at the counter, she selected an assortment of cookies for breakfast. And because she was such a good customer, she received not only a welcome smile from the girl behind the cash register, but also extra foam on her coffee and an additional biscotti on her plate.

When she turned, she caught sight of Kate Richmond, her favorite prosecutor in the state attorney’s office. Anne had meant to stop by her office today to get the latest on the Smith-Wildmire murder trial, but she’d get more out of the woman here. Free of trilling phones, needy colleagues, and stacks of case files that threatened to topple if anyone so much as sneezed, Kate might be much more forthcoming.

“Hey, Anne,” the prosecutor said when Anne brushed past her table.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Anne said, her singsong delivery making her true purpose more than obvious. While she wouldn’t go so far as call the attorney a friend, they had become friendly over her time on the crime beat. Most people at the courthouse didn’t mind talking to Anne. Unlike many of her coworkers at the
Daily Journal
, she was not yet so jaded and burned out that she couldn’t bend her lips into a real smile every once in a while.

“We don’t expect the jury on the Wildmire case to bring down a verdict until tomorrow.”

Anne frowned. Actual court cases—as opposed to plea deals— were a rarity in the Schenectady courtrooms of late. That she’d spent time actually watching a live trial last week had been something of a twisted treat.

“Any idea why they’re taking so long?”