Hard to Hold (True Romance) (7 page)

“Yeah, her.” he confessed.

Nikki grinned, then made quite the aria out of singing the question, “So, what did she want?”

He cleared his throat and tried to look unaffected as he transferred file folders from one side of the desk to the other. Of course, this was a useless exercise. He wouldn’t allow the papers from the left side of his desk to remain on the right side for more than ten seconds. If he did, he wouldn’t get any work done for the rest of the day—a possibility that had already been thrown into motion by Anne’s call.

“She just wanted to know if I could stop by so she could show me something.”

“Liar!” Nikki accused. “She asked you on a date!”

“No,” he corrected. “A date would be the act of leaving the place we live and going somewhere else with a specific intention of doing something together. She just happens to be ordering Chinese for dinner and gave me the option of joining her. What wine goes with Chinese, anyway?”

He opened his browser to do a quick search when Nikki reached over and stayed his hand. “If you’re bringing wine, buddy, it’s a date.”

He waved off her suggestion. Yes, he and Anne were getting together, but he refused to consider this a date. He wasn’t against a woman asking him out, but he wasn’t about to let Anne derail his plan to make the first formal move. That he hadn’t taken the initiative to do this up until now was the fault of his crazy work schedule.

Not to mention a barely acknowledged suspicion that she might have turned him down.

He’d been turned down before, though admittedly, not often. He didn’t put himself out there often enough for his record to be ruined. Like most of his gender, he preferred to make a move only after he was relatively certain that the woman he was asking out wasn’t going to run screaming in the other direction.

Then there was the reality of his Tourette’s. The name of the disorder alone freaked out a lot of people, thanks to prevalent stereotypes of people who barked and cursed uncontrollably. Mike’s reality—and the reality of a majority of sufferers—was completely different. And yet, he couldn’t deny that his condition caused twitches and movements that he couldn’t control.

As a result, he’d become cautious, especially with women. He always established friendships first and orchestrated his meetings first in large groups, surrounded by friends with whom he bonded over common interests. He got to know potential dates slowly and methodically, weighing their responses to his comments, jokes, and conversation until he knew they were definitely interested and not put off by the Tourette’s.

But Anne was new to his world. Fresh, exciting, and yet unknown. She was like a beribboned and wrapped present at Christmas, a holiday the Italian-Catholic side of his family made sure he appreciated.

Well, he’d never let the Tourette’s get in his way of living his life to the fullest. He wasn’t going to start now. He pushed his misgivings about that to the back of his mind and concentrated on the situation at hand.

Tonight, he was going to Anne’s place to learn about her secret obsession and eat Chinese food.

“Okay, maybe it’s a date,” he conceded. “Maybe it’s not. I won’t know until I get there, but I think my chances are definitely better if I bring wine.”

Nikki patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Mike Davoli.”

“I’m suddenly a nervous man, though,” he admitted.

Nikki laughed. “Good. She’s got you off-kilter. That’s probably an omen of good things yet to come.”

Six

M
IKE HAD NO IDEA WHAT
A
NNE HAD PLANNED
, but his first thought after she opened the door was that whatever it was, he was in.

“Hey.”

Her simple, monosyllabic greeting sent a ripple of sensation up his spine. His arms tensed and his shoulders tingled, but he knew this time around, his physical reaction had nothing to do with his Tourette’s and everything to do with pure, unadulterated attraction. With her thick, brown hair pulled back in a jaunty ponytail, his attention went straight to her face. As always, her smile caught him first. Enhanced by a subtle gloss, her natural pink lips curved in welcome even as she stepped back and gestured him inside. Her funky red glasses matched her soft, torturously snug sweater. Finishing the look with jeans and slip-ons, she was the epitome of casual comfort.

The fact that she hadn’t spackled her face with too much makeup or dressed to the nines confused Mike even as it pleased him. Was this just a relaxed get-together between new friends or was she simply so comfortable in her own skin that she didn’t feel the need to impress a guy?

Either way, he came out a winner.

“Nice place,” he said, searching for something to say that didn’t reveal the invigorating anxiety at being invited inside her inner sanctum. Not that he minded the feeling. This brand of disquiet came from new opportunities and unknown possibilities— the kind that made his blood pump to every area of his body, including those that hadn’t had much attention lately.

“Thanks. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

Except for the blue light from the muted television, a gold glimmer from a pair of beaded lamps set on either side of her couch, and a trio of tiny votive candles on her coffee table, the place was dark. Intimate. She’d set the low table in front of the sofa with an mismatched set of Asian-style plates with random chopsticks, soup bowls, and spoons. Two wineglasses sparkled beside a single votive candle, reminding him to present his gift.

“I owe you more than just a single bottle for all you’ve done in the last two weeks, but I had to start somewhere.”

She took the wine, glanced at the label, and hummed in appreciation. “Hmm . . . Riesling with Chinese food?”

“According to a quick Internet search, it’s the best. Unless you don’t like white wine?”

“I prefer red, but far be it from me to contradict the all-knowing power of Google.”

So he’d missed on the wine selection. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, from the way she moved into the kitchen in search of a corkscrew, her anticipation was palpable.

She filled the silence with questions about how he liked his new place and, pointedly, if he’d come up with a way to make sure he didn’t get locked out of his apartment again.

“I’m not normally so disorganized,” he admitted.

“I am,” she said. “How do you think I learned how to pick a lock with a credit card?”

He laughed and when she gestured to the couch, he scooped up the two wineglasses and sat, fumbling a bit when he found his seat blocked by what looked like a discarded sweater.

“Oh, let me get that,” she said absently, balling the sweater and then tossing it free-throw style onto a chair in the corner. From the shadows, Mike could tell this was her catch-all location for homeless items and he couldn’t help but wonder just how unorganized she truly was.

The concern fled his brain the minute she joined him on the couch and poured the wine. The fragrance of the liquid splashing against the side of the glass was light and fruity . . . or else, that was her perfume.

She took a tentative sip that had him entirely enraptured by her mouth. With her eyes closed and her face relaxed, she allowed the mouthful to linger on her tongue before she swallowed and then smiled. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah it is.”

She opened her eyes. They were large and brown and full of humor; she watched him until he realized he had not yet taken a taste from which to make his assessment. Thankfully, the moderately priced white actually was flavorful and crisp.

“I ordered lo mein, dumplings, stir fry, egg-drop soup, and a couple of other things. I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

“I’m sure I’ll like whatever you bought,” he said.

She sent him a quelling look. “Unless it’s something you really don’t like.”

“Well, I’m not much of a beef or chicken or pork guy,” he said, taking a risk with being honest. “I prefer fish or shellfish.”

“Good,” she said, “because the sweet and sour shrimp is to die for.”

She popped over to the kitchen, sliding her hands into what looked like homemade mitts. From within the oven, she pulled out a cookie tray loaded with take-out cartons. Apparently, she’d ordered enough food for the entire week.

“So, how’s Sirus?” she asked.

Mike’s insides warmed even before she leaned over with the tray and tilted her chin to indicate she wanted him to transfer the containers onto the table. He tried—and failed—to keep his gaze focused only on the food. Her curves spoke to a hunger inside of him that wouldn’t be sated by Chinese dumplings.

“She’s in heaven. The park down the street is amazing. The whole neighborhood seems great, though I haven’t had much time to go exploring.”

“Have you tried the Wine Bar and Bistro?”

“I saw it,” he said. “But work’s been crazy and with moving in and everything, socializing has fallen to the bottom of my to-do list.”

“That’s a sad state of affairs.” She used the chopsticks to tumble a large portion of sweet and sour shrimp onto his plate.

“Yeah, but luckily, things seem to be looking up.”

Mike watched and listened, amazed as she talked about the building, the residents, and the neighborhood. She made the dry cleaner sound like a must-see experience while offering him each carton in turn, warning him off the pork lo mein, but pushing him to take an extra helping of the vegetable spring rolls. He tried to remember the last time he’d used chopsticks when she jumped up and said, “Oh!” before dashing into the kitchen.

She returned with two forks. “I always forget. I like using chopsticks for lo mein, but with rice, it just makes a mess!”

The word
simpatico
sprang into Michael’s mind. Their fingers brushed as he took the fork from her and a sizzle skittered across his skin. Why had he wasted so much time by not asking her out the first night they’d met?

Mike wasn’t an old-fashioned guy. Politically, he was progressive. Musically, he was definitely out of the box. Even his fashion sense, when he wasn’t in a business suit for work, trended toward styles most considered retro. Yet, when it came to matters of the heart, he appreciated the traditional guy asking the woman out. Or the guy, at the very least, picking up the tab.

But he’d waited too long. Lucky for him, Anne was not an overthinker. She said the first thing that popped into her head. She put mismatched plates out for guests and forgot to include forks. She seemed to live her life the same way she broke into locked apartments—with ingenuity. Her take-no-prisoners, make-no-excuses attitude was incredibly sexy.

“How’s the shrimp?” she asked.

He skewered a prawn on the end of his fork and took a bite. He moaned appreciatively, which made her chuckle. From that point on, they did little but eat, laugh, and polish off half the bottle of wine and an incredible amount of Chinese food before Anne glanced at her watch.

“It’s almost time!” she said.

Mike froze when she dove at him—or more specifically, across him. She snatched the remote control from the table on his left and then bounced back into her spot. Dizzy from the combined sensations of her lush body draped, albeit briefly, across his and the potent scent of her spiced shampoo, Mike took a long minute to regain his equilibrium.

“Time for—?”

“My obsession,” Anne said. “I promised to show you.”

She flipped the channel. Though the television had been on the entire time they’d been talking, the sound had been muted. When she pushed the volume button, the sound blasted to nearly wall-shaking decibels.

“The neighbors must love you,” Mike said.

She lowered the volume, but only marginally. “Excuse me?”

“The volume. It’s a little loud.”

“Oh,” she said, sheepish. “I know. I’d have surround sound if I could, but with this show, I might cause a panic not unlike
War
of the Worlds.
”

She refilled their wineglasses before settling into the couch, a throw pillow pressed against her stomach and her legs crisscrossed in front of her. Mike had the sudden memory of assuming a similar posture on Saturday mornings when he and his sisters geared up for their weekly cartoon mania. The glee in Anne’s demeanor was contagious. Mike couldn’t wait to see what program had her so mesmerized.

When Keifer Sutherland appeared on the screen, dressed in black and looking incredibly worried, Mike couldn’t help but grin.

“
24
?”

She glowered in his direction. “Don’t even tell me you don’t like this show or I might have to waterboard you.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “No judgments. I’m a huge fan myself.”

Her smile nearly knocked him off the couch. “Cool, though it’s a shame I don’t have to initiate you.”

And with that last, lost possibility torturing him, they watched the show. For the next hour, she concentrated on the television with the same intensity as the life-or-death scenarios portrayed on the screen. During quiet moments and commercials, they discussed everyone’s identities, what they wanted on the surface, what they wanted secretly, and how they were manipulating the people around them to achieve their goals. She kept his wineglass filled and his brain engaged, but only half of his attention was on the television.