Liz Talley – His Uptown Girl (страница 14)
“You’re a pro at avoiding things, you know that?”
Eleanor moved some empty cardboard boxes aside and ignored her friend.
“So you’re not even going to tell me about Dez? About the drink? It shocked the hell out of me when Gary sidled over and spilled those delicious beans. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
Eleanor spun. “Why? Like I can’t do something...atypical? Besides, it was a drink.”
“With sizzling-hot Dez Batiste. So is he still the enemy?”
“Having a drink with him doesn’t change the opposition I have for the club he’s opening. I needed vodka and Dez wanted to convince me his club could be an asset to the community. That’s it. Practically a business meeting,” Eleanor said, not daring to meet Pansy’s gaze. The woman could have been Sherlock Holmes had she been male, British...and a fictional character. She didn’t want her friend to see how much her odd afternoon escape with Dez had affected her. Even now she couldn’t sort out what it had meant.
“So did he?”
Eleanor studied the nails in the crate. “Did he what?”
“Change your mind?”
“No.” But he’d made some good points.
“Oh,” Pansy said, holding out her hand.
“What?”
“The hammer and screwdriver. I’ll break the fingernail this time.”
Eleanor handed Pansy the tools. Pansy had better leverage with her height.
While her friend struggled with the crate, Eleanor allowed her mind to drift back to her strange afternoon at the Bulldog pub. Back to the way Dez looked gulping down the bitter German beer, his neck strong, masculine, nicked by the razor. The way his hands had cupped the mug, the flash of his teeth, the hum of electricity between them, unacknowledged but allowed to hang in the air. She’d wanted to touch him again, but didn’t.
It had all felt too dangerous.
Had there been three or four years between their ages, she might not have worried. She might have asked him to come to her house for supper. Or a drink. Or a roll in the bed she’d slept in alone for too long.
But she was eight years and nine months older than him.
Too much to bridge.
Even for mere sex.
Maybe it didn’t matter—just like Dez said—but she saw the difference in the way they approached life.
He ate a double cheeseburger with hickory bacon along with a side of fries and a hearty beer to wash it down. Dez wasn’t far removed from the buff frat boys her daughter chased, who didn’t know what statins were and had never thought about cholesterol intake.
And then the phraseology he used. Some of the words she wasn’t familiar with. He knew the music played in the bar. He caught the eye of college girls. He dressed like a twentysomething...even if he was nearly thirty-one.
As she sat there, discussing the weather, the Saints and the music scene with Dez, she felt more and more he wasn’t the man to take her first steps back into the dating jungle with.
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