mix of ambers and greens in his hazel eyes, but finally he dropped the eye contact and slid out of her side of the booth. “Okay, then. Let’s get back to hammering out a rehearsal schedule. I have to be honest, your drummer needs more than a little work.”
Oakley seemed startled by his quick acquiescence and shift in subject, but he’d heard the message with ringing clarity. If he’d learned anything in life, it was how to not linger where he wasn’t wanted. And really, Oakley had been one hundred percent right. What business did he have chasing a woman like her?
She lived a normal life, had responsibilities, and a child to worry about. She’d want some guy who fit into that—a nine to fiver with a steady job who played golf on Saturdays and went to church on Sundays. A guy who wouldn’t show up at her place and make all the people in suburbia whisper about his weird haircut and his inked skin.
This was why he tended to stick to the twentysomethings who hung around after shows. Those women knew what they were getting into with him—sought it out. He was the thrill. The dare. The shocking story to tell to their girlfriends after they’ve settled down behind their white picket fences and are remembering those crazy days right out of college.
Oakley was a grown-up. She knew he had nothing to offer her beyond a hot night or two. Smart.
Didn’t make him want her less.
“So just like that, you’re going to drop it?” she asked, not answering his question about rehearsal schedules.
He shrugged. “I always respect a no.”
Her gaze shifted to her food. “Well, that’s something.”
The words had been muttered to herself, but he’d heard them well enough. He frowned. “I’m not going to force anything, Oakley. Contrary to popular belief, I’m pretty harmless.”
She glanced up, sardonic smile returning. “Now there’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”
He pointed at her. “Nope. I’m a lot of things. But not a liar.”
“Oh, really? Mr. Honesty, huh?”
“Try me.” He took a bite of his calzone.
Her Bellini must’ve been fully settling in because she asked him something he never would’ve expected. “So have you really done it in a public bathroom before?”
He smirked. “A few times. Taking a chance in a place where you might get caught can be really hot. Though, bathrooms aren’t my preference. And never, ever try in one of those portable ones at music festivals. Learned that one the hard way.”
She blanched. “I don’t even want to pee in those.”
“Wise girl. So what about you?”
“Me?”
“Ever in a bathroom?” He picked a pepperoni off his plate and popped it in his mouth.
Her gaze skated away. “Once. But it was one of those private single ones.”
Based on her tone that was not a pleasant memory. “If there’s no chance of discovery, you only get partial credit.”
Her expression turned grim. “Believe me. That whole relationship was about trying not to get discovered. I should get all kinds of points.”
He wiped his mouth on his napkin. “How so? Married guy?”
“God, no. I would never.” She looked back to him, guarded. “I was young. He was a lot older.”
“Ahh. I’ve had one of those, too.”
Her mouth flatlined at that. “How nice for you.”
The shift in demeanor surprised him. Only after a few seconds did he catch why she’d sent such a cold front his way. “Oh, shit. No, that’s not what I meant. I haven’t been with too young of a girl. I’m not a creep. All I meant was that I had one of those forbidden relationships when I was young. Lost my virginity to one of my high school teachers.”
She lowered her glass without sipping. “Seriously?”
“Looking back, I realize it was a pretty messed-up thing on her part. But at the time, I was all for it.”
He’d been young and dumb and horny as shit. His history teacher had been hot and still in her twenties. And he’d much preferred stopping by her house on the way home to get his education on the female form instead of going back to his own family’s chaos.
He laughed when he saw Oakley’s still-shocked expression. “And hey, let’s pick Things You Shouldn’t Tell Complete Strangers for five hundred, Alex.”
A small smile finally broke through. “Sorry. It’s just, I’m a mom. I’m horrified at the thought of a teacher taking advantage of a child.”
He shrugged. “Like I said, I know now it was screwed up. Back then, I thought I was the man.”
“I see life hasn’t cured you of that last condition yet.”
He cocked an eyebrow, enjoying this relaxed version of her. Alcohol was good for the uptight receptionist. “Touché, Ms. Easton.”
“See, now you say the Ms. thing and it sounds dirty.”
He smirked. “She let me call her by her first name. But be warned, I can make anything sound dirty.”
“I’m noticing that. It’s quite a gift.”
“Absolutely.” He had the suspicion that she’d have that gift, too, if she wanted it. Just listening to that low, husky voice talking about mundane things had made him hot earlier. But having an R-rated conversation with her now—well, he was halfway to hard already. If they kept it up, he’d have to order the cannoli just to prolong the time he could keep his lower half hidden under the table.
But before he could ask her anything else, she excused herself to go to the restroom. He asked her if she wanted him to join her, but she rolled her eyes and told him, “No, it’s only going to be me and the pride of Italy.”
He watched her walk away, enjoying the way her black slacks highlighted the curve of her ass. She had a nice swaying walk—one that would look downright decadent without the business clothes in the way. His phone rang, interrupting his appreciation of the scenery.
He reached for it without looking and slid his thumb across the screen to answer. “Yeah?”
“Uh …” asked a hesitant male voice. “Is this Sa—”
The phone cut out for a second. “What? I’m having trouble hearing you.”
“Is this Sasha?”
“Who? No. I think you’ve got the wrong number, man.”
“No, I mean, it’s not. I have it programmed on my phone.” There was a pause as if the guy was checking his screen, then he was back. “It’s the right number. I reserved a call at eight. Am I going to get charged for these minutes? Where’s Sasha?”
Pike frowned and pulled the phone away from his ear to check the caller ID, but when he did, he realized the phone in his hand didn’t have a black cover like his. It had a bright blue one. Shit. He’d answered Oakley’s phone.
But the dude was asking for a Sasha and the caller ID said Private Number. He put the phone back to his ear. “Wires must be crossed, dude. Wrong number.”
“No, but—”
Pike hung up the call and dropped the phone back onto the table next to his own. Same brand and model. Same standard ring. Motherfucker. If Oakley realized he’d answered her phone, she’d be pissed. And have good reason to be.
But it had been a wrong number, so maybe it wasn’t too big a deal. It hadn’t been some boyfriend calling