Sweet Little Lies Part 31

She blushed and he laughed softly.

"Where are we going?" she asked, needing a subject change.

"Nervous?"

Yes. "No."

He slid her a knowing glance. "It's a surprise."

That had her worried. But where they ended up made her smile wide and stare at him. "A Giants game?"

"Yeah." He parked at the stadium and pulled her from the car with a smacking kiss. "Okay with you?"

Was he kidding? For a beat, her troubles fell away and she grinned at him. "Very okay."

He brought her hand to his mouth and smiled over their entwined fingers.

She melted.

He fed her whatever she wanted, which was hotdogs and beer, and they both yelled and cheered the game on to their heart's content.

They sat next to a couple of serious Giants fans who were wearing only shorts-although the girl also wore a bikini top-and their every inch of exposed skin painted Giants orange.

The guy proposed between innings two and three, and it was nothing like the proposal on her ship. When these two hugged and kissed, there was love in every touch-although their carefully painted Giants logo smeared. The orange and white paint mixed into a pale color that actually resembled pink, making them look like a walking advertis.e.m.e.nt for Pepto-Bismol.

At the bottom of the fourth, the KISS cam panned the crowd and everyone went wild. It stopped on an older couple, who sweetly pecked. Next it stopped on two men who flashed their wedding rings with wide grins before giving the audience a kiss.

Everyone was still cheering when the KISS cam stopped on Pru and Finn. Pru turned to him, laughing, and he hauled her in and laid one on her that made her brain turn to mush and an entire inning went by before her brain reset itself and began processing again.

It was possibly the most fun date she'd been on since . . .

Ever.

After the game, Finn walked Pru to her door. She was a little tipsy so he held her hand, smiling as he listened to her singing to some song in her head that only she could hear.

She had a smudge of orange paint down her entire right side from the woman at the game. It'd drizzled for a few minutes in the eighth inning and her hair had rioted into a frizzy ma.s.s of waves.

He wanted to sink his fingers into it, press her back against her door and kiss her senseless. Then he wanted to pick her up so that she'd wrap her long legs around him.

He wanted her. Hard and fast. Slow and sweet. On the couch. In the shower. Her bed.

Anywhere he could get her.

And it wasn't just physical either. He'd told her he didn't think love was for him, but he'd been wrong. At least going off the way his heart rolled over and exposed its tender underbelly every time she so much as looked at him. He wanted to claim her, wanted to leave his mark on her. On the inside. On her heart and in her soul.

But she wasn't ready. She was way behind him in this and he knew that. What they had between them scared her, and more than a little. She needed time, and he could give her that. Would give her that.

Even if it meant walking away from her tonight when she was smiling up at him, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed, happy. Warm.

Willing.

"'Night," he said softly. "Lock up tight."

"Wait." She blinked once, slow as an owl. A tipsy owl. "You're . . . leaving?"

"Yes."

"But . . ." She stepped into him, running her hands up his chest. "Aren't we going to . . ."

He went brows up, forcing her to be specific.

"I thought you'd come in and we'd . . . you know," she whispered, her fingers dancing over his jaw.

Catching her hand, he brought it to his mouth and brushed a kiss over her palm. "No," he said gently. "Not tonight."

"But . . . when?"

"When you're ready to fill in you know' with the words," he said.

She stood there, mouth open a little, a furrow between her brows, looking bewildered, aroused, and more than a little off center.

Maybe she wasn't so far behind him after all.

"'Night," he said, cupping her face for a soft kiss. Walking away was one of the hardest things he'd ever done.

When Pru's door closed, another opened and Mrs. Winslow poked her head out. "You sure you know what you're doing?" she asked him.

h.e.l.l no, he didn't know what he was doing.

She shook her head at him. "You sure don't know much about women, do you. You can't leave them alone to think about whether they need you, and do you know why?"

He shook his head.

"Because it's only in the moment that a woman will act impulsively. It's all the testosterone and pheromones that pour off you males, you see. Without you right in front of her, that magic stuff wears off and she'll easily remember that she doesn't need you in her life."

"I'm going to hope that's not true," he said.

"You can hope all you want, but you'll be hoping alone in an empty bed."

Chapter 27.

#SmarterThanTheAverageBear Late the next afternoon, Pru was at work wishing she was anywhere but. She was in the middle of an argument with a guy who'd paid for a tour for him and his son the week before, but they hadn't shown up. Now he wanted a refund.

She'd only stepped behind the ticket counter as a favor to one of the ticket clerks who'd had to leave early. This guy was the last person she had to deal with before going home. She'd paused, looking for a credit option on the computer, when he decided she was d.i.c.king him around.

"Listen," he bit out. "I'm not going to deal with some homicidal, hormonal, PMS-y, minimum-wage chick who doesn't give a s.h.i.t. I want the supervisor. Get him for me."

"Actually," she said. "You've got a supervisor right here. And no worries. I was homicidal hormonal last week. This week I'm good. Even nice, if I say so myself."

He didn't smile. He was hands on hips. "I want my money back."

Pru's gaze slid to the person who'd just come in behind him. Finn. He stood there quietly but not pa.s.sively, watching. Pru turned back to p.i.s.sy Man and pointed to the large sign above her head.

No refunds.

The guy leaned in way too close. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

An a.s.shole? A thought she kept to herself because she was busy noticing that Finn shifted too, until he was standing just off to her left, body language signaling that while he was at ease, he was also ready to kick some a.s.s if needed.

She'd thought of him today. A lot. Last night after he'd left, she'd nearly called him a dozen times. He wanted words and she had them. She wanted to say "please come back and make love to me."

Because if she knew one thing, it was that what they'd done together wasn't just s.e.x.

Dammit.

For now, her cranky customer was still standing there with a fight in his eyes. "I'm in charge of the budget for the city's promo and advertising department," he told her. "We make sure that your entire industry is listed in all the Things to Do in San Francisco guides. Without me, you'd be cleaning toilets."

Okay, now that was a bit of a stretch. "Listen, it wouldn't matter if you were POTUS. There are no refunds. I can get you a credit for another tour but you have to be patient with me while I figure out-"

He slammed a hand down on the counter, but she didn't jump. She'd dealt with far bigger a.s.sholes than this one. Before she could suggest he leave, Finn was there.

He'd moved so quickly she never even saw him coming as he stepped in between her and the guy. "She said no refunds and offered you a credit," Finn said. "Take it or leave it."

"Leave it," the guy snapped.

"Your choice," Finn said. "But unless there's something else you'd like to say, and fair warning, it'd better be have a nice day,' you need to go."

The guy stared down Finn for the briefest of seconds before possibly deciding he liked his face in the condition it was in because he strode out without another word.

"Seriously?" Pru asked Finn.

He shoved his hands into his pockets. "What?"

"I had that handled."

He slid her a look. "You're welcome."

She let out a short laugh. "I was handling myself just fine." Always did, always would. Having been on her own for so long, she really didn't know any other way.

And yet he'd been there for her. When she'd been lonely. When she'd been sad. When she'd been sicker than a dog.

Whenever she'd needed.

"Pru," he said, "that guy was a walking fight. Where the h.e.l.l's Jake?"

"Off today, and I didn't need him. It's not like he was going to take a swing at me. The only thing he was swinging was a poor vocabulary and a small d.i.c.k."

His mouth twitched. "Okay, I stand corrected."

"And?"

"And what?" he asked.

"And you're sorry for stepping in and handling my fight for me?"

He just looked at her.

Nope, he wasn't sorry for that. Good to know. She took a longer look at his face and realized that not only wasn't he sorry, he looked a little tall, dark, and 'tude ridden. She'd seen him mad several times now so she recognized the stormy eyes, tight mouth, and tense body language. "So how's your day?"

He lifted a shoulder.

Okay. She reached out and put a hand on a very tense forearm. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly. "Because it doesn't feel like you are."

"I'm fine."

She gave him an arched brow.

He shrugged. "I just hate pushy a.s.sholes who think they can push someone around to get what they want."

She stared up at him, once again reminded that she wasn't the only one in this relationship-that-wasn't-happening with demons. "Because of your dad?"

"Maybe," he admitted. "Or maybe because I spent a good portion of my youth protecting Sean. He was a small, sickly kid with a big, fat mouth. It wasn't easy to watch his back and keep him safe because he attracted a.s.sholes and bullies." He scrubbed a hand down his face. "I guess I still get worked up about that. I saw that guy being aggressive with you and I wanted . . ."

"To protect me," she said softly.

"Yeah." He gave her a half grimace, half smile. "Not that you can't do it yourself, but emotions aren't always rational."

With her hands still fisted in his shirt, she gave a gentle tug until he bent enough that she could kiss him softly. And then not so softly. "I know," she whispered. She kissed him again.

"What was that for?" he asked when she pulled free, his voice s.e.xy low and gruff now.

"For being the kind of guy who can admit he has emotions."

He cupped her face. "We don't have to tell anyone, right?"

She smiled. "It'll be our secret." But then her smile faded because she wasn't good at secrets.

Or maybe she was too good at them . . . "I'm not helpless," she said. "I want you to know that."

"I do know it." He paused, looking a little irritated again. "Mostly."