quizzical look was on his face as he asked, “What did you wish for?”
“Nothing important.” Nothing I’d share with a stranger .
“Then why wish for it?”
Because to stop wishing means I’ve lost hope .
His hands slipped down her arms, letting her go, and the cool air urged her to step closer, to seek the warmth that had just been there.
“A silly habit left over from childhood.” Instead of stepping into the warmth, she stepped away, crossing her arm over her middle, clasping her other arm. “I’d given up on you and was on my way home.”
“Busy day, followed by a flat. When I went to leave, Bambishka wasn’t too thrilled and wouldn’t move from in front of the door. It took some bribery to coax her to move. I was halfway here by the time I realized I forgot my phone.” He stepped to the side, hand swept out. “The restaurant is still holding our table, if you’re not too mad.”
His tone of voice, the rueful expression on his face, and the fact that she was starving decided for her. She walked in the direction he indicated. “Who’s Bambishka?”
The smile morphed into one of genuine pleasure, reaching his eyes. “She’s my best girl. A fifty-pound Staffordshire terrier.”
“It’s an unusual name. What does it mean?”
“It’s Russian for baby, which was her mom’s name. She came with it and wouldn’t answer to anything else. I’ve finally got her to answer—when she feels like it—to Bam.”
A dog lover. Good, at least they’d have one thing to talk about, because she was here, which meant she’d make the most of the night. “Funny. I love Staffordshires. They’re a wonderful breed, and so smart and loyal. What are her markings like?”
He looked at her, brows drawn together. “I didn’t take you for a dog person. I would have guessed maybe cats, or if you did like dogs, you’d go for those small ones women carry everywhere. Bam’s black and white, kind of like an Oreo cookie.”
She stopped walking and looked at him, really looked at him. Still nibble-worthy, with serious eyes, but without the arrogant, impatient attitude he’d exhibited at their first meeting. Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be a date with the devil after all.
“Actually, I like most animals. With dogs, it’s not necessarily the breed—almost all have good and bad qualities—it’s their personality. When I went to the Humane Society to get Tucker, my beagle, he was the only one not barking and jumping up and down. He sat there staring at me with those big brown eyes, and I was a goner.”
His laughter came from deep inside, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Sounds like a smart pup. We’re here.” He pointed to a glass door with red writing: Jorge’s Cocina.
Of all the tequila joints, he had to pick this one. Was it too late to claim a headache? Holding the sigh in, she smiled and stepped into the familiar festive lobby. Would it be asking too much of Lady Luck for Jorge to be off tonight, she wondered. Probably. The hostess sat them at a cozy table for two in the back corner, lit by flickering candles and dim sconces on the walls. A waitress appeared within seconds. The place was hopping. Not unusual. From the looks shooting their way from a few diners, she’d guess the quick service wasn’t universal. Great, she didn’t need the diva card played.
The night’s specials were rattled off and the pert little thing took their drink orders: Corona for Jason and a strawberry margarita for her. Suddenly she felt the need for a little liquid courage.
The waitress walked away and she and Jason looked at each other, waiting to see who would go first. Man, she hated blind dates. At least on the show she knew a little about each guy before their individual dates. Even with real blind dates your friend or whoever set you up gave you some kind of run down of the person. Tonight was all one-sided, Jason knew all about her. Well, what he might have seen on the show and then the lies told by the
Learning to Kill: Stories