Switch Hitter

“That is so nice of you. I’m looking forward to it.”

I realize that I actually am. Dash has been a real gentleman so far, and I’m gradually beginning to ease up and enjoy his company.

He pulls into a parking space, puts the car in park, cuts the engine.

“I’d feel like a dick not showing up—the kid is only seventeen—but just so you know, there’s a chance his band is going to seriously suck.”

I grin at him, unable to stop myself. “Or he might surprise us?”

He’s not convinced, yanking the keys from the ignition. “Maybe, but I doubt it.”Still.

He brought me to watch his kid neighbor’s band play—how sweet is that? My heart dips, and not because of the guilt I feel about deceiving this guy. Quite the opposite.

Dash Amado is not only amazingly hot.

He’s amazing.

Chapter Three

Dante

I put my hand on the small of Lucy’s back, guiding her through the front entry of The Warehouse after standing in line and buying two tickets. I lead her toward the stage; there’s plenty of room near the front.

Or there are a few tables near the back.

I point to one as we pass it. “Should we go up front, or do you want a table?”

“We should definitely stand up front so he can see you.” Lucy gives me a nudge with her elbow. “You want him to know you’re here, don’t you?”

I nod.

Steering her forward, my hand still lingering on the small of her spine, my restless fingers find that sweet spot on the curving slope down to her ass. The fabric of her shirt is soft; I allow myself the luxury of letting it run liquid along my palm before pulling my entire arm away.

She glances at me over her shoulder, long hair swinging.

It’s definitely darker than the last time I saw her, and thicker?

When she smiles at me, I notice a small divot at the corner of her mouth I hadn’t noticed before, a tiny indentation near her full bottom lip.

I want to put the tip of my finger there and press it.

She catches me gaping at the dimple and touches it—covering it—offering me a wary, shy smile. Lucy, shy? No, that can’t be right; this chick is a man-eater. She’s the one who asked me out. She’s the one who’s always hanging all over me and my teammates at house parties, not the other way around.

She’s aggressive.

Way more aggressive than I’m attracted to.

I don’t know if I’m hallucinating, but the Lucy Ryan that showed up tonight? She’s been acting uncharacteristically reserved since I found her loitering outside her house.

Once more, my eyes roam to the tiny indent near her mouth, lingering there.

Nope. That definitely wasn’t there before.

Was it?

It’s adorable—I’d definitely remember.

Wouldn’t I?

Jesus Christ, estoy perdiendo la cabeza. I’m losing my damn mind.

We weave our way to position ourselves near the stage, early enough to score a great spot—dead center, right in the middle. Far enough up that Scotty will see me, far enough back that we can leave when the other bands play.

Unfortunately, we have to stand around for fifteen fucking more minutes waiting for this battle to begin, and Lucy doesn’t strike me as the type who can engage in conversation stimulating enough to keep me interested for long, let alone a whole quarter of an hour.

I can suffer through small talk until the band starts.

It’s our third date.

And our last.

After tonight, I doubt I’ll ever take her out again. Girls like Lucy lack the refinement I want in a girlfriend—she’s good for a quick fuck, maybe a few casual dates, but she won’t conocer a mi familia—meet my family.

Mi madre would be fucking pissed if I brought a girl like her home.

Estaría muerto. I’d be dead.

Still…there’s something about her tonight that has me second-guessing my first impressions, something I can’t put my finger on.

Tonight she seems aloof. Conservative.

Pretty and polite.

Classy.

It’s weird.

A good weird.

My lips curl into a smile as I look down at the crown of her head, the light hitting her hair, emphasizing the rich, chocolate brown color. Was it this color over the weekend? She must have gotten it dyed or whatever.

“Want anything to drink from the bar?” I lean into her, dipping my shoulders to get close, though she’s tall enough with those high heels on.

“Hmm.” She hesitates, worrying her lower lip. “Do I?”

I chuckle so low she couldn’t possibly hear me over the noise. “I don’t know, do you?”

“Are you drinking?”

What kind of a question is that? It’s a weekend—of course I was planning on drinking. Unless…does she not want me to drink?

“I was gonna do a beer.”

A firm nod. “Okay, that’s what I’ll have.”

“Beer?” I feel my mouth twitch. “What kind?”

“Whatever kind you’re having?”

“Are you sure?” She had white wine the last time we went out—four glasses of it, to be exact—and got shit-faced drunk. “I’m sure they have wine if you want it.”

Her mouth moves, forming the words, “Shit, that’s right. I drink wine, don’t I?” The venue is loud and echoes, but her words are clear, perfectly formed on her lips. Lucy pauses indecisively. “I guess I’ll have wine if they have it.”

She looks less than thrilled, pouty even.

“Tell me what you want, and I’ll grab it.”

“Let’s do wine.” A curt nod. “I’m a wine drinker that happens to also love beer, but tonight I’ll do wine, please.”

My face, of its own free will, twists into a would you make up your damn mind expression, and I fight off an impatient groan and an irritable sigh. “You want to hold our spots while I head to the bar or come with me?”

“No, no, you go! I mean, sure—yes, I’ll hold our spots,” she enthuses, practically shooing me toward the bar, but not physically touching me. “Yup, you go. I’ll wait here, right here in this spot. I won’t go anywhere.”

She flashes me a smile that’s just a little too cheerful; if I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was trying to get rid of me.

“All right,” I say slowly. “Give me a minute. Be right back.”

It takes me a solid five minutes to ease my way through the congested crowd to the bar, another five to hit the front of the line, and several more to get service.

One bottle of beer for me and one plastic cup of cheap white for her and I’m back at her side. When I sidle up, my date is furiously texting someone, head snapping up when she catches sight of me out of her periph. Shoves the phone in the back pocket of her jeans.

“Hey! I missed you!”

Plucking the cup of wine out of my hand, Lucy peers into it, squinting with one eye squeezed shut.

“Thanks.” When she sips it, her lips pucker. “Bottoms up!”

I don’t know why the hell she’d order it if she so obviously hates it, but I gave up trying to figure women out years ago.

“Good stuff?” I want to fucking laugh.

“Really good. Thank you.” Lucy takes another labored sip, demonstrating just how tasty she finds it. “Mmm.”

“If you don’t want it, don’t drink it.”

“No! It’s good. See?” Another gulp, another set of sour lips she’s terrible at hiding.

“Lucy, why the hell would you order wine if you don’t like it?” I pause, hold out my cup. “Do you want to chase it with some beer?”

She hesitates, glances behind us at the bar, which is now completely swarming with people. If I go back for another beer, it’ll take another half hour and I’ll miss Scotty’s entire gig.

“Don’t worry about it. This is fine.”

I take a chug of my bottle of amber, offer it to her. “Want a drink of mine?”

Her hand goes up, waving in protest. “No, no, that’s okay—don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it, but if you want a beer, I can share. It’s not like we haven’t swapped spit before.”