Nolan coasted to a stop in front of one of the small Craftsman houses situated directly across from the fight club. Okay, Nolan. You’ve got this. He blew out a breath because even though he really didn’t know if he had this or not, he was doing it. When Bridget called, he’d been up to his elbows in chocolate cream, having just put the final layer on top of a chocolate hazelnut crepe cake. She’d babbled at him and then informed him that he was picking her up at seven that evening. Then she hung up, and Nolan stared at the phone for a few minutes before whooping.

And now he was here, in front of her house, with six cakes in the backseat. He got out of the car and made his way up the sidewalk to the neat porch, where he knocked on the door instead of ringing the doorbell. The rapping of his knuckles on the heavy wood door calmed his nerves.

Bridget opened the door and greeted him with a blinding smile.

“Hey,” Bridget said as she slipped out the front door and locked it behind her. “You look nice.”

Dressed in a pair of slim black trousers and a blouse that left one shoulder enticingly bare, she looked tidy and cool. Nolan wore the same thing he had worn on his previous outing—a pair of dark jeans and a guayabera-style dress shirt. The day was warm, and Nolan had the A/C in his truck cranked up as high as it would go because of the cakes, which left him looking a bit windblown. He felt ungainly and disheveled compared to the trim woman at his side.

After opening the passenger door and helping her into the tall truck, Nolan carefully drove the short distance to Pickett & Spence, where he could see Cal practically hanging out the door, awaiting the arrival of the cakes.

Nolan pulled into a space at the front of the building, and Cal burst out to the parking lot. Bridget shrieked when he pulled open the truck’s door unexpectedly.

“I’m Cal. Sorry, darlin’—gotta get these beauties inside,” he said before grabbing two of the boxes off of the floorboard.

“They’re in a bit of a crisis. He’ll calm down once he gets the cakes in the case.”

“Sure.” Bridget had been smiling nonstop since she got into the car. “Can I help you?”

“You can take that green box if you wouldn’t mind.”

She nodded, slipped out of the truck, and carefully picked up the designated box. Nolan scooped up the remaining three boxes, and they walked together into the gastropub.

 “This was really nice,” Bridget whispered when they finished their small plates at Pickett & Spence. “Nolan, we didn’t have to—”

“Remember, I’ve got an in, so don’t even, okay?”

She looked skeptical but grinned as she settled back in the seat of Nolan’s truck. “Fine. I won’t. But thank you. It was all fantastic.”

“Yeah, the selections are decent.” Nolan held his opinions back because he knew Bridget wouldn’t want to hear him blather on about pairings and seasonal food, but really, Alphonse should be able to put together a more exciting menu than what Pickett & Spence currently offered.

“You loved working in a restaurant, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t good for me at the time.”

Bridget leaned closer to him. “Is dealing with claims any better for you?”

He chuckled. “Probably not. There’s less temptation, though.”

“I suppose.”

“What did you do when you weren’t fighting full-time? Or have you always been a pro?”

Bridget laughed. “Oh no, it’s only been since I came to DS Fight Club that I’ve been training full-time. Now, I’ve done a little bit of everything. Waited tables, office jobs. I used to do a lot of booking for my dad’s band and for Kevin, but that wasn’t really for pay.”

“You love the music.”

“I do, yeah. Can’t sing or play an instrument, but I love music.”

“You dance well.”

She flushed prettily. “You’re not bad yourself. You’ve got some smooth moves.”

Nolan chuckled.  “Yeah, I’ve always been pretty spry for a fat dude.”

Bridget stared out the window, her eyes unfocused. “Why do you do that? Undermine the work that you’ve done?”

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t realize that I’m doing it.” Nolan shrugged.

“Well, stop it. It makes me sad and mad, and you do not wanna see me sad or mad.” She wagged a finger at him. “Trust me.”

“Uh-oh, looks like some trouble’s brewing,” Nolan murmured as traffic slowed to a crawl. Hopefully nothing too bad.

He and Bridget drove in silence as the line of cars inched along until they finally saw a tow truck hauling a smashed car away.

Bridget clucked her tongue. “I swear, the s are worse than the accidents,” she mused with a disapproving shake of her head.

“Come again?”

“What?”

“What did you say was worse than the accidents?”

“What? Oh, the gahkablahkas.”

“What the hell is a gockleblocka?”

Bridget cackled. “Not a gockleblahka, a gahkablahka. You know, someone who’s craning their neck around, looking and jamming up the road?”

“Uh.” Nolan was still confused. “I mean, I get it, but I don’t know those words.”

“You know, gahka.” She bugged her eyes out and craned her neck around comically. “ ‘Oh, let me see what’s going on here,’ you know?”

Nolan burst out laughing so hard he almost had to pull over. Bridget narrowed her eyes at him, and when he glanced over at her, he started laughing harder.

“What the fuck is so funny?”

Finally Nolan got himself under control. “Oh my Lord, ‘gawker.’ You were saying ‘gawker,’ ” he wheezed.

“Yeah, that’s what I said—gahka.”

“And the other word is ‘blocker,’ right?”

“Well, yeah.” She was looking at him like he was an idiot.

“Gawkerblocker.”

“Yeah, gahkablahka.”

“Oh my Lord, Bridget, you just made my night.”

“Hmph.” She tried to pout, but Nolan could see her lip twitching in a grin until she chuckled.

“That’s what it’s called—a gahkablahka. Sheesh.”

Nolan parallel parked in front of Bridget’s house and put the car in park.

“You wanna come in for a drink? Just one quick one?”

Bridget leaned against the door, her elbow resting on the window ledge, just looking at him with the most inscrutable expression on her gorgeous face.

“Sure. Just a quick one.”

Nolan, get your mind out of the gutter.

Bridget popped out of the car before Nolan could open her door for her, but he quickly caught up with her, and they walked up the short sidewalk to her house. Nolan watched Bridget closely as she unlocked her front door. The hand that held the key slightly trembled, and he wondered what that was about.

She headed straight back to the small kitchen, where she pulled two lowball glasses from the cabinet and poured two fingers of whiskey into each. She handed Nolan a glass.

“Sláinte,” she said, clinking Nolan’s glass.

“Sláinte.”

“You wanna sit down?”

“Sure.”

He followed her into the living room, where they eased back onto the couch, him beside her. She wiggled a little closer to him, bumping his shoulder with hers. Nolan could smell the light citrus scent of her shampoo or body wash or something, and he couldn’t help but inhale her scent a little deeper.

“Are you sniffing me?” Bridget whispered.

“Maybe.” He took another whiff. “Okay, yes. You smell really good.”

Their faces were very close together, maybe too close. Nolan looked at Bridget, really looked at her. She blinked at him, and he grinned before pressing the softest of kisses against her lips. She tasted of whiskey.

“Oh,” Bridget breathed into him.

He kissed her once more before cupping her face in his hand. “I probably shouldn’t have done that.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “But I couldn’t resist.”

“Do it again.”

He did.

“Again.”

“Bridget . . .”

“Again, Nolan.”

Nolan slanted his mouth over hers and pushed her back into the couch. He could feel her pulse thrumming under his thumb that rested on the base of her throat. He tasted the seam of her lips with his tongue, and with a little moan, she opened her mouth to let him explore. Bridget sighed as he deepened the kiss, melting against him, so when he lay back on the couch, she followed without hesitation.

Bridget broke the kiss first and tucked her head under Nolan’s chin. He lay almost completely still, one hand on her hip and the other playing with the ends of her hair. That luscious citrus scent filled his nose again, and he inhaled deeply once more before kissing her hair and pulling her close to him.

“I should probably get going.” Nolan gave Bridget a light squeeze. “Bridget?”

He lifted his head to peer at her and discovered she was sound asleep. Nolan chuckled softly and pressed his lips to her forehead. Bridget pursed her lips in an adorable frown and nuzzled deeper against Nolan’s chest.

“Oh, Bridg. Darlin’, what is happening here?” he murmured, but she didn’t answer and didn’t wake up, so he lay there, enjoying the quiet warmth of her companionship. It’d been a long, long time since he’d been this close to a woman. He missed it.

He knew he should go, though he didn’t want to. What he really wanted to do was strip them both down and get skin to skin with Bridget, and not even in a sexual way. He just wanted more of the togetherness, the intimacy.

Nolan groaned when she shifted, her breasts pressing against him. Feeling the taut bead of her nipples—had he done that to her?—translated into a heaviness in his balls and a stiffening of his cock. It had been a few years since he’d had any sort of sex that involved another person, by his own choice, and he didn’t know if the stirring of feelings was due to proximity or something else, something deeper. He suspected the latter might be the case, and hell if he knew what to think about that.

“Where’s the blanket? Kev, gimme some covers,” Bridget mumbled in her sleep. Yeah, hearing her voice her ex’s name killed that semi. Nolan shook his head to clear it and slid off the couch, being careful not to wake the slumbering woman.

“Mmm, thanks, baby,” was what he heard when he tucked a throw around her before slipping out of the small Craftsman bungalow to head home.