Chapter 9
Megan took a sip of her beer before sitting back in her chair with a contented sigh. The pizza place was packed. He must have known someone there, because as soon as they came in, they were quickly escorted around the waiting crowd to a table in the back corner.
She wasn’t sure if it was the motorcycle ride or the company, but she couldn’t remember smiling so much in one night. Or feeling this carefree. Or just enjoying herself in general.
As she looked around the busy, loud restaurant, something odd struck her. “Do you know that I probably haven’t eaten pizza at a pizza place since I was in undergrad at Northwestern?”
James, who was finishing the last slice of pizza, raised his brows. “You’re kidding?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I’d forgotten how good it is.” She put one hand over her stomach, which felt like it was going to split the zipper of her skirt.
“You must have liked it,” he replied as he wiped his mouth with his napkin. “You ate half the pizza.”
“I did not!” She gawked at him but immediately felt foolish when she saw his teasing smile.
She wasn’t used to being teased. When Niall would say something about what she ate or wore or said, it was usually something critical.
Don’t tell me you’re going to wear that dress to the fundraiser gala?
Megan, is that your third canapé?
I can’t believe you told Senator Price you’re registered as an independent.
Megan shifted in her seat and reached for her glass, thinking for the hundredth time that she was blind and dumb for staying married to that asshole for so long.
She glanced across the two-top table to see that James was still watching her. His smile had slipped to more like a concerned grimace. Was she really that transparent? Did the bad memories of her past show like a scrolling LED sign?
“It gets easier, you know,” he said.
“What does?”
“Being divorced.”
As he took another sip of his beer, Megan tried to swallow the giant lump in her throat. She didn’t know how to respond to that. She wasn’t sure she felt comfortable having a conversation about her divorce with a man she’d only recently gotten to know. But before she could say anything, he continued.
“I’m not asking for details. I hate talking about my divorce, so the last thing I wanted to do was bring yours up. But a shadow chased the glow from your eyes a minute ago, and I’m all too familiar with how that shadow works. You hear something, see something, hell, you even smell something and it takes your mind back.” He shook his head. “I just wanted you to know it won’t always be like that.”
Even his surprisingly poetic words couldn’t take the sting out of the truth. Raising her eyes from her glass, she was relieved to see no judgement in his gaze. There was no pity there either. Just understanding.
“Thanks,” she whispered. “That’s something to look forward to.”
He nodded, draining the last of his beer. He placed his empty glass on the table and leaned forward. “But honestly…” He leveled his serious eyes on her, making dread coil in her chest in anticipation of what he’d say next. “You did eat half the pizza. And I gotta say, I’m impressed.”
She couldn’t help it, she let her head fall back and laughed at the ceiling. When she locked eyes with him again, he was grinning.
His smile had been doing funny things to her all evening.
Sitting across from him for the last hour and a half, she learned quite a few things about James Foley. At first glance, a stranger might take one look at him and think him a serious, closed-off man. But Megan was pleasantly surprised that wasn’t the case. He might look gruff, but he was extremely easy to talk to, and he listened equally well.
The entire time they’d shared their meal, they hadn’t fallen into any of those uneasy silences. He was friendly and kind to the servers and scored huge points with Megan when he chewed with his mouth closed and didn’t talk with his mouth full. Niall had a nasty habit of talking while eating. Probably because he loved to hear the sound of his own voice.
James and Megan talked about their jobs and their families. She learned that he was only five years older than she was, and that he’d bought his auto garage from his father when he was nineteen. He loved sports, especially football, and he spent most of his free time with his son.
She told him about her family in Boston. About how her parents had emigrated from Ireland. How she had grown up with her older cousin, Ewan, and younger brother, Sean. She told him that in her down time she liked to read, mostly urban fantasy or historical romances, and that she loved to cook.
Even though they’d spent the whole evening getting to know each other, it was never lost on Megan how attractive he was. He had a quiet confidence about him that she was starting to find entirely too alluring.
His stubble was a little too long to be called stubble but not long enough to be called a beard. His nose was broad and straight, and his tousled hair was the color of espresso with just a few hints of gray in his sideburns.
She liked the way the outside corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. And she really liked the way his full lips pulled into a grin when he asked her to call him James instead of Mr. Foley.
But what captivated Megan the most were his eyes. If she looked close enough, his deep brown eyes gave away all his emotions. And tonight she could tell he was happy.
She could also sense he was interested in every word that came out of her mouth. At first it was a little unsettling because that was something she wasn’t used to. It seemed like he really enjoyed being in her company, which immediately made her think he had to have some ulterior motive.
It wasn’t often she met someone who was genuine with her and wasn’t trying to get something in return. Everyone had always wanted something from her, whether it was a meeting with her ex-husband, a favor from her ex-husband, or even a coveted spot on her and her ex-husband’s dinner party invitation list.
All her old friends, even her old employer, were around because of her connections. But she didn’t have those anymore. And James didn’t seem to care.
She was beginning to think his honesty was the sexiest part about him. And that was saying a lot since there were so many other sexy things to choose from.
“Do you want another beer?” he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.
She swirled the small amount of amber liquid around in her pilsner glass. She’d already had two, and truth be told, she was having such a nice time she didn’t want their night to end. Yet she knew another drink would tip her over the mellow euphoria she’d created.
“I probably shouldn’t,” she said as she raised her eyes to meet his.
He pulled out his wallet and threw a few twenties on the table. Megan quickly reached for her purse. “James, won’t you let me cover half the bill? I’d really like to.”
He shook his head. “I’m the one who asked you out to dinner. My treat.”
Her chest fluttered at the thought of him thinking they were on a date. Because this wasn’t that. At least she didn’t think it was.
When he rose from his seat to signal it was time to leave, her heart sank. She stood, tugging at the sides of her skirt. Those three slices of pizza she’d had were now pushing against her waistline.
James waved to someone in the kitchen but she couldn’t make out who. She was busy trying not to get run over by the servers carrying huge trays of pizza in the very tight spaces around the crowded restaurant.
Megan was surprised when she felt James close his hand around hers and guide her to the front door. Her hand felt so small inside his warm grip.
How could holding hands with a man like him make her feel so safe? He was just helping her out of the restaurant, but it felt like so much more. When they got through the front door, he didn’t release his grip. And she didn’t mind.
Instead of leading her to the back parking lot, he pulled her with him across the road.
“We aren’t going to your bike?”
He gave her another crooked smile. “Mind if we take a short detour?”
She wanted to blurt out that she didn’t mind at all. That he could take her on a long detour if he wanted to. But she stayed composed. “No, that’s fine.”
Megan wanted to also point out that they were jaywalking but they were nearly across the street, and she resisted the urge to state the obvious. Besides, James didn’t seem like the type of guy who cared whether he jaywalked or not. Instead she asked, “Will your bike be okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know the owner of the pizza place. He won’t have it towed. At least I hope he won’t.”
She hoped not too. She wasn’t sure she could crawl on the back of the bike quite so soon after eating, but she definitely wanted another ride.
They walked hand in hand down the sidewalk and made it another block before Megan asked him where they were going.
“There,” he replied, pointing toward what looked like an abandoned building on the corner of the next block.
Corrugated metal covered the building’s exterior, and as they got closer, Megan could see The Atrium was spray-painted in graffiti-style block letters next to an unmarked door. Apprehension started to battle inside her. She must have slowed because James looked down and squeezed her hand.
She read in his eyes that he wanted her to trust him. And oddly enough, she did. So when he opened the heavy metal door and started to descend down a poorly lit stairwell, she followed.
“What is this place?” she asked as the door slammed shut behind her.
“You’ll see in just a second.”
The lower they went, the dimmer it got. When they reached two stories below street level, she started to hear the muffled hum of music below. After one more story down, she could feel it vibrating through the stairwell. They finally made it to the bottom, and James reached for the handle of the door at the base of the stairs.
Before he pulled it open, he looked back to her and smiled. “It’s gonna get loud.”
Megan nodded once, and as soon as James released the latch to open the door, her ears were assaulted. They entered into a large amphitheater-looking space that was packed with people.
She hardly noticed the giant man standing beside her until he barked something at them. James handed over some cash and then raised their clasped hands toward the guy, who then slapped a wet, dark stamp on the backs of their hands. The giant winked at her, and all she could do was blink back.
A heavy metal band was thrashing around on stage, and she couldn’t make out the difference between the screaming of the lead singer and the high-pitched squealing of the electric guitar.
Megan instinctively let go of James’s hand and covered her ears before they started to bleed. He looked back and winced, clearly not a fan of the ear-splitting music either. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he guided her through the mass of people to the bar in the far corner.
Why in the hell did he bring me here?
Megan was so far out of her comfort zone she felt like she was in another dimension. A heady mix of discomfort and curiosity swirled inside of her. The music was too loud, the lighting too dark. James appeared comfortable in this mosh pit, and that sent so many questions fluttering through her brain.
When they made it through the crowd to the bar, James patted an empty barstool and Megan climbed up. The shrieking on stage came to an abrupt end, and to her disbelief, it got a raucous applause.
She looked around at the large space now that the house lights had come on. It was somewhat of a mixed crowd. The majority of the audience and people at the bar looked to be in their upper twenties and early thirties. But one thing was for sure. She was definitely overdressed in her pencil skirt and cardigan set.
“Beer?” James asked, his voice raised over the noise of the room.
She nodded emphatically. She knew she looked tense, and she was hoping a beer would help loosen her up.
He smiled and leaned over the bar to yell their order to the bartender. Once their drafts were delivered, she quickly took a sip, savoring the way the ice-cold liquid felt sliding down her throat.
After the band left the stage, she could hear herself think again. “Where are we?”
“This place is called the Atrium. It’s a small concert venue.” James leaned against the bar next to her seat. “A lot of local bands play here on the weekends.”
“Do you come here a lot?”
He shook his head. “Only when there’s someone good playing. I probably haven’t been here in over a year.”
She took another look around. The women were dressed casually in everything from jeans to miniskirts. The men were mostly dressed like James in jeans and T-shirts.
She wondered if he used to come here with his ex-wife. Just the thought of the wild-eyed woman she’d met a week ago was unsettling. She doubted his ex-wife had always been like that. There was probably a time when they were young and carefree. She had probably been beautiful and full of life and lacking inhibitions. They probably came to this place to hear bands play and make out in dark corners.
Looking down at herself, Megan realized for the first time that night that she was definitely delusional if she thought she was anything close to James’s type. She quickly took a sip of her beer, trying to wash down the disappointment she suddenly felt.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
Megan looked up and saw James studying her. His dark eyes searched her face. “Nothing.” She quickly shook her head and smiled. She gestured to the stage with her chin. “Was that one of the bands you liked?”
He narrowed his eyes at her attempt to change the topic before shaking his head. “No, they aren’t really my style.”
“Who are we here to see then?”
“A band called Torrid. I went to high school with the drummer.”
She’d never heard of the group but that didn’t really surprise her. She loved music but rarely got to listen to it. When she was cooking in the kitchen, she usually listened to jazz.
“What type of music do they play?” she asked.
He tilted his head. “Rock and roll, mainly. They have their own stuff, but usually when they come back to the Atrium, they do covers of the classics. The Stones, Led Zeppelin, Metallica. I think you’ll like them.”
His eyes were smiling at her, and suddenly, she felt a whole lot more at ease.
“And what makes you think I’d like rock and roll?” she teased.
He leaned toward her, his face just inches from hers. “Because you’ve surprised me at almost every turn since you walked into my shop a couple months ago. And I have a feeling that, if given the chance, you might just surprise yourself.”
Something in the way he was watching her told Megan that he wasn’t just talking about the music they were about to hear. Her breathing turned shallow as she watched his full lips pull into a grin. His mouth was so close she felt his breath against her cheek. When she moved her gaze to his, a shiver traveled up her spine. And it felt good. Like a warm cup of coffee on a weekend morning.
“Come on.” He took her nearly empty glass and put it on the bar. “Let’s see if we can get closer.”
She let him pull her off her stool and into the crowd that was slowly packing its way toward the edge of the stage. They were about halfway through the mass of bodies when the house lights went dark and the crowd went wild.
James squeezed her hand in reassurance. For the third time that night, she was blindly following this man into the unknown. The first time had been when she crawled onto the back of his bike. The second time had been when she followed him down the darkened stairway into the Atrium. And now for the third time, she was trailing behind him into the pitch-black chaos of an electric crowd waiting for a rock and roll band called Torrid.
She was beginning to think she would follow him anywhere.
Calli had told Megan to live it up. That she needed to meet someone so different that there would be no doubt in her mind that it was a rebound.
Everything about James was different. Everything. From the way he looked to the way he talked and the way he listened. But mostly it was in the way he made her feel.
Never before had she felt the exhilaration she experienced when he came near her. Never before had she felt the stirring of lust pool deep inside her stomach just from looking at someone’s lips. And never, ever in her life had she wanted so much to prove someone right. That if given the chance, she might just surprise herself.