She turns to me. “Speaking of, why don’t you convince him to go as Superman? Man of Steel, right? And I have a feeling he’d look seriously fine in tights.”
Jackson laughs. “Ogling men. Me in tights. Are you certain you’re gay?”
She snorts. “Just because I don’t want to sample the merchandise doesn’t mean I don’t recognize quality when I see it.” She turns to face me. “You appreciate a woman’s tits, right?”
“I am so not having this conversation.” I look to Jackson for help, but he only shrugs.
“Don’t look at me. I definitely appreciate a woman’s tits.”
“Careful or I will make you wear tights.” I slide into his arms and rise up on my toes to kiss him. “And you know I can be very persuasive.”
“Your tits,” he says quickly. “Only yours.”
My effort to find a witty comeback is thwarted by Cass’s enthusiastic cries of “Oh! Oh!”
She’s moved a few rows over, and now she thrusts a cutoff leather jacket into the air. “Biker chick! And Jackson can go as a biker. It’s perfect.”
It actually does sound fun. Not to mention comfortable, which is always my big complaint about Halloween costumes.
“Not bad.” Jackson palms my ass and squeezes. “What do you say, baby? Want to be my old lady?”
“Mister, I think that sounds just about perfect.”
Once we have a plan it doesn’t take too long to put together the basics of our costumes. We’re at the register waiting to pay and debating pizza or burgers for lunch when my phone rings.
I have every intention of ignoring it, but when I glance at the caller ID, I see that it’s Reggie Gale, my old boss from my very first real estate job, five years ago in Atlanta. “How are you?” I ask after the preliminaries. “I’m so glad to hear from you. I’ve been meaning to call.”
“Been too long,” he says. “I thought if you were free we could have dinner.”
“You’re in town?” Reggie, I mouth, in response to Jackson’s questioning glance.
“Santa Barbara. But I’m heading down to LA in a bit. Should be there in plenty of time for a drink or a bite if you have the evening free.”
“I’d love it. I’m with Jackson, though. Do you mind if he tags along?”
“Steele? I haven’t seen him since Atlanta. It’ll be like old home week. The two of you. Trent.”
I frown. “Trent? Trent Leiter? Is he coming to dinner?”
Reggie laughs. “No, I just meant I’m seeing old friends. You two in LA. Him up here. I’ve known Leiter since that San Diego project I worked on with Stark right before I hired you.”
I can’t think of any business that Trent has in Santa Barbara, and I make a mental note to ask Rachel on Monday if he’s taken her away for a romantic weekend. That would be a treat for Rachel, who usually works Damien’s desk on weekends. But she’s been covering for me so much lately that Damien gave her the weekend off and staffed his desk with one of the floating secretaries.
We make plans to meet at six-thirty at the wonderful Restaurant at the Getty Center, one of my favorite places in Los Angeles.
“Which means you want to skip lunch,” Cass says after I explain the change in plans to both of them.
“Pizza,” I say. “One slice. And then you and I should go change,” I add to Jackson. It’s already almost two, and there is no way I’m going to such an elegant restaurant in jeans and a Dr. Who T-shirt.
By four, we are both cleaned up and changed. Me into a wrap-style dress that clings in all the right places, and Jackson into one of the suits that he’s left at my apartment.
“We still have time,” he says as I finish up my routine by brushing mascara on my lashes. He slides a hand around my waist. “I know just how to fill it.”
“Do you?” I turn in his arms, feeling his heat seeping into me.
“Two words,” he says, then bends low to murmur, “Getty Center,” before claiming my mouth with his own. I melt into the kiss, my body tingling from my toes all the way up to my lips. And honestly, it’s not just his touch that has set me on fire. It’s the fact that he knows me so well.