I start at Rachel’s voice and only then realize that Tahoe and I are sitting so close we could be one. One of my breasts is basically pressed up against the back of his arm, nearly flat against his triceps muscle, and my chin is resting on his shoulder as I peer at the pics.
Rachel and Saint stand at the door. Rachel looks at me with curiosity, and Saint’s expression is unreadable.
“We’re starved and our kitchen won’t be stocked until tomorrow. Want to get something across the street?” Saint asks, looking at Tahoe meaningfully.
I stand slowly on rubbery knees and Tahoe says, “Saint,” and tosses his phone in the air.
*
We end up heading across the street to have dinner at a small café. Wynn joins us after the gallery opening, and because it’s so crowded and the restaurant only offers tables that seat up to four, the guys sit at the bar while Rachel, Wynn and I sit at one of the small tables.
The guys are causing quite the stir. Several women who were originally seated at tables are now moving to wait for seats at the bar, hovering near the guys and hoping to catch their attention. Saint ignores them, Callan chats them up, and Tahoe simply charms their socks off as they pant all over him.
Curious to hear what he’s telling the girls to make them look all googly-eyed, I decide to refill my glass at the bar. I’m surprised to realize he’s telling them about lacrosse. I would have thought the conversation to be a lot more lewd and crass.
They ask him all sorts of questions, but while he absentmindedly answers, he watches me. He’s still flirting and smiling, but his eyes are on me.
The feel of him watching makes me so nervous I trip on the leg of his stool on the way back to my table. He reaches out and steadies me, his fingers tightly grasping my arm. I recuperate quickly and mumble, “I got it.”
But actually, it’s Tahoe who’s definitely got it. He’s got his hands full with two women and somehow the guy still manages to get one of those hands on me!
I take my seat, and Rachel continues drilling me about Trent.
Trying to keep my eyes off the bar, I tell her more details about how we met, but I avoid mentioning the condom issue. Nobody knows about that but T-Rex and I want it to stay that way. And speaking of him, I’m also thankful that Wynn doesn’t jump in and tell Rachel that just the other night, Tahoe spooned me.
I tell Rachel that Trent is red-haired and good-looking in a non-overwhelming way. As I say that, I glance at Tahoe—the danger symbol and the complete opposite of Trent—and I notice that he’s moving like a blond panther toward our table. And he is looking directly at me. God help me, his dimple is showing.
“Regina,” he takes my arm to help me to my feet, “can I see you for a minute?” There’s laughter in his voice, and it makes me curious to know why, as well as want to share in that laughter for some reason.
“Yeah, sure.” I immediately stand and let him guide me to the door. “What’s up?” I ask, narrowing my eyes suspiciously, feeling myself smile because he’s smiling so hard.
He squints up at the clouds crowding the night sky, that Cheshire grin still on his face. “Too cold out here, let’s go sit in my car for a bit.”
We walk to his car, which is parked in the lot beneath the Saints’ building.
He opens the door for me then climbs behind the wheel. It’s warmer inside, but I rub my hands together and blow into them anyway.
“What is it?” I insist. “Come on, I’m freezing. And your floozies are probably dying after two minutes without you now.”
“They’ll be fine,” he cockily assures as he looks at me, his lips tilted, his dimple still showing.
“What is it?” I ask again. “I’m seriously starving and you’re interrupting my dinner, Roth.”
“I’m interrupting?” He laughs richly at that. “You, sending a little present to me, was not interrupting?” He pulls out what takes me a moment to discern are a pair of red lace panties.
“Those aren’t mine.”
He looks at them closely.
“Those damn panties aren’t mine. God, you’re disgusting!” I laugh.
“These aren’t yours?” He studies them again, then grins and stares at me. “I figured you for a red lace kind of girl.”
“Never.”
He opens the glove compartment, which has a shit-ton more panties.
“God, you’re disgusting, Tahoe!”
He shuts it after tucking the red panties in there, and he is wickedly sexy and shameless about it.
“What’s your kind then?” he asks, reaching out to my backrest and leaning forward into my seat a little bit.
“What?” His hand on the back of my seat makes me start for a second.
“Your kind? Men can tell a whole lot about a woman based on her underwear.” He nods knowingly.
“You totally flatter yourselves. You only think it says a lot but all they hint at is the mood we’re in.”
“Really.”
“Umm, yep. Really.” I nod knowingly too.
“So what mood are you in?” His voice drops a little bit as he looks down at me.
“I’m hungry,” I say flatly, aware of my stomach rumbling.
“Hunger is not a mood.”
“Right now it’s a state of being. I’m super hungry and I get moody when I’m hungry.” I glare at the glove compartment. “Now what woman on Earth would want to add her panties to that pile? Huh?”