I was trying not to laugh. “All three, of course.”
“Well, two out of three isn’t bad.” He flipped through the pages. “And this is your very serious attempt at picking me up?”
I shook my head slowly and produced the other book from behind my back. I held it so he could only see the back, and my heart was beating double time. I hoped to hell I got this right. “This book is.”
Very nervously, I handed it over.
He read the title, and his gaze shot to mine. His smile was slow spreading, his eyes warm and shining. He whispered, “Spencer… it’s perfect.”
I let out a relieved laugh. “Really?”
He nodded, and absentmindedly reread the title. “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? This is an absolute classic, Spencer. Blade Runner was based off this book.”
“I know, that’s why I chose it for you.”
He stared at me, then back at the book in his hands, as though his emotions got the better of him. “You know me…” He shook his head, seemingly unable to finish.
I tapped his foot with mine and waited for him to look up. “And you know me.”
He stared at me. Just stared. And eventually he swallowed hard and let out a long steadying breath. “Can we leave?”
I nodded and stood up. I held my hand out to him, which he took, and let me pull him to his feet. “I have to pay for the books first,” I told him. Then it got the better of me. “So, did I pass?”
“Pass what?”
“The pickup line test.”
Andrew chuckled. “You really did.”
I grinned at him and spoke so only he could hear. “Am I gonna get lucky tonight?”
He blushed. “Let me think… you’re buying me one of the coolest books ever written and taking me to a jazz bar. I think it’s safe to assume there will be luck involved when we get home.”
“How lucky?” I whispered. “Because I know we said we’d wait until this weekend, but a guy can live in hope, right?”
Andrew smiled salaciously. “That totally depends on whether you feed me as well.”
“Oh, I see how it is,” I joked. “You expect books, jazz music, and dinner.”
He sniffed. “I do have standards.”
I laughed and took his hand, leading him to the service counter. Andrew looked at the cookbook. “You’re seriously buying me the cooking for geeks book?”
“Absolutely. I’ve made it my mission in life to teach you how to cook.”
He scowled at me, but he hardly meant it. It was more smile than scowl. “I’m only cooking if you’re there to help me.”
“Deal.” I paid for the books, and when the cashier handed me the bag with the books in it, I turned to face Andrew. I took a deep breath and slowly held them out for him, like I would if they were flowers. “For you.”
I expected some snarky comment or at least an eye roll, but he blushed a little and smiled all shy-like. He took the books graciously. “Thank you.”
I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to slide my hand along his jaw to his neck so much my palm tingled. But I didn’t. The bookstore was crowded, and we’d not really discussed PDAs outside of a darkened bar. Hand-holding was one thing, kissing another.
“We should go,” I said; my voice was gruff. I cleared my throat. “The bar’s not far from here apparently.”
Andrew licked his lips as though he wanted to kiss me just as much as I wanted him to, but instead he stared at me for a long second before nodding. “Yeah. We should.”
I led the way to the doors, kicking myself that I’d promised him we’d go to a jazz bar. Going back to his place and taking him to bed seemed like such a better idea. But, like a good boy, instead of hailing a cab and going home, I pointed up the street. “This way.”
CHAPTER TEN
The air outside was like a magic antidote to the sexual tension between us. My need to take him into a dark alley and push him against a wall, slipping in between his thighs and kissing him until he surrendered seemed to dissipate into the LA night above us. But it was never far away, just under the surface, itching to pick up where we left off, waiting for the perfect moment to take him home.
We grabbed a quick bite to eat on the way, too keen to check out the jazz scene. As we neared the bar, we had to run across the street, and Andrew took my hand, only letting it go when we got to the door. Inside the bar was dark and not overly crowded, but enough to afford perfect anonymity and getting cosy in the corner. It reminded me of a bohemian poet’s hangout, shabby chic but elegant enough to explain the ridiculously priced drinks.