Kate Hoffmann - The Sexy Devil

“No,” she said.

“You’re rubbing your arms.”

She forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

With a muttered curse, he shut off the air conditioner and rolled down the windows, letting the warm night breeze flow through the car. Was this what he deserved for trying to be a gentleman? That’s what women were supposed to want, right? A guy who wasn’t focused on getting into their pants? It wasn’t just supposed to be about sex. There was trust and friendship, too.

He’d wanted to explain his reasoning to her, but Max suspected he’d only make things worse. So, for now, he’d just stay quiet, get her number before he dropped her off, and they would start fresh on their next date.

As they neared the parking ramp, he began to worry that she might not give him her number at all. He pulled into the ramp and grabbed the ticket, then turned to her. “Where are you parked?” he asked.

“Level 3B,” she said. “It’s a blue Volkswagen Jetta.”

Max carefully steered up the spiral ramp and exited on the third level, then squinted in the low light, looking for her car.

“It’s right there,” she said, pointing to the left.

Max took an empty spot nearby, then turned off the BMW. She made to get out of the car, but he reached out and took her arm. “Hang on.” He grabbed his cell phone from the center console. “I don’t have your number.”

“Why do you need my number?” she asked.

She was angry. Much angrier than he’d ever suspected. “Because we have a date tomorrow and I want to call you and work out the details.”

“We made those plans before…” Her voice trailed off and she waited for him to reply.

He sent her an inquiring look. “Before what? Before I decided we shouldn’t sleep together?” He shook his head. “It isn’t always about sex, no matter what you might have read in the press.”

With an impatient sigh, she rattled off a series of numbers. He punched them into his cell phone, then smiled in relief. “All right. I’ll call you. Tomorrow.”

She made a move for the door again, but Max wasn’t about to let her get away without one last kiss. He smoothed his hand along the length of her arm, then tangled his fingers in her hair. Angela turned toward him. He leaned forward and dropped a simple kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” she murmured. With that, she made her escape. Max turned on the BMW and waited until she was safely inside her car, before pulling out behind her. He followed her down to street level. She turned left and he thought about following her home. But at the last minute, he decided to go back to the bar and help his brother close. Right now, he needed some advice from a guy who had actually managed to find a woman to love.

When he pulled into his parking spot behind the bar, he reached for his phone. On a whim, he decided to call her, just to see if he could smooth things over a bit more. He dialed the number and waited. It rang twice.

“Thai Express,” the voice on the other end of the line said. “Pick-up or delivery?”

“Shit,” he muttered.

“May I help you?”

“Sorry,” Max said. “Wrong number.” He checked the call against her number. He’d dialed the digits she’d given him. Either he’d messed up entering it on his phone or she’d deliberately given him a bad number.

He got out of the car and walked through the back door of the bar. The kitchen had closed an hour before and a few members of the staff were still cleaning up. When he entered the bar, there was still a crowd, but it wasn’t nearly as busy as it had been earlier. He noticed Caroline, one of their best bartenders, behind the bar. “Is Dave still here?”

“In the office,” she said. “Can you tell him we’re running low on rimming salt. I used the last container to make the rim mix for the Bloody Marys.”

“No problem,” Max said. A few people caught him on the way to the office but he still managed to get through the crowd pretty quickly. When he shut the door behind him, he found Dave on the computer, clicking through the liquor inventory.

“Caroline says you need more rimming salt. She used the last of it for the Bloody Mary stuff. Why don’t you just order Bloody Mary salt?”

“Because we mix our own,” Dave murmured. “We’re known for our Bloody Marys. We sell a ton of them on Bloody Sundays. Ten bucks a pop.”

“For tomato juice and vodka?” Max asked.

“Not just that. It’s the garbage we add. A special salt on the rim, a shot of stuff that packs a punch, and a skewer that includes all kinds of pickled veggies. You should try one.”

“I could use one right now,” Max said, flopping down in a nearby chair.

Dave grabbed the phone and buzzed the bar. “Carrie, can you bring Max one of our Bloodies. Make it a good one.” He hung up the phone, then turned to face his brother. “What are you doing back here?”

“I thought I’d come back and help you close.”

His brother’s eyebrow shot up and he gave Max a dubious look. “You left with a woman. I figured you’d be busy for the rest of the evening.”

“I don’t sleep with every woman I meet,” Max said.

“Yes, you do. All the magazines say you do.”

“Screw the magazines,” Max muttered. “They said I was Madonna’s new boytoy. I’ve never even met the woman. Don’t believe everything you read.”

“It didn’t work out with the girl?” Dave asked.

“No, the girl was great. We made a date for tomorrow night-I guess that would be tonight.”

“So, you two didn’t…”

“No. This girl is…different. I don’t know what it is. She’s really sweet and kind of shy. But she sees right through me. I mean, she doesn’t fall for my bullshit. And I feel like I know her.” He paused. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“You think you shared a past life?”

“No. But it’s like that.” He sighed. “The only problem is, I don’t have her phone number. I must have entered it wrong in my phone. I tried calling and I got a Thai restaurant.”

“She gave you a bad number,” Dave said, chuckling. “Oh, isn’t that sweet. You finally meet a girl worth dating and she doesn’t want you. Max Morgan has lost his mojo.”

“It was probably just an innocent mistake.”

“You think?” Dave asked.

“I’ll just look her up in the book.”

“What’s her name?” Dave asked, turning back to the computer. “I’ll look her up online.”

“Angela Weatherly. Or maybe it’s Weatherby.” He groaned. “Shit. It’s Weather-something.” As Dave was searching the online phone book, Caroline came in with a huge glass, filled with Dave’s version of a Bloody Mary. “Jeez, this thing is a meal,” Max muttered.

“There isn’t an A. Weatherby listed. There is an A. Weatherly listed.”

“That must be it,” Max said. “What’s the address?”

“Looks like Lakeview,” he said.

“She said she lives in Wicker Park,” Max said. “You think I should try that one?”

“At two in the morning? No.” Dave paused. “Give me her number. The one she gave you.”

Max read off the number and Dave dialed it into his phone. When he got an answer on the other end, he grinned. “Hi there. This is kind of an odd request, but do you have a regular customer named Angela Weatherly?” He waited. “Weatherby. Yeah, that’s it. Well, I want to send her dinner. She’s not feeling well and could really use some hot soup.” Dave ordered the soup, then gave them his credit card number. “And can I double-check the address on that?” He grabbed a pen and scribbled the address on a notepad. “Thanks. Don’t tell her who it’s from. It’s a surprise.”

When he hung up the phone, he spun around in his chair and tossed the notepad at Max, grinning triumphantly. “She lives on Ashland Avenue in Wicker Park. They deliver to her all the time. You want her phone number, you’re going to have to get it on your own.”