Then they smiled.

And I felt for the first time all day that maybe I could pull this off.

“Told you she didn’t need sparkle,” Indy said to Daisy.

“Sugar, you got that right,” Daisy replied.

“Hon,” May said, smiling at me, “don’t you worry about gettin’ laid. Trust me. You got nothin’ to worry about.”

* * * * *

Ten minutes later everyone was gone, giving out hugs, air kisses and well wishes for a successful cherry popping as they went.

Before she left May hugged me tight and looked me deep in the eye and whispered, “Nothin’ to worry about.”

Even with May’s encouragement I’d just sucked down a shot of tequila, winced as it hit my throat and decided, again, that there was no way I was going to pull this off.

I shoved the tequila bottle to the back of the counter behind the margarita glasses that someone had washed and were resting upside down on a kitchen towel. I put the shot glass in the sink and was wondering if they had any redeye flights from Denver International Airport to Nicaragua when my backdoor opened and Vance walked in.

I stared at him. He stared at me.

I was pretty certain I was looking at him like a deer caught in headlights.

He wasn’t looking at me that way. He was looking at me in an entirely different way. A way that made the butterflies come back, this time the good ones seemed to be at war with the bad ones and it was up in the air which ones would win.

He hadn’t changed clothes which was one for the side of the bad butterflies. I worried that I looked like I was trying too hard.

Finally I said, “Both doors were locked, how did you get in?”

He started walking toward me but didn’t answer.

I was right by the counter. I backed up a step and my h*ps ran into it.

“You don’t have to break in, you know. You could knock on the front door like a normal person,” I told him as he arrived at me.

I thought he’d stop but he didn’t, not until he got into my space, way into my space. So into my space I could feel the heat from his body and he leaned into me, putting his hands on the counter on either side of me.

I leaned back and tilted my head to look up at him. “Hello? Crowe? Are you in the room?”

“Shut up,” he said and I blinked then my eyes narrowed.

“What did you just say?”

Then his head dropped, his mouth hit mine and he kissed me. He didn’t touch me, not with his body or his hands though I was acutely aware of the position of both.

No, he touched me only with his mouth and kept me locked to him there using his macho man tractor beam in cahoots with his talented tongue and the good butterflies got an advantage.

His head moved away an inch and he murmured, “Tequila.”

Fuck.

Sucking face with a recovering alcoholic after a shot of some serious spirits was probably not a good thing.

“Crowe –” I said.

His head dropped again and he ran his tongue across my lower lip.

I stopped breathing.

“I like it,” he said low and he moved back a fraction and looked at my body then up to my eyes. “I like all of it.” Then he came in close again and his face did the same. “You look good, you taste good.” His mouth came closer and his eyes stared into mine. “I bet other places taste even better.”

Oh my God.

The good butterflies started to beat the shit out of the bad butterflies.

I pulled back a bit. “I’m sorry about the tequila. I had some friends over…” I partially lied, not about to impart the information on him that I needed liquid courage for our date.

“Jules, people drink. I don’t. Don’t worry about it,” he said like he wasn’t worried about it at all.

“Okay,” I replied softly.

Then he did something strange. His hand lifted and he ran his fingers through my hair at the side of my head all the way down the back. Then he pulled some over my shoulder and started to play with it, twisting one of Indy’s curls around his fingers just above my breast all the while he watched his hand as if his mind was somewhere else.

It felt nice. It sent tingles along my scalp and skin, sexy tingles but something else too, something warmer, sweeter.

“Vance?”

His eyes came to mine and I realized his mind was not somewhere else.

I swallowed.

Then I asked, “Are we going out or what?”

He grinned, his fingers still playing with my hair and I could feel the heat from his hand on my chest.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Shouldn’t we, like, go?” I went on.

He kept grinning. “Yeah,” he repeated.

I waited. He didn’t move.

“Well, are we gonna go?” I asked.

“You got a jacket? We’re on the Harley.”

My stomach fluttered, not butterflies, just excitement. I loved motorcycles.

His forcefield intensified when he caught sight of my obvious excitement and he moved in so our bodies were now touching.

“You like bikes?” he asked.

I nodded, trying to be cool (but probably failing).

“You got a jacket?” he repeated.

I nodded again.

He grabbed my hand and moved away.

“Let’s go,” he said.

* * * * *

He took me to The Broker Restaurant.

I’d been there only once before. Nick had taken me there for my sixteenth birthday.

The Broker had been around for years, a fancy restaurant built into the bank vault in the basement of the old Denver National Bank building. You even had to walk through the cage and round steel door of the old vault to get into the seating area. It had burgundy leather, button-backed booths and rich cream tablecloths and napkins. They gave you a big bowl of huge steamed shrimp as a complimentary appetizer.

I was pleased that I was wearing something nice. One didn’t do jeans at The Broker, unless one was Vance Crowe who looked in jeans like most men looked in a tuxedo.

We were shown to a half-oval booth. I stared at it and bit my lip. This meant we’d be sitting side-by-side and I wasn’t sure this was a good thing.

I didn’t say anything and slid in. Vance came in after me and settled, arm along the back of the booth behind me. I leaned forward, slipped off my blazer style black leather jacket and threw it to the side of me with my purse and kept my body forward, the better to stay out of reach.