Release Page 4

  “Is that enough for you?” Dane asks.

  “Yeah, it is.” I lower my voice and lean forward, though what I’m about to say is hardly a secret. “This is a bit early for me.”

  He smiles and requests the same thing. Lexi turns and walks away.

  “Is that enough for you?” I ask. He has work after. I plan on going back to bed.

  “I don’t usually eat so early.”

  “Don’t you?”

  He shakes his head. “I get to the gym at seven and then have something just before nine. Eating at this hour is alien to me.”

  “Me too,” I say, surprised by such a simple similarity between us. I haven’t just decided he’s husband material or anything, just because we don’t get hungry at this time of day, but I do find this little, insignificant detail interesting. “What about your gym session, then?”

  “I’ll go after work. I like morning workouts, though.”

  “Because you’re an early bird?” I imagine his late night activities aren’t compatible, but you never know.

  “No,” he looks mildly amused, “I like to work out, but I also like to get it out of the way and get on with my day.”

  His lips are seriously, seriously kissable. They’re medium-thick with no trace of hair surrounding them and the type that beg to be kissed, licked, sucked, every flipping thing. His whole face is seriously kissable.

  “That makes sense,” I respond.

  Lexi brings our coffees to the table. We both thank her, and I have noted Dane’s manners so far. I like the way he speaks to the waitress, his pleases and thank yous, the right amount of eye contact, and he holds open the door. It all seems natural, instinctive, rather than forced or fake. This makes me wonder about his family life– stop all sensible thoughts, he just removed his jacket.

  My gaze rapidly devours him. In the words of Kayla, fuck my ass!

  The snug fit of his cotton sweater enhances the appearance of good posture and the firm bulk of his shoulders and biceps. He’s a medium build with chiseled muscles, along the lines of an Olympic swimmer. I’ve seen many amazing male bodies over the years and I can confidently state that Dane’s is flawless. This is, of course, my opinion based on seeing him with his clothes on.

  “So you don’t eat this early?” he asks.

  “I tend to drag myself out of bed as late as I possibly can, as close to the start of class as possible, and power up on something light. Then I eat again immediately after. I’m not really an early bird. If you don’t eat this early, either, why did you suggest breakfast?”

  The right side of his tempting mouth tilts up. “Would you have said yes to anything else?”

  I’m startled by his response. “Clever you,” I say, unafraid to show suspicion in my tone. There’s even a little unintended narrowing of my eyes to go with it.

  He had no shame in admitting that. Though, he’s right, I wouldn’t have met him for some night time thing involving alcohol and a dimly lit, intimate booth where there’d be the temptation of passionate kissing between his gorgeous lips and mine along with fondling hands and an overpowering desire for more.

  I feel annoyed that his tactic worked. I feel like an idiot for being here.

  Dane puts the menus back in the plastic holder. “Does that add to the opinion you’re forming of me,” he asks, both his tone and his expression serious. For whatever reason, he means business.

  I have no idea what this man is up to.

  “Because I’m here it doesn’t mean I think I should be. Actually, I don’t think I should be. What does it even matter what I think of you? We both know you don’t have to work very hard for female submission, so why are you bothering with me? I don’t just fuck.” A harsh word over breakfast – or early morning coffee – but my voice was firm and I wanted words with impact.

  As I lean back, I notice Lexi serving at the table behind Dane. With a smile, she winks at me. I smile back and resist the urge to punch the air and shout, “Girl Power!” That would be over the top and it’s really not my style. I just want Dane to realize where I’m coming from, because I’d rather have my extra sleep than waste time on a man whose sole focus is on boosting his ego. I should probably watch the level of my voice.

  “Female submission,” he says, delaying the words, like he’s tasting them. Slowly licking them. I try to ignore how sexy it sounded. His gaze pierces mine. “Nice choice of words.”

  Now he’s grinning. The bastard.

  Impact of the wrong flipping kind.

  Six: Dane

  Brooklyn looks pissed and it makes me want to laugh. I like her. I could say something to smooth things over, or I can leave it and keep her pissed at me. It’s entertaining and it’s hot.

  No need to contemplate. I’m going for what I want to know the most right now. “So how does a guy get you to submit?” I mean what I’m asking. The look on Brooklyn’s face says she knows it. Her cheeks are even painted a light shade of pink.

  “That you’ll have to figure out for yourself,” she says with a whole lot of determination. “One thing I will say is if all you want from me is sex then you’re wasting your time. You may as well give up now.”

  I love the edge in her pretty moss green eyes, she means every word. She doesn’t realize that not only do I already know that, but it only makes me want her more.

  The hesitance I pick up in her gaze and the fact that I don’t think these loose-fitting clothes are without purpose are just as effective as if she were sitting here with ‘Do Not Touch’ signs plastered all over her. If she was the type of woman who just fucks, we wouldn’t be sitting in a cafe at seven-twenty in the morning. She’d be in my damn bed.

  “I could ask what you do,” she says, “and act like I don’t know, but I do. Is that your shop over there?” She looks across the street at my workplace.

  “It is. What else has Kayla told you about me?” I probably already know the answer.

  “I don’t want you to be angry with her. She’s a good friend and just looking out for me, it’s nothing personal.”

  “Angry? I rarely get angry and never over something like this. I don’t have a problem with Kayla. You’re her girl, I get that, but I think it’s only fair that I know what opinion you have of me, an opinion based only on what you’ve been told.”

  “I suppose. Basically, what I’ve been told makes you the kind of man I avoid. In a nutshell, you get around.”

  “So why are you here then?” I asked that sounding mildly interested, but I am genuinely intrigued. I could see she meant it when she said she’d usually avoid a man like me.

  “I’m curious and being here is the only way for me to cure that. You were right in thinking I wouldn’t have said yes to anything else, though.” Her brows pull tight, as if in concentration. “I probably should’ve said no to this as well, and saved us both wasting our time.”

  “You know,” I lean in closer from my side of the table, “I probably would’ve pursued the shit out of you, if you had. You being curious means you’d have said yes at some point. We’re just doing this sooner rather than later.”

  Silently, she stares at me. “Maybe. So what opinion would you like me to have of you, Dane?”

  “I’d really like you to come up with that yourself.”

  “Fair enough. At least tell me why you approached me.”

  “Because I want you.”

  “What do you want from me?” Her expression is like an unspoken challenge, which I’ll gladly take. I was trying to keep this respectable, given the time and place.

  “I wanna fuck you, Brooklyn. I’d take you home with me right now if you’d let me, but I know that’s not happening. Get to know me. Form your opinion of me. See where things go from there. You may be surprised to hear this, but I do actually want to get to know you. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

  She sits back. “Okaaay,” she says, at a whisper to herself. “Can’t hold your honesty against you.”

  “I’m not gonna bu
llshit you, Brooklyn.”

  “Good, I’d rather you didn’t bullshit me, Dane.” Her smile is hesitant at first, but broadens.

  I lean back in my seat. “Tell me about your dance career. I didn’t watch the TV show you were on, so I know little more than your name.”

  Her right brow arches. “Not your idea of fun?”

  I chuckle at her. “No, but don’t be offended. I don’t even watch American Idol.”

  Smiling, she sips her coffee. “Each to their own. My mum took me to a Jazz class when I was six. I loved it and wanted more. I met my best friend, Leona, there as well. She’s the girl who was with Kayla and me yesterday, and Saturday in the bar. After a couple of years I started entering competitions and some of them led to offers for small theater productions. After finishing my BA in contemporary dance I got a few parts in West End plays, as a backup dancer, and I did a UK tour with a Motown musical for six months. Then, in 2008, I got a place on All about the Dance.”

  “You got injured during the show, right?”

  “Yeah, I tore my Achilles in my right ankle.”

  “I had the onset of Achilles tendonitis once, and that was bad. Yours tore? Shit.”

  “It was brutal. Had to have surgery and was out of action for six months. I’m still glad I did the show; it was stressful and hard work, but it was an amazing experience. No regrets there.”

  “Your ankle’s okay now. Watching you perform, I wouldn’t even know you got injured without being told.” She’s fucking sensational on stage.

  “My tendons can get stiff from time-to-time, but stiffness and aches are the norm for dancers, so there’s no getting away from some form of discomfort. One thing a dancer doesn’t require is the weather report – if it’s cold, our joints will tell us.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that. How did you meet Kayla? She wasn’t on the show, was she?”

  “No. Around that time, before the auditions started, I came here for a weekend with Leona. We met Kayla in a nightclub, of all places. We stayed in contact and late last year she offered us the opportunity to be in Release. I didn’t even have to think about it.”

  “This isn’t your first time in San Francisco?”

  “No.”

  “You like it here?”

  “Yeah, I do. The weather’s mostly shit, but it is in the UK as well, so I’m fine with that, though it’s more unpredictable here. I’m also used to city life, so in some ways it doesn’t feel completely different. I love the hills and the character of the houses and things like that. The street art is wicked – a good wicked, by the way. The language barrier is the biggest thing. Sometimes when I’m having conversations with Kayla or Ella, or the other dancers, they don’t get me. Vocab-wise it seems for everything that’s the same, there’s something that’s different. There’s more to it than cell phones versus mobile phones and trash cans versus bins, and that’s without the differences in spelling and pronunciation.”

  “I like your accent,” I say.

  It’s the way her soft tone works with her words, the clarity and refined articulation. I don’t personally know anyone from the UK, but I’ve heard tourists from there speak and I’ve even spent time with British chicks over the years. Though I meant it when I dropped the “I like your accent” line, it was more about it being the perfect icebreaker. I didn’t feel this type of appreciation for it.

  Maybe it’s more about Brooklyn than her nationality. I guess that means I like her voice.

  “I get told that a lot here.”

  My lips curve with humor. “So I’m no different to all those other annoying Americans you’ve encountered?”

  “No, not really,” she says, scrunching her nose in a way that appears playful.

  “How long does the show run for?”

  “Four weeks.”

  “Every night?”

  “Thursday through Saturday.”

  “Then what after that?”

  “We’ll be touring with Release, but I’ll be based mainly here. I teach Pilates as well, and Kayla and Ella want me to do some classes at their studio. There’s quite a bit of demand for one-to-one sessions as well. I’m not sure how long Leona and I will stay for. Our visas last three years – it’s likely we’ll do the whole time, but we haven’t decided for definite.”

  “That’s quite some time you’ll be away from home and your family, do you miss them?”

  “Like crazy. My mum, my brother and his girlfriend are coming for the final show and staying for a week, so I have that to look forward to. Are you close to your family?”

  “You might’ve met my sister, Saffron. She’s tight with Ella, so you probably will if you haven’t already.”

  “Kayla introduced us on Saturday. I can see the resemblance. Different eyes, though. Do either of your parents have the same color eyes as you?”

  “No. Some throwback gene thing, I guess.”

  “Not a terrible throwback gene thing,” she says and quickly draws her attention away from me and down to her mug, cupped in her hands.

  She obviously doesn’t want to show any interest in me. If she wasn’t even slightly interested she wouldn’t be here, so I can live without anything blatant right now. I find it hard not to complement her, every time I look at her I want to, but I know she needs to trust me for those complements to carry any weight.

  She meets my gaze. “So you and saffron are close? I love her name, by the way.”

  “Yeah, we are. We lost our parents in a car accident when I was nine and Saff was eight. My sister and her two year old son are my only blood, but we have others who are our family also.”

  Her brow furrows. “I didn’t realize,” she says, quietly.

  I smile to ease her. “Why would you know something like that? You’ve only been told the stuff that’s common knowledge and relevant to you.”

  “Where you’re from is relevant … to me it is, anyway.” The coffee receives all of her focus, for the second time, so I wait until she looks at me before responding to that.

  “Would knowing something like that add substance to your opinion of me?”

  Her stare hardens, showing all that determination, and fucking hell it’s hot. “I don’t appreciate you challenging me like that.”

  I smile again, unable to stop myself. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t look at me like that.”

  She flops against the back of her seat, kind of sloppy for someone who sits as upright as she was a second ago. “You are proper confusing me right now.”

  “Confusing you?”

  “You said it yourself; I only know what I’ve been told about you. The whole point of this is to get to know you and form my own opinion. To do that I have to ask you things, and of course those things should add substance. For me they need to. Regarding your problem with the way I look at you, there isn’t much I can do about it since I can’t see my own face.” She sighs, peering out the window. “This was such a bad fucking idea.”

  Now she seems angry with herself, and I feel shitty for getting her all confused like that.

  I lean forward, to get closer. “When the topic of my family came up, you looked uncomfortable. I was just trying to ease that, so yes I challenged you, just as you have been me, but I’m not playing games here. I told you already, no bullshit. As for the way you looked at me, you didn’t do anything wrong. If you wanted to make me hard then you did everything right, but since you’re not the type of woman who just fucks, and I have to be at work soon it’s kind of a waste, don’t you think?”

  A moment of stunned laughter sounds from her. “How the heck did we switch from the topic of family to erections as quickly as that?”

  It’s obviously a hypothetical question, so I don’t respond to it.

  Sipping her coffee, Brooklyn frowns and complains to herself that it’s not warm enough. Raising her hand, at the same time straightening her spine, she waves to the waitress and, when served, nicely asks if it’s possible to have the coffee put in the microwave for twenty seconds.r />
  “Well, at least I got to hear you laugh, even if it was brief,” I say before taking a drink of my own now cooler beverage.

  “That could be taken to mean you think I’m miserable. Either that or you really are happy to hear me chuckle. You have nice teeth, by the way,” she says, her gaze trained on my full grin. Her right brow arches, and we’re back to confident, playful Brooklyn.

  She really shouldn’t look at me like that, either. It’s got me wanting to charge across this table and pounce on her like some crazed predatory cat ready to fucking mate.

  “You’re not miserable. You’ve smiled a lot, even if those smiles at times have been hesitant, but you haven’t laughed. I do like it.” We haven’t exactly discussed anything funny.

  “I laugh a lot, usually. I’m sure after a while I’d get on your nerves with it. My friends often tell me to shut up. I can be a bit loud sometimes.”

  “Get on my nerves, huh? I doubt it.” I’m damn serious about that.

  “We’ll see.” She’s hitting me back with the same certain eye contact I’m giving.

  “I hope we will.”

  In silence, we stare at each other. And there it is, the pale pink color infusing with the light olive tone of her cheeks. Hell, I even find that hot, what is it with this woman? I’ve had at least a semi hard-on for most of the time I’ve been sat here.

  Brooklyn’s coffee is returned. Our eye contact non-moving, we say our thanks. Now the switch again, from lusty shit to serious stuff.

  “Okay,” I say, cutting into the moment. Brooklyn raises her mug to her lips. “So to finish where we left off. I was born in L.A. Saffron and I had a great childhood, our parents were remarkable, but as you know we didn’t get to keep them for long.

  “A lady called Elizabeth Carroll and her husband, Ray, became our legal guardians. They were our neighbors when we were real young, and sometimes Saff and I stayed with them when our parents were away for work. Through them we ended up in Hillsborough, which isn’t far from here. That’s where we met our closest friends, the guys we moved to the city with twelve years ago.

  “Adam, who you’ve already seen, his brother, Joe, and Gerard became like brothers to us. Their parents treated us like their own in some ways, too. Saff and I actually ended up being part of a larger family. It’s not exactly the same as having your own parents, and given the choice I know what I’d choose, but I do consider us to be very fortunate.”