Perfect Kiss by Lacey Black

Chapter 6

Leni

What am I doing?

I should be heading home for the night, enjoy getting a full night’s sleep and not having to wake up at five in the morning because that’s what time Trace thinks the good cartoons come on. Instead, I’m pulling into the parking lot near Pony Up and parking in the first available space.

To meet Malcolm.

Malcolm Wright.

The mayor.

Rumor has it he’s dated pretty much every single lady in the state of Montana, with no signs of settling down anytime soon.

He’s the last man I need to sit down and share a meal with.

A knock on my window startles me. I glance over to find Malcolm standing there, a sheepish grin on his face. Man, he’s handsome. I can see why every woman in town loses their mind when he grins. He’s charismatic and incredibly personable, which is probably why he was so easily elected mayor.

I open the door and grab my wristlet, meeting him at the side of my car. “Ready?” he asks, standing closely, but not so close it weirds you out or you feel the need to step back. Not like some of the bars I visited with friends back in Washington. I always felt like the single male patrons didn’t respect personal space after getting a few drinks in their system.

“Yes.”

He flashes me the full wattage of his smile as we slowly make our way to the bar. “You sure? You seemed a little uncertain back there.”

I nod. When we reach the door, Malcolm reaches for the handle and pulls the heavy wood. The sound of laughter and country music greets us, and like every time a door opens, everyone turns around to see who has entered.

That’s one of the things I didn’t miss about this small town.

Jack’s behind the bar and waves before filling another drink order for someone sitting at the bar.

“Malcolm!” someone of the female variety hollers from the bar, but I keep my gaze down, trying not to make eye contact.

I feel Malcolm’s warm hand press against my lower back, the heat searing my skin through my T-shirt. “How about that table?” he whispers just loud enough to hear above the noise.

“Okay.”

He guides me to the table and waits until I sit before taking the chair directly across from me. Just as we get situated, someone comes over to our table. I’ve seen her around town, but don’t know the waitress well. “Hey, Malcolm. Been a while since we’ve seen you in here,” Josie coos without even offering a glance in my direction.

“It has,” he replies. “We’d like to get some food, if you’ve still got the grill going.”

“Anything for you,” she gushes so sweetly, it makes my teeth ache.

I mentally roll my eyes, only to hear the man across from me chuckle. When I glance up, he’s smiling, his dark brown eyes dancing with delight. That’s also when I realize that eye roll may not have actually been mental.

Oh well.

“Lenora, what would you like to drink?” he asks, still grinning from ear to ear.

“Just an ice water, please,” I reply, glancing up at the woman drooling all over the man sitting across from me. She’s still not paying an ounce of attention to me.

“And you, Mr. Mayor?” The way she says it, all breathless and pleasurable, I’m positive she might have just had an orgasm.

“I’ll take a Miller Lite draft.”

“I’ll run and grab your drinks and then get your order,” she says, yet makes no move to leave our table.

Finally, when things take a turn toward awkward, the young server turns and moves toward the bar, her hips swinging dramatically as she goes.

“You don’t want a drink?” he asks, leaning back and observing me. His gaze feels more like a caress.

“No thank you. I’m driving.”

He continues to study me before nodding. “You don’t live that far, right?”

Shaking my head, I reply, “No. Trace and I live in the apartment above the laundromat.”

Before he can continue, the server returns to fawn all over Malcolm again. She sets down his beer first before scooting a water glass toward me, all while keeping a smile plastered on her lips and her eyes focused on him. In fact, I’m pretty sure she added a layer of lipstick since she left our table a few minutes ago.

Worse, I don’t know why her interest bothers me so much.

I tell myself it’s because it’s just annoying, which it is. I’m pretty sure she couldn’t pick me out of a lineup, but Malcolm, she’d have no problem, even if she was blindfolded. But the truth is, there’s something about the fact she doesn’t even care that he’s sitting with me. She’s openly flirting with him right in front of me, as if I weren’t here.

What if we were dating? Not that we are or ever would but humor me here. She clearly doesn’t care I’m here, her attention solely focused on Malcolm. Yes, he’s gorgeous. Sexy, even. He has a smile that would make a nun throw away the habit and the richest chocolate brown eyes you could get lost in. He’s charismatic and when his attention is on you, he has a way of making you feel like you’re the only woman on the planet. So while I get her response, that doesn’t mean it’s right.

It’s women like this that give all women a bad name.

“Lenora?” I startle a bit when he says my name. “Would you like to order?”

“Oh, yeah. Just a cheeseburger for me. Ketchup only.”

“Fries?”

I know I should decline, especially since I’ve been trying to lose a few pounds, but fries are my weakness. Especially when you have a five-year-old whose diet consists of macaroni and cheese, burgers and fries, and cereal. “Yes, please.”

I swear she glances down at my body and smirks. “And for you?” Josie coos at Malcolm, returning her full attention to him.

“Burger and fries for me too.”

After jotting down the orders on her pad of paper, she pops a hip out and places her hand on his forearm. “Coming right now.”

I sigh, looking down, completely uncomfortable with the situation. I knew this was a bad idea. I mean, I know we’re just having dinner, but is it too much to ask to not feel like the third wheel at the table? Not that I care. Really. He’s a single guy with a reputation that precedes him. He’s free to flirt with whoever he wants.

“Sorry about that,” he whispers, drawing my attention up from the tabletop.

I paint on a bright smile and lift my shoulders. “Not your fault,” I reply automatically, reaching for my water and taking a healthy drink.

He exhales deeply and opens his mouth, as if he’s going to say something, but doesn’t. Malcolm lifts his own glass and drinks, and even though I try not to, my eyes fix on the way his throat moves while he drinks.

“So,” he starts, leaning back in his chair and giving me his full attention, “you left Mason Creek for a while, right? Where’d ya go?”

“Washington,” I reply.

“Did you always want to own a business?”

I snort. “Uh, no. I actually went to school for accounting.”

His eyes brighten. “Really?”

“Surprising, isn’t it? But I was always good at math and accounting seemed like a solid, stable career. Turns out, it’s horribly boring and monotonous. It wasn’t for me.”

“That’s when you started your business?” he asks, seeming completely oblivious to the women in the room who are doing everything they can to catch his eye. His attentiveness is all on me.

“Not really. When I lived in Washington, I had Trace to think about. I needed the financial stability of my job to make sure he always had a roof over his head and food in his belly.”

I can tell he’s processing the information and working through it in his mind. “And his father?” he finally asks, taking a big drink from his glass.

“In and out of our lives when it suited him,” I reply bluntly, always hating to talk about Greg and our rocky relationship.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he states, and by the look in his eyes, I can tell he means it. I may not know this man, but I get the impression he only says what he means, whether you want to hear it or not.

“It’s okay. I returned home about six months ago, and it’s better this way. Trace has gotten to know his grandparents and my sister better than he ever would have if we were still in Washington. Plus, Grayson and his twin girls. He’s been amazing with Trace, as if he’s always been a part of his family.”

“Grayson’s a great man. He was several years younger than me in school, but as adults, we have mutual friends.”

“He is. My sister adores him.”

Our food arrives, and when Malcolm doesn’t pay our server a second of attention after a brief thank-you, she flits away without saying another word. I pile the ketchup on my burger and dive right in, starving after not eating much throughout the day.

Our conversation remains fairly easy throughout the meal, and once he finishes his beer, he switches to water. For a woman who doesn’t open up to many, I seem to be a little loose-lipped when it comes to the man across from me, and I have no idea why.

He’s completely the opposite of pretty much everyone I’ve ever dated. I’ve always been attracted to the blue-collar guys with grease or dirt under their fingernails. Guys who work with their hands instead of pushing pencils in an office somewhere. Yet, here I am, practically confessing my life’s story to a man wearing an Oxford shirt and imported leather loafers. I know this because I picked a pair up off his bathroom floor and noticed the handstitched tag.

What is it about Malcolm Wright that I’m attracted to? Besides the fact he’s drop-dead gorgeous, because…duh. He’s the type of pretty they write romance novels about. Dark eyes, dark lashes, strong, stubbled jaw, and a body that a blind woman would appreciate. He’s charming. Probably too much so, actually, and he knows it. He knows every woman—single or married—wants to see him in his boxer briefs. I know this because they were on the bathroom floor too.

Hell, if I was married, even I’d take a moment to appreciate the view.

“How’s your food?” he asks, most of his cheeseburger already gone.

“Really good. I don’t know why their burgers are so dang good,” I inform, dipping my fries into the glob of ketchup two at a time.

“It’s the extra grease in the kitchen. If I’m watching a game here with friends, I always get the nachos. It’s just canned cheese, but it’s good. Like when you go to the ballpark.”

My eyebrows draw together. “You’re a baseball fan?”

“Played all four years for Mason Creek High. I root for Seattle but have never been to a game at T-Mobile Park. I hope to rectify that someday,” he says after taking his final bite of his burger and moving on to his fries.

“Trace and I went to a Mariners game last summer. My firm would get tickets a few times a season.”

“I’m completely jealous. How’d he do?” he asks, polishing off his fries before pushing his plate away.

“Not bad. A jumbo pretzel with cheese and cotton candy helped. He passed out in his seat by the seventh inning and had to be carried out of there.”

He laughs, a deep, rich sound that makes my blood zing through my veins. “I almost had to be carried out of a Cubs game in college, but for a whole different reason,” he replies with a wink. “My roommate was from Chicago, so I went home with him a few times and we’d catch a game. Either Cubs, Bulls, or Blackhawks, depending on the season.”

I finish off my own fries just as my phone chimes with a notification. I pull it from my little wristlet to make sure it’s not regarding Trace. The last thing I’d want to do is ignore a message if he’s sick or hurt. That’s one of my biggest fears as a single parent, so even though it’s rude to check your phone on a date, I do it anyway.

Wait.

Not a date.

Trying to keep myself from overanalyzing tonight—again—I say, “Do you mind if I check this?”

“Of course not,” he replies instantly. “It could be about your son.”

I flash him a quick grin before typing in my security code and pulling up the message app and tap on my sister’s name.

Laken:YOU’RE ON A DATE WITH THE MAYOR?!?!?!?!?!?!?

My face flushes a deep red, I know it. I can feel the burn of mortification spreading quickly through my veins. I find myself dropping my chin and covering my face with my hand, all but dropping below the table to hide.

“What’s happening?” he asks, worry marring his features. “Is everything okay?”

I peek through my fingers and sigh. “Yeah, everything’s fine,” I grumble, setting my phone down without replying. “Apparently, someone in the bar has been super busy since we arrived.”

It only takes a second for realization to set in. He glances around, as if trying to read who might have already activated the gossip texting tree that flourishes in Mason Creek. I mean we’re talking gold-star gossip here. Someone was probably already alerting their friends the moment we stepped through the doors together. “Wow, that didn’t take long.”

I sigh, throwing my napkin onto my plate and pushing it away. “I should have known. It’s one of the main reasons I didn’t miss small-town living.”

He chuckles at my discomfort. “You get used to it.”

“Hey, Malcolm,” a woman practically sings as she walks by, running her finger across the back of his neck and sipping a fruity mixed drink.

“Did you?”

Malcolm seems to consider my question before he replies, “I guess. I’m just used to it. And I always seem to be a hot topic, which is probably why everyone has taken an interest in you tonight. I apologize if I put you in an uncomfortable position.”

I take a quick look around the room, realizing that many patrons are looking our way. “It must be difficult, being the subject of town chatter all the time.” I throw him a quick grin and wink, just to let him know I’m teasing.

He laughs once more, the sound causing my thighs to clench. “I suppose I keep the busybodies very occupied.”

Understatement of the year, but I don’t know him well enough to comment further, so I keep retorts to myself. “I should probably head home.”

He nods, pulling out his wallet and dropping a handful of bills onto the table.

“I can pay for my meal,” I offer, reaching into my wristlet for cash.

“I insist. I invited you to join me. Plus, I put you in the line of fire for town chatter.” He waves off my hand, refusing to take my money.

Standing up, we make our way to the door. This time, Malcolm doesn’t place his hand on my lower back, and I’m both glad and saddened by it. A part of me wants his touch and enjoyed it way too much the first time, but a bigger part doesn’t want to add more fuel to the fire. I’m already going to have my hands full convincing my sister there’s nothing between the mayor and me, but if we leave together touching, I’m sure it’ll be front page blather in the MC Scoop, the local town gossip blog by Tate Michaels.

“Night,” Malcolm hollers to Jack before opening the door for me. Outside, the night air is much cooler than the afternoon, causing me to shiver. As we approach the lot, he adds, “I appreciate you joining me for dinner.”

“Thanks for the invite.” I stop at my car and turn to face him. This is the point where I turn all awkward and uncomfortable. I’ve never been good talking to guys, which is probably why I don’t date a lot. In fact, my serious boyfriends total a solid two, as does the number of guys I’ve slept with in the last decade.

God, I’m such a loser.

But I have a son to consider, and he comes first.

Always.

When he doesn’t reply, I add, “I guess I’ll see you around?”

Malcolm nods and opens my car door. “You will.”

“Next Thursday,” I blurt out, diving into the driver’s seat.

“Next Thursday,” he confirms, the slightest smile toying on his lips. Very full, very sexy lips. Delectable lips. Completely kissable lips.

Oh man, I have to stop thinking about them.

“Yes. Next Thursday.” Now I sound like an idiotic parrot.

He grins widely, showing off his perfectly straight, white teeth. “Unless we run into each other before then.” The way he says it lets me know I can probably expect to be running into him again. Malcolm tosses me a wink and shuts my door, tapping on the roof as I start the engine.

I pull from the lot and glance in my rearview mirror, finding Malcolm still standing there, watching me go. Something unsettling overcomes me.

I like that he’s interested.

I like it a lot.