Page 18 of Sing Your Secrets
“Burnt out?”
“Something like that. I was hoping a little time at home would energize me again. L.A. feels like—”
“Battle?”
He nods again. “Exactly.”
I roll my eyes at myself as I ball up my fists against my legs. “Sorry,” I mutter. “That’s rude of me.”
“What’s rude?” Miles asks as he cocks his head to the side.
“I have a bad habit of finishing people’s sentences. It’s off-putting.”
The most charming, genuine, grin spreads across his face. “Not to me. I like it. I feel like you understand what I’m trying to say. It makes the conversation a little less lonely.”
“Lonely conversations?”
“L.A.” He points the tip of his thumb to his chest. “People out there talk nonstop about nothing I want to hear.” He grabs my phone and presses the volume button as a new song begins. “This playlist is old school,” he says, “I like it.”
“You know this song?”
To my shock and surprise, Miles answers my question by singing along to a few lines of Frankie J and Baby Bash’s “Obsession” in perfect pitch. On the spot, my ass.This man’s voice is flawless. I want to listen to him serenade this entire song, but my phone vibrates in his hands and he immediately stops. “Your work is calling,” he says. “Sorry, didn’t mean to look.” He hands my phone back to me.
“Ignore it,” I insist, “please. Keep going.” But the moment’s over. I miss the call from the office but he’s silent as his hazel eyes lock on mine. I think they are hazel. They are green around the irises but with light patches of honey brown. “You’ve got an amazing voice.”
“Thanks,” he says but shrugs me off like he’s used to the compliment and doesn’t know if he believes it. “Are you needed back at work?”
Oh fuck. Checking my phone, I realize I’m well past the end of my lunch hour anyway. Then again, it’s not like I’m paralegal of the year or anything. Still, I promised Eli his lunch, which undoubtedly is cold by now.
“Yeah, I should go.” Shrugging off his shirt, I return it to him.
“Can I give you a ride?”
Standing, I jut my chin to the left. “I’m just a couple blocks that way. I’m a paralegal at Henley & Associates.” Bending slightly at the knees, I bounce in place, trying to drum up a little warmth.
He drapes his shirt back around me. “At least take this then.”
Honestly, I’m fine. I don’t need it. The walk will warm me up, but it’s a gesture so I gratefully take it and wrap myself in the masculine scent. Mmm.
“Thank you.”
I’m so familiar with this game. He lends me his shirt. I’ll offer to get it dry cleaned and returned, but of course, being the gentleman he is, he’ll offer to pick it up instead. Likely, he’ll show up with flowers, or if he’s intuitive—a cookie, because baked goods are the way to my heart. If he’s tacky, he’ll drop by with a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, but hey for a man that smiles like that—it’d work. He’ll ask me out to a nice dinner, and I’ll wear something form-fitting to let him know I am really interested. I’ll fight him for the bill, but eventually cave when he insists on paying. He’ll be pleasantly surprised that when I like a guy, I have no qualms about putting out on the first date. Life’s too damn short not to go for what you want.
I know exactly how this will play out…
Except I’ve been lingering here on the sidewalk for an obnoxious amount of time and he still hasn’t asked for my number.
“You want me to just bring this back to you sometime?” I ask, trying to bait him.
“Don’t worry. Keep it. It looks good on you.”
Wait. What?
I try once more. “I got distracted from our conversation earlier.” I point to the entry of The Garage. “I still need to make my case for keeping the essence of this place. Maybe we could meet up again, sometime?”
He looks away, suddenly finding the building to our right fascinating. “It’s a little out of my hands. It’s my cousin’s investment and the only language he talks is profit. It’s why he’s so successful.” He twists his lips into a reluctant smile as he meets my eyes again. “But if you know anyone with a couple million dollars they don’t know what to do with and are interested in buying this place, please point them my way.”
“I’ll do that.” I begin making a mental list of anyone I know who might be willing to save the beloved place of my youth. “So…”