Better Than You (The Walker Family Series Book 3) (3 page)

3.

“…n
o, see, I’m not charming. I don’t believe in wasting valuable time trying to sweet talk some crying-into-her-Cosmo jilted date to take me home with her.” Jordan pulled a mug down from the overhead rack and put it under the Budweiser tap. “The trick is to find someone who wants exactly what you want out of the night. No clutter. No awkwardness.”

“My brother the love doctor
.” Mike shook his head and reached for his beer. “Dude, no offense – ”

“Hey,” Tam said beside him at the bar, “you don’t have to tell him he’s full of it. Just nod and smile and try not to hurt his little feelings.”

“Thanks,” Jordan said, dead-faced. “Thanks for making me feel all grown up and validated.”

“For what it’s worth, I agree with you,” Tam said and accepted the beer that was passed across the bar top to him. “But Captain Optimism over there thinks the chase is fun.”

Jordan snorted. “Chasing’s not fun. Chasing’s for back of the pack losers who can’t win.”

Tam nodded. “See?” H
e glanced over at Mike. “He’s a runner; he knows these things.”

“He’s also a bartender. I think I’ll get my life advice somewhere else.”

“I might gag on all this flattery,” Jordan said, and picked up the rag he’d left on the bar. “I’ll check on you losers in a minute.”

Of all the coed party bars in midtown – full of drunken barely legal girls sipping bubblegum colored umbrella drinks – Jordan worked at one of the few dark and depressing, good old
fashioned grown up bars. Double Down was busy even for a Friday; the long, dark, high-gloss bar that ran the whole length of the main room’s longest wall was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with middle aged men and couples watching the game up on the flat screen behind the bar. With the economy in the shitter, Jordan had moved back in with Mom and Dad (and their little sister Jo) and was holding down two part-time jobs, his degree totally useless. He was one of two bartenders – the other a thirty-something bottle blonde with a big rack and a knowing smile – and even if Mike gave his little brother hell about it, Jordan’s flat-faced cynicism was exactly the sort of personality most patrons expected out of a bartender in a place like this.

“So, hey.
” Mike leaned over on his stool so he could get closer to Tam, close enough to be heard above the din of voices and TVs around them. “I went back to Nordstrom today.”

Tam sipped his beer and stared at the back wall, but Mike thought his eyes might have rolled, the light striking off their convex profiles. “Why? Were they having a sale on bath salts, Nancy?”

“Uh,
no
. I went to see Delta.”

“And lived to tell me about it?”

“Dude, get over yourself.”

Tam sighed and turned to face him, his expression disinterested under the black razor slashes of his hair. “Fine,” he said robotically. “How’d it go?”

“It - ”

His phone rang.

“Hold on a sec.”

“Yeah.
” Tam’s gaze went back to the TV, shaking his head like he thought Mike was an idiot.

Whatever
. Mike dug his cell out of his pants pocket and read the ID display; he didn’t recognize the number. “Yeah?” he answered and reached for the bowl of peanuts he and Tam were sharing.

“Is this Michael?” a female voice asked and his hand froze. “Michael Walker?”

For one shameful moment, he was as excited and jittery as a high school girl. “Yes it is.” He levered a healthy dose of brightness into his voice, regretting his earlier “yeah.”

He knew who it was; the little sigh on the other end of the line was all too familiar by this point. He envisioned her red lips pressed together, dark eyes rolling like she couldn’t believe her own stupidity. “This is…um, this is Delta Brooks.” There was a noise like she’d swallowed.
“From Nordstrom.”

Score!
He pumped a fist in the air in silent triumph and Tam was forced to grin, even if it was reluctant. He kept it cool on the phone, though. “Hey, dollface.”

“Doll – oh,” she groaned.
“You know, I can’t believe I – ”

Mike’s confidence fell out through the soles of his feet. “Wait, wait. Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” Tam sniggered into his beer
. “Are you still there?”

She
huffed an aggravated breath across the receiver. “
Yes
. I’m still here, though I don’t know
why
.”

Mike’s brain spun for a furious handful of silent seconds, his pulse thumping in his ears. He had a serious tightrope to walk here, and with victory one step closer, he wasn’t throwing in the towel yet. “Well…” he said carefully, “you didn’t throw my card away.”

“No.”

“So that’s something.”

“Is it?” she challenged.

“I think so. I was hoping you’d call.”

There was a long pause, a rustle of some kind of fabric, another small sigh. This one wasn’t as agitated. More resigned. Maybe, he imagined, even a little bit sad.

Mike tunneled through his memory and dredged up a genuine voice. The kind of voice he’d talk to his mother with because, clearly, there was no charming this Delta girl. “Are you having a nice night?” he
asked, all innocence.

Another pause.
“Not really,” she said, something lacing her voice he hadn’t heard at the store earlier.

“Why not?”

“My dinner didn’t agree with me.” And for some reason, he didn’t think she was talking about her stomach.

Jordan came back do
wn the bar. “Do you jerk-offs – ” Mike silenced him with a wave.

“What’s his problem?”

“He’s getting rejected,” Tam supplied.

Mike plugged up his free ear with a knuckle.
“I’m sorry,” he told Delta.

“Yeah, well…” S
he trailed off and took a deep breath, let it out again. She was wrestling with her decision to call him, he could tell, chastising herself.

He was over the moon, though. “How ‘bout if I make tomorrow night better? You
wanna have dinner?” She was silent. “I mean, unless you’re still seeing someone…”

“I’m…I…” She sighed again.
“I can have dinner.”

Mike grinned and shot his brother and best friend the bird. They both rolled their eyes.
“Tomorrow, then. I’ll text you the address.”

**

When Mike left, Tam stopped even pretending to smile. Jordan had watched the guy’s depression deepen and darken over the past three or so years and it was exasperating. He worked the bar and took Tam refills and waited, because the question always came, always said in that same sad-sack, kicked-puppy voice.

Jordan was reaching for a fresh mug from the overhead rack when Tam’s eyes flashed up to his face.

“How is she?”

Jordan sighed.
Jo was probably the only person alive who didn’t know that, nearly four years later, Tam was still hung up on her. “If you’d just nut up and
call her
, then you’d know how she is.”

Tam made a face and stared down into his beer, shaking his head.

“She’s got a cold,” Jordan finally relented. “Keeps the whole house up at night coughing. But she’s fine.” Tam nodded. “And she handles single life better than you, dude.”

**

She was making a huge mistake.

“
You have reached your destination
,” the computerized GPS voice announced as Delta turned in at the address Mike had sent her. It was a bowling alley.
“Let’s meet for dinner,”
he’d said, and she was at a bowling alley. Either he thought this was a cute joke, or this was his idea of a date. Neither was comforting for someone who was allergic to all things impulsive and frivolous.

Delta parked her Volvo and then stared up at the glaringly bright neon sign above the building’s front entrance.
It had been years since she’d been in a pair of bowling shoes; she’d spent every summer up until she was fifteen with her grandparents – her dad’s parents – and her grandfather had been in a bowling league. Her parents were stiff and stern and polished, but her grandparents…she’d been a kid with them. Not anyone’s collection of expectations, nobody’s princess – just a girl who went bowling with her grandpa. The old memories, sepia-toned and curling at the edges, came flooding back to her, bringing with them a nostalgia she didn’t want to feel when she met Mike Walker inside. She dated the right kind of men these days, not…whatever he was, and she didn’t want to be full of warm fuzzies and reminiscing when she was supposed to be scrutinizing his faults.

With one last check of her lipstick – she’d gone with nude to complement her smoky eye shadow, the effects of which would be lost in the dark interior of the alley – and took a deep breath. Here went nothing.

The place was one of those loud bowling/arcade combos, a staff member stationed at the door to snap a plastic over-twenty-one bracelet around her wrist. The lighting was poor and the thumping music competed with the electronic chimes and kids’ shouts over in the arcade, but despite the chaos, Mike was easy to find. His height and the width of his shoulders made the other guys sitting at the bar with him look like children.

As she stared at his back, thinking about leaving, he turned to survey the room and spotted her. He waved. And she had to admit
his big Captain America smile was cute, if nothing else.

You’ve lost your mind
, she told herself, and walked over to meet him.

“Hey.” He did not, thankfully, get up to give her one of those little date hugs strangers gave each other. He slid a frosted mug in front of her when she climbed onto the empty s
tool beside him. “I got you a beer.”

She glanced sideways at him; he was in jeans and a navy long-sleeved t-shirt. Much more casual than she was.

“It’s a light beer.” He gave her the up-down look. “Wow, you really dressed up.”

She tugged at the hem of her black sleeveless dress with an unhappy half-smile. She was
in tights and knee-high boots, her long wool military coat. She’d spent a half hour sorting through outfits. “If I’d known we were bowling…” She let it hang, his sheepish smile signaling he knew she was unhappy.

“Honestly, I didn’t think you’d come if I told you what we were doing.”

Her reply died in her throat; he was right. “Yeah.”

“It won’t matter.” H
e slid off his stool, beer in hand. “Come on. Nobody ever said you couldn’t wear a little black dress with red clown shoes.”

Even pissed off about her wardrobe,
Delta almost smiled. She didn’t, but she kind of wanted to.

4.

T
he girl was seriously kicking his ass. The effect of her second-skin black dress was compromised by the bowling shoes, but only a little. It softened her just the smallest touch, made her seem less intimidating, but clearly she didn’t believe in playing the helpless female on a first date.

Mike watched her toe up to the line and
turn her ball loose with a long, smooth, practiced motion. She’d bowled before: enough to be proficient. The ball went right down the middle of the lane and clipped the two pins left standing from her first throw, giving her a spare to put up alongside her three strikes.

“If I’d known this,” he said as she returned to her seat. “I would’ve taken you on a more traditional date.”

“Oh, so it’s a ‘date’ now?” She gave him the eyebrow lift as she settled back in her plastic chair and snitched one of his onion rings off the fold-out table between them. “I thought it was just dinner.” She’d loosened up, and he didn’t know if that was the beer, or if she was actually having a good time.

“You can’t have dinner in a bowling alley.”

She reached for another onion ring, dabbing at the grease on her bottom lip with a manicured finger. He thought she might have been holding back a smile. “So you lied to me then.”

“Misled you.
Very different.”

“Uh-huh. You’re up.”

“Don’t eat all my onion rings while I go make a fool of myself.”

“No promises.”

**

Delta never drank beer. She never ate onion rings and hot dogs. She never hooked her knees over the arm of her chair in a public place while wearing a dress.
She also never had fun on dates. It scared her to think it, but when she stopped sighing and rolling her eyes, when she got a little beer in her, Michael – Mike – was maybe…sort of…perhaps a little bit fun. If she admitted it. Which she hated to. But hey, she was drinking Bud Light and eating deep fried grease and
bowling
. It was such a shock compared to all her candlelit dinners with Greg; forget letting her guard down, it had been knocked down. And she was starting to think that Mike being six-foot-whatever he was and big-shouldered was terribly attractive.

“I can’t believe you’re beating me,” he said as he returned to his seat and made a dramatic show of throwing himself down into it.

“You’re going to go there?” sShe reached for her beer. “That whole beat by a girl pouting thing?”

He gave her a sideways look as he punched his score into the touchscreen. “No. Both my sisters can out-bowl me.”

Delta felt a smile tugging and tried to stop it. Something about knowing he had sisters – sisters who were better bowlers – sent a small shot of warmth through her. Guys didn’t talk about siblings if they were just out to get laid in a hurry.

“But I didn’t figure
you
would be able to.”

“Why?” S
he gave him another arched-brow look and took the last onion ring.

His grin was shameless. “You’ve got that whole princess thing going on.”

“And princesses can’t bowl?”

“Not in my experience, no.”

“You’re rude, you know,” she said, smile still threatening. He
was
rude, but in a way, he was brave too. He’d flirted with her over his perfume disaster, had come back the next day, dogged in his pursuit. And he was bold enough to tell her what he thought.

“I know.” He tapped the screen in front of him.
“Your turn.”

“I have a question
.” She lingered in her chair. His eyes came to hers when she didn’t speak right away and stayed there. He paid attention, this one. Was attentive without putting any effort into it. And his eyes, she noted again for reasons she didn’t understand, were very green. “Why did you buy that red dress yesterday?”

He feigned casual, but the slightest hint of color came up along his cheekbones.
“You already know, so why do you have to even ask?”

“I don’t know,” she mused, smiling. “I think I just want to hear it.”

“Like I said – princess.”

“Manipulative playboy,” she countered. She was smiling like an
idiot
. She put a fingernail between her teeth in hopes of at least covering it a little.

“Playboy?”
He sat back in his chair, offended.

“You were buying perfume for someone and now we’re here.”

“Yeah, okay.” His hand went back through his blonde hair, leaving it messy.

“So the dress,” Delta prompted, and twirled a foot as she waited, still smiling.

“Well you wouldn’t have gone out with me if you thought I was a cheapass, would you?”

“Oh, so now I’m materialistic?”

“High maintenance at least.”

She
felt a giggle coming up the back of her throat. A
giggle
– like she was in high school. She managed to turn it into a more appropriate laugh, but she couldn’t stop it. She didn’t know which was more remarkable – laughing on a date, or laughing on this date, with this guy, in particular.

“Alright.
” Mike got to his feet and picked up both their empty mugs. “Go kick my ass some more and I’m gonna get us refills. You want more onion rings?” He grinned. “Since you ate all of mine.”

“Yes, please.”

**

Reality descended in the parking lot. Delta snatched the halves of her coat together against the bite of the late November wind and felt the first prick of guilt. Greg had called her twice at the bowling alley and she hadn’t taken either of them. What was she doing? Greg was more or less her boyfriend, and here she was out with…

She glanced sideways at Mike as they stood on the curb. Even in heels, she would have to stand on her tiptoes to slide her arms around his neck. Which she
was not
thinking about.

…the most obnoxious blonde
doofus ever. She sighed and Mike glanced down at her.

“You cold?”

“Yes.” Which wasn’t really a lie.

He had his hands in the pockets of his awful brown bomber jacket; the thing was worn and cracked in places. Delta had a fleeting wonder if it had belonged to his dad or an uncle originally. It wasn’t new. And then she scolded herself for being curious. What did she care? It was hideous. “Where’s your car?” he scanned the lot. “I’ll walk you over.”

The urge to smile had faded completely. For the past two hours, Delta had felt herself begin to fill with this fizzing sort of warmth. Not excitement, not happiness, but something in between and very similar to both. Now it was gone, like a valve had been opened and it had all drained away, leaving her cold and hollow and aggravated.

“That way,” she
said with a nod and stepped off the curb, fishing her keys out of her pocket.

Mike was a step behind her, but caught up.
“You alright?”

She hit the remote on her key fob and the Volvo’s interior lights came on.
“Fine.” She went to the driver side door and stared at her own dark reflection in the window, fiddling with her keys. He wasn’t going to handle her quick getaway well.

“A Volvo?” he said over her shoulder.
“Wasn’t expecting that.”

She folded her arms across her middle and turned to face him. The neon signage on the alley threw red and blue shadows across his face, put highlights in his hair.
Greg was handsome in a reserved, generic sort of way, but Mike was all demonstrative expressions and too-big smiles. The contrast shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

“I had this mental picture of a red Ferrari.”

“Michael,” she said on another sigh, and his blonde brows pulled together.

“How are we
back to ‘Michael’? I thought I was making progress in there.”

“We were.
You
were. I – ”

“Was it the Volvo thing? I take it back.
Awesome
car, babe.”

“
That
,” she said, and felt her expression tightening. “That’s the problem.”

“And ‘that’ is…?”

“’Dollface.’ ‘Sweetheart.’ ‘Babe.’ ‘Smokin’ hot.’ You can’t just…I really am seeing someone.”

He stared at her a long moment, face going carefully blank.
“I think,” he said, “that if you wanted to be seeing whoever your ‘someone’ is, you wouldn’t have come out with me tonight. Right?”

There
was nothing more infuriating than being told what she thought/felt/wanted. Delta kicked her chin up in defiance. “I came tonight so you’d stop harassing me at work.”

It was a lame excuse, both of them knew it, and his snort was unhappy. “You didn’t
have a good time?” He edged in closer to her and she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “You were, what, laughing under duress?”

She bowed up. “You are
– ”

“An asshole,” he
supplied, his smile tight. “Yeah, I get that a lot. But I didn’t force you to call me. I didn’t force you to meet me here. If you don’t wanna see me again” -  he shrugged - “fine. But don’t pretend you came here for any reason besides the fact that you wanted to.”

She took a deep breath and let it out through her mouth, trying to temper the snap in her voice. “You
are
an asshole.”

“I know.” A
grin stole across his face. “Some people think it’s kinda hot.”

“No one thinks that.”

“You’re right. No one thinks that.”

Delta bit down on the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t understand the competing urges to slap him and burst into laughter, and she felt so, so guilty about Greg.
But, then again…not that guilty. God, she clearly didn’t handle blondes well.

“I really am seeing someone,” she said with a groan, reaching to push her hair behind her ears.

His eyes went to her hand, to her naked ring finger. His mouth twitched to the side, thoughtful. “Is it serious?”

“I…I don’t know,” she admitted. “It probably should be.”

“But you’re not exactly crazy about him.”

“No,” she said with a wince, and before she could stop herself: “he bought me this book, and I love books, I’m a book-
aholic, but
this book
…God, I just…” She finally got control of herself before she said too much.

“Well.
” Mike scratched at his hair. “So it’s not too serious, then.”

“And what if it’s not?”

He leaned forward and the hand he’d pushed through his hair reached out to land against the roof of her car. She wanted to tell him he was leaving fingerprints on the clean paint, but his arm was bigger around than both of hers put together and it was hemming her in, bringing them too close together.

“That’s your call,” he said with a smile she hadn’t seen yet. Not the cheesy Captain America smile or the guilty, sheepish smile. It was quieter than those
. “Do you want me to walk away, get in my really sweet BMW – ”

“Oh, God.”
She rolled her eyes.

“ –
it’s got heated leather seats. Way cooler than your ride. I can get in it, and drive away, and lose your number. Do you want that?” The wind pushed against her face, bringing with it the subtle, smoky smell of his cologne. “Or do you want him to have some competition?”

Her mind went to the night before, to Greg’s mindless inquiries over a steak she didn’t want.
The purr of his Jag’s engine. The confusion in his eyes when she’d curled her lip at his gift. Thinking about Greg sent nothing but guilt through her system, and guilt didn’t affect her pulse. Guilt didn’t frustrate the hell out of her and make her smile. Guilt wasn’t towering over her and smelling nice and leading her to make decisions she would probably regret.

“I’m waiting…”

“Competition,” she said, already kicking herself. “If you’re up to it, that is.”

His grin was evil. “Oh, I’m up to it.” He leaned in and she thought he might…

But then he said, “Call me when you get home so I know you got there safe,” and pulled away.

Delta stood against the side of her car, watching him start across the parking lot, and wondered what the hell was wrong with her.