Page 33 of Heart Over Heels

Once he was out of range, I collapsed into my chair with a huff of relief.

I hadn’t seen the total on the check, but I knew it was a lot. I also knew that Mercer just lost his job at the Basilica and had yet to receive his first paycheck from the Dollhouse. Hopefully, Daddy Beck paid better than I thought he did.

“You didn’t need to do that.” I nodded in the direction our server had gone.

Mercer shrugged and shifted, fighting with the suit jacket binding him up.

“And why are you paying?” I continued. “Iaskedyouout.”

He smiled again. “I’m old-fashioned, I guess.”

“Sweep me off my feet, why don’t you?” I scoffed. “But really, let me cover the tip at least. This place isn’t…”

The server returned with the check and a pen, which she laid neatly before Mercer. When he glanced at the sum at the bottom, his eyes went wide.

I flashed a sheepish smile then gestured to the dining room around us. “It’s an experience?”

Mercer recovered enough to scribble a number on the gratuity line and sign then replied, “It definitely was.”

Card and wallet tucked away, Mercer looked as composed as if he hadn’t just paid the kind of bill that could cover the lease on a small apartment.

“I had a nice time,” he said. “Thanks for inviting me.”

My head bobbed.

I’d had men spend more on me—extravagant amounts. But for them, the money meant nothing, so neither did the gesture. Mercer was different. I’d pegged him at a glance: average guy, average clothes, average motorcycle. He didn’t belong in these circles or swim with these sharks, but he dogpaddled with the best of them.

On the ride back to the Dollhouse, I considered the shift in the trajectory of the night. I’d gone into dinner ready to dig up dirt on our new hire and perhaps find a reason to send him packing. Instead, I’d had fun.

My pseudo-date wasn’t much of a talker, but I could fix that. And part of me wanted to. Less for the sake of finding some guilt to pin on him and more to learn why he said he “used to be” aMarine when I was pretty sure that shit was for life. Also to ask which shade of green he liked best, because on the scale of neon to evergreen, there were a lot of options.

The lights of the Strip streaked by, neon blurring into a steady glow. I hugged onto Mercer’s back and let the wind pull at my hair. Too soon, the Dollhouse came into view.

Mercer eased his bike to the curb, engine purring low.

He glanced over his shoulder at me, dark eyes steady. “I’ll be back for my shift.”

I slipped off the seat, smoothed my skirt, and flicked my tail. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, soldier.”

The motorcycle’s engine roared again, but the sound didn’t drown out Mercer’s laugh. He shook his head before rolling away into the night.

CHAPTER

NINE

Mercer

The VFW Post smelled like smoke sunk deep into the wood paneling, stale beer in the carpet, and fried food long gone cold. I’d been coming here regularly for six months, long enough to know which stools squeaked, which taps ran clean, and which old timers never missed a weekday afternoon. When I ambled in, two of my favorites were already here and waiting.

“Marine walks in, thinks he owns the place,” Earl rasped from his corner. Seventy years old with his spine curved like a question mark, he was still sharp enough to spot me the second I came through the door.

“Good to see you too, Earl,” I replied while claiming a seat at the bar. The bartender already had a longneck waiting. Perks of being predictable.

Beside Earl sat Jack, a big, bearded man who had served as a gunnery sergeant in Vietnam. These days, he looked more like a train conductor with suspenders and a striped blue hat with flyaway bits of white hair poking out from underneath.

Jack grinned, deepening the laugh lines on his face. “Don’t let him kid you, Doc. He’s just sore you knocked him out of the ‘youngest in the room’ spot.”

I cracked the cap off my beer and gave them both a wry look. “Guess I am a bit of a baby. I’ll try not to cry about it.”