Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Diana

I return, and Dragon’s door is shut.

I knock. “Dragon?”

He opens the door. He’s changed clothes, and he’s wearing jeans and a black-and-white striped button-down.

He looks…

Damned good.

“Got your keys.” I pull them out of my pocket. “You get two in case you lose one. They’ll get you into the building, into the penthouse, and into the fitness room.”

“Thanks.” He takes them, pulls a wallet out of his pocket, and shoves them inside.

I widen my eyes at the “thanks.” Is it the first one I’ve actually gotten?

I still feel like I’m on thin ice after the awkward conversation about the lock on my door, so I’ll take it. I give him a weak smile and turn away when the low rumble of his voice sends another chill up my spine.

I grab my phone. “We should exchange cell phone numbers too, since we’ll be living together and all.”

He grabs his phone. “Sure. Good idea.”

We quickly exchange information, and he shoves his phone back into his pocket.

“So…I was thinking…” he begins.

I turn around. “What?”

“I’d like to take you out to dinner.” A small burst of pink rushes onto his cheek. “You know, in appreciation for what you’re doing for me.”

I cock my head. Is he serious? Does he really think one dinner is going to pay for a room in my penthouse?

But when I look into his eyes, I see something there. He wants to do this. Perhaps it’s all he can do.

“That’s not necessary,” I say.

“I know.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “If you want to turn me down, I totally get it. I brought in groceries. I can make myself a sandwich. But I’d like to do this, and believe me, I won’t be asking you again. Not until I get a steady stream of income coming in.”

He looks sincere, and damn, his eyes are beautiful.

Every time I talk to him—which has only been a few times back at my parents’ home on the western slope when the band’s played at their parties—I can’t help but notice his eyes. So magnificent and breathtaking but always laced with a bit of sadness. As if there’s something inside him that he doesn’t talk about, doesn’t even think about. Yet it’s always there, an undertone in everything else he is.

I smile. This time it’s not so forced. “Okay. Where do you want to go?”

“There’s this great little diner a couple of blocks down. I went there sometimes during rehab.” He presses his lips together. “Once I was allowed to leave, that is. I know it’s not what you’re used to, but?—”

I hold up a hand to stop him. “That sounds lovely. When do you want to leave?”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “It’s five o’clock. Now would be a good time since it’s Saturday night. We’ll probably beat the crowds.”

“All right. Let me change.”

“You don’t need to change. You look great.”

“I’m in sweats.” I let out a soft chuckle. “I’ll change.”

He frowns and looks down at the shirt he’s wearing. “You want me to change?”

“God, no. You look great. I’m just going to throw on some jeans and a nicer shirt. I won’t be but a minute.”

I leave him standing there and walk to my master bedroom.

It’s about twice the size of Dragon’s room. I feel like I should have given him the larger second bedroom.

But he seems fine. He even seems grateful, though he has trouble saying it. Buying me dinner will probably take all the spare cash he has, which is part of the reason why I didn’t want him to do it. The other part is that it’s going to be so awkward.

But it seems important to him, and I do want to help. Brianna thinks this is where he should be, and though part of me believes that’s due to her being a little dick-whipped and wanting to do anything for her new husband, another part knows my sister. She’s young and vivacious and a little full of herself sometimes, but she’s also a genuinely kind person.

I head into my walk-in closet, grab a pair of straight-leg jeans and, instead of a blouse, I choose a V-neck sweater. It’s October, and the weather is a bit brisk today. I throw some suede booties on my feet, grab a light jacket, and I’m ready to go.

I walk out, head to Dragon’s door, but then hear his voice.

“I’m over here.”

He’s in the large living area, sitting on my leather couch.

Again, I’m struck by how good he looks. What a handsome man he is, even with his long hair.

He took it out of its band, and it’s floating around his shoulders in stark contrast to the white stripes on his shirt.

“Don’t you want to wear a jacket?” I ask.

“I was good when I went out to the market earlier.”

“Okay, if you say so. But it’s a little brisk.”

“I’ll be fine.”

We don’t say anything else as we leave the penthouse and descend in the elevator. When we walk past security, I grab his arm. “I forgot to tell you. I need you to stop at security and show them your ID.”

“What for?”

“They need the information for you to stay here. To give you a key.”

He furrows his brow. “You already gave me a key.”

“I know, but they gave it to me on the condition that you come down and show your ID.”

“You want me to do it now?”

“No. It’s after five on a Saturday, so the office manager is gone. You’ll need to do it Monday, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

Great. Now he’s going to think that I don’t trust him again. That I want his ID on file in case he robs me blind or something. But this is the building’s policy, not mine. And the lock on my door is just common sense…

Whatever. I’m not going to think about it. He’s lucky to be staying with me, so I really shouldn’t sweat the minutiae of his every feeling. If I had taken any other guy I barely knew in, I wouldn’t be worrying about how he reacted to my every move.

Why do I care with Dragon?

I shake the thoughts out of my head. He’s taking me to dinner, which means he at least wants to demonstrate his gratitude. I won’t worry anymore.

We leave the building, and I wave to Steve, who’s still on duty.

“That your new housemate?” he asks.

“Yeah.” I motion Dragon over. “This is Dragon Locke. Dragon, this is Steve. One of our security officers.”

“Good to meet you.” Steve holds out his hand.

Dragon shakes it. “Yeah, you too.”

“Usually takes me a few days to remember names of our new residents, but I don’t think Dragon is one I’ll forget.” Steve lets out a chuckle.

Dragon doesn’t react. I’d bet he’s heard that joke hundreds of times.

“That’s what it says on my birth certificate,” Dragon drawls as he heads to the door.

I give Steve a weak and apologetic smile and follow Dragon out the door.

The diner, which is aptly called the Rocky Mountain Diner, is about a block and half down, and I’m oddly touched when, as we start walking, Dragon moves himself to my other side, blocking me from the street. I’m used to being treated like a lady. All the men in my family have been brought up to be gentlemen. But admittedly, I didn’t expect such chivalrous behavior from Dragon.

We get to the diner, and he also opens the door for me.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

The diner is already full, so we head to the host’s stand. “Hi, how long for a table for two?” I ask.

He glances down. “Looks like it’s going to be about twenty-five to thirty minutes. Is that okay?” Then he spies Dragon behind me. “Hey, dude. Where you been?”

“Back on the western slope for a few weeks. Had a wedding to attend.”

“Great to have you back. You want your usual table?”

“Sure, if it’s open.”

The host—his nametag says Tex, of all things—glances around toward the back of the diner. “Looks like Lexi’s cleaning it right now. I’ll get you two seated in a minute.”

“Wait a minute,” I say. “You just told me half an hour.”

“That’s before I knew you were with Dragon here.” He nods in Dragon’s direction, smiling. “He’s a regular. We always have a table for him.”

I widen my eyes and look at Dragon.

He simply shrugs.

A few minutes later, Tex leads us back around the corner to a tiny booth. “You can see why this place is always available,” Tex says to me. “Sometimes we don’t even use it—only when we’re incredibly busy like tonight.”

The booth indeed has seen better days. The plastic coating on the table is cracked, and the vinyl covering the two benches is ripped. It’s smaller too—a booth for two as opposed to the other booths that seat four or six.

“Have you been here before?” Tex asks me.

“Afraid I haven’t. But I’m looking forward to it.”

He gestures to the napkin holder against the wall. “Menus are in there. And the Saturday night special is Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes and green beans.”

“Sounds good, Tex,” Dragon says. “Obliged.”

Tex nods. “Glad to see you back, Dragon. Hope to see you around.” He heads back to the host’s stand.

“Hey, Dragon.” A blond waitress approaches us. “Tex said you were back.”

“Hey, Lexi,” Dragon says. “This is Diana.”

Lexi smiles sweetly at me. “Good to meet you, Diana. Did Tex tell you about tonight’s special?”

“Salisbury steak with mashies,” Dragon says. “Sounds good to me.”

I can’t help but smile. Dragon, the brooding rock star, just referred to mashed potatoes as mashies. In public, in front of a perfect stranger.

Underneath his gloomy exterior, could there be something light, even playful?

“Tex probably neglected to mention that our special tonight is also cherry pie.” She winks at Dragon. “And I know you love cherry pie.” She turns to me. “What can I get for you, doll?”

“Uh…I haven’t looked at the menu yet.” At the moment, I’m too busy wondering why Dragon told me he didn’t like sweets when he obviously loves cherry pie. “Can I have a minute?”

“You sure can. I’ll be back in a flash.” She rushes away.

“I always get the special when I come here,” Dragon says. “They sell a lot of it, so it’s always hot and fresh.”

Does that mean the other food is not hot and fresh? Salisbury steak doesn’t sound great to me. I’m kind of a beef snob. You can’t grow up on a beef ranch and not be, so when I’m out, and it’s a place that doesn’t source its beef from my family’s ranch, I usually get chicken or fish.

I grab a menu and open it. A blob of ketchup greets me. I take a napkin and wipe it off.

“I guess I’ll have…” I scan the menu. “You have any recommendations?”

“Like I said, I almost always get the special. But I hear the chicken fingers are okay.”

I glance down. Chicken fingers served with fries and a side of coleslaw. That’ll work. “Chicken fingers it is.” I close my menu and return it to the holder.

Lexi returns with two glasses of water and sets them down. “You decided yet, doll?”

“Yes, upon recommendation, I will have the chicken fingers, please.”

“Good choice. And you, the special.” She makes notes on her pad and then shoves it in her apron pocket. “Shouldn’t be too long.”

She whisks away, and to have something to do, I pick up my glass of water and take a drink.

Then I look around the diner. Despite the fact that our tiny booth in the back corner has seen better days, the rest of the place is kind of charming. I almost feel like I’ve been transported back a few decades.

“How come this is your table?” I ask Dragon.

He shrugs. “Because it’s usually available, and I like it. Seems to fit me.”

“The other booths are bigger and nicer,” I say.

“I know, but I usually dine alone, so why should I take up more space than I need?”

I suppose he has a point there.

“Besides, I like this booth,” he continues. “It’s cozy. Sometimes I play a game on my phone. Other times, when I remember to, I bring a book to read.”

Again, Dragon surprises me. I wouldn’t take him for the type who would be reading a book alone in a diner.

I lean toward him. “What do you like to read?”

He twitches his nose. “It’s a little outdated, but I’ve been working my way through the works of Charles Dickens. I just rounded off Great Expectations. ”

I widen my eyes. A meteor could strike this diner, and that would be less shocking to me. Dragon has an unmistakable darkness about him, but he’s got a playful side and a well-read side. I’m intrigued as all get-out.

“You there, Diana?”

I nod, take a drink of water. “Yeah, I just didn’t take you for the Dickens type, I suppose.”

He frowns. “You pegged me more as the trash TV type?”

“No, no,” I sputter. “I just… I wish I had more time to read the classics. Or at least the initiative to get through them. I’m impressed, that’s all.”

Dragon exhales sharply. “Well, I don’t always read when I’m here. Sometimes I just like to sit in the booth and think.”

“About what?”

“Personal stuff.” He looks down at the table.

Message received. He’s not going to tell me.

Not that I can blame him. He and I don’t know each other very well yet.

We may never know each other well.

I think back to the conversation I had with him at one of my mother’s infamous parties at our ranch house. It was a couple of weeks before Christmas, after Dragonlock had played at a local concert at the cinema with a special guest appearance by Emerald Phoenix.

I was standing alone near the pool house, and Dragon—to my surprise—approached me.

“How are you doing tonight, Diana?” Dragon asks me.

“Great, how are you?”

He nods slowly. “Good. You enjoy the concert?”

“Absolutely. All of it. Even Rory’s operatic numbers.”

“I guess this is her opera swan song,” Dragon says.

“So I’ve heard. She’s going for rock and roll.”

“And she can rock.”

I nod. I’m feeling a little awkward. Dragon holds a beer, and I have a flute full of champagne.

He gestures to the flute. “You like that stuff?”

“Yeah. It’s good. My uncle Ryan does a great job with the sparkling wines. But honestly, I don’t drink much.”

“Really?” He wrinkles his forehead.

“Does that surprise you?”

He cocks his head. “Well…yeah. You’re a member of the Steel family. They all drink. A lot.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not saying they’re drunks or anything, but look around you.” He gestures to a few nearby members of my family, who are indeed imbibing. “The alcohol is flowing.”

I can’t fault his observation. My family enjoys the finer things in life, and that includes good booze. “Yeah. My dad loves his bourbon, and my brother Dale loves his wine. Then there’s Donny.” I can’t help a giggle.

“What about him?”

“He likes sweet drinks. His favorite is a margarita.”

That gets a low chuckle out of Dragon. “He doesn’t look like the margarita type.”

“I know. But he loves them. Drives Dad and Dale crazy. Especially Dale, since he appreciates all the nuances of the wine he makes.”

“Funny.” Dragon takes a sip of his beer. Then, “Well, nice to see you.” He saunters off.

And I’m left to think about what an enigma he is. First, his name. That in itself is interesting. Second, he’s so quiet. And there’s a definite darkness about him—a darkness that, quite frankly, is very intriguing. Attractive, even.

Then those eyes…

Even under the artificial torchlight in our backyard, they glitter with gold flecks.

I finish my champagne and set my empty flute on one of the trays available for the bartenders to take care of.

And then I don’t think about Dragon again.