Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I’m caught in a solid glare of his, which has me hustling to sit down. “Fine. I’ll sit.” I have so many questions like hey, what’s your name, and are you famous or paranoid by how you’re hiding behind that menu?
The thing is, I can’t ask either. Not only is it not allowed per my contract, but it’s insulting. Like he is. I wonder if the two things being equal will cancel out the no-questions portion of the contract. I’m no lawyer, but I don’t think it works like that.
Me not working for him any longer might nullify it, though.
A woman on a mission heads in our direction. As soon as she pulls a pen from behind her ear and a pad from her apron, I scan the menu quickly. “You know we could have been eating my famous chicken pesto.”
“Hi there,” the server asks, sidling closer to blue eyes on the other side of the table and rattling off the specials. She loses me after the dunked and shredded cheesy catfish. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds horrific.
My attention is leveraged to the way she keeps bumping into his arm anytime he looks at the menu or worse, I assume, at me.
Jealousy doesn’t factor into my DNA. Never has, but I find it odd how close she stands to him. Give the man some breathing room, lady.
“And for you?”
“Oh, um,” I hum, perusing the menu. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” I glance at him, leaning back all comfortable in a chair that is clearly too small for his large frame. He drags his tongue over his bottom lip while appearing to stare at my mouth. I blink twice and then again as goose bumps scatter across my chest. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
“Drink?” she asks, tapping the top of the menu in front of me. “We have a house wine from the Lackmont Valley over in Wyoming.”
Glancing at the selection, I find nothing stands out as something I want to consume. “Water please, annnnd—”
“She’ll have what I’m having,” he says with his eyes locked on me.
As soon as she snatches our menus and walks away, I lean forward. “And that is?”
“Beer. It’s a beer joint. I don’t even drink wine, and I know better than to order that in a place like this.”
I rest back and grin. “I didn’t know you cared.”
He looks away from me like the very insinuation angers him. And apparently, he knows how to hold a grudge since his gaze doesn’t come near me until the server returns five minutes later with the beers.
I catch him eyeing me when she’s blocking most of the view, though his gaze pivots away just as quickly.
Two can play this game.
I take a sip of the beer while he gulps his. She lingers a bit, asking him how long he’ll be in town, but he looks straight at me when she fondles his shoulder. No grudge to be found in his expression, but some familiar emotion takes up residency. I just don’t know what it is.
And then I catch on . . .
I reach across the table and hold his hand. “We’re together.”
“Oh,” she says, stepping back while looking between us. “I’m sorry. You two don’t look like you belong together.”
“Why is that?” I ask, trying to keep calm while being weirdly insulted that she thinks Blue Eyes and I don’t look like a couple.
“Well . . . I should probably . . .” She disappears, but I barely notice because his thumb has been rubbing my palm since I started holding his hand.
I let my eyes drift to the connection and watch in rapt fascination.
“It’s been so long since I’ve held hands with anyone,” I whisper without thinking of the consequences.
He’s fast, pulling back and downing half his beer. His eyes land on anything and anyone other than myself, but he still asks, “Why’d you do that?” His gaze finally meets mine, giving me comfort I didn’t know I was seeking. “Why did you say we were together?”
I glance away, seeing the server with her hands on some other guy at the bar. “I, um . . .” Turning back, I say, “You look like you need saving.”
“Looked or look?”
“Looked,” I correct. “You looked like you didn’t appreciate her hanging on you.”
He chuckles, but no smile appears. “Now you’re worried about me? Interesting.”
“What is interesting about it? You looked like you didn’t want the attention. I helped you out. End of story.” I push up from the chair. “What is wrong with you? Why are you so awful?”
“You tell me, Poppy.” Hearing my name reminds me of how he said it back at the cabin when I fell.
“So you were expecting me?”
He almost spews the beer in his mouth. As he sets it down, his laughter overtakes him. “Yeah, you’re a few years late.”