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I laugh, grateful that I am not from the south. “Clarabelle sounds like what you name the family cow.” I tell him between my laughter. “It's just Claire. Well, Claire Elizabeth."
He watches me for a moment, like he’s considering calling me on it, and then asks, "And where were you born?"
I tilt my head slightly, trying to figure out his angle. These aren't exactly the type of questions I was expecting. He’s playing softball, but I’m not sure if it’s for my benefit. I turn my attention to the drink in my hand. "I'm not sure, honestly. The first fosters I remember lived in Spokane, Washington, so I assume I was born somewhere around there."
"Hmm."
"Are you planning to drink straight from the bottle?" I ask, eyeing him suspiciously. Remy reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a flask, setting it down next to the bottle.
"I’m not planning to drink a lot." He admits. "I'm a pretty good judge of character, and I'm great at poker."
"Okay," I say. "You're playing chess, and I'm playing checkers. So, here's what we're going to do... you can ask me ten questions, and then it's my turn. You've already burned your first two, so I'll give you a minute to think of something good."
"Okay." He agrees, grinning appreciatively. "Deal. But I don't need a minute. I know my next question. What do you want to be when you grow up?"
I could take offense to the insinuation that I’m not a grown up, but I don’t think he intends it that way. "A nurse." I say it without any kind of hesitation, but he knows the moment the word leaves my mouth that it isn't true.
"You're bluffing." He says confidently. Something about that confidence is wildly attractive, stoking a flame in me that I don’t think needs any more kindling. "Drink."
I take a sip and wince a little.
Damn, that’s strong. "All right. You caught me."
"I wanted the answer. So, I'll ask again. What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"I don't know." I shrug. "I hate to admit that, but it's the truth."
Remy's hazel eyes narrow on me a little. "You're in your final year of college and close to graduating with a degree, but you don't know what you want to do with it?"
"Is that a question, or are you just judging me?"
He’s close... so close. One arm rests casually on the couch behind me, and it gives me an opportunity to lean into him a little more.
"Another Coke, sir." Jacqueline sets a glass down on the table in front of us. I break eye contact, turning my focus on the glass in my hands. Remy isn't the one to look away, and I can still feel the weight of his eyes on me even as he speaks to the bartender.
"Thank you, Jacqueline. Would you bring me a shot glass as well?"
"Of course." Jacqueline smiles before she turns on a dangerous-looking stiletto to saunter away. I watch her go and then turn my attention back to Remy, who still hasn't taken his eyes off me. It’s both thrilling and terrifying to be looked at like that… like I have something that he wants.
"I'm changing the game again." He explains. "You're far too good with the banter to waste any more time playing on low difficulty."
I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or not. Remy takes advantage of the moment, placing a gentle hand on my cheek again. Adrenaline courses through my veins, spurred on by his touch, which is both gentle and firm and makes me want to melt into a puddle at his feet. My breath hitches.
What the hell is wrong with you, Claire? Get it together, woman!
"I like you, Claire. Let's stop playing children’s games and get to what we really want."
Oh, God. That isn’t helping matters.
His voice, his words, how he says them… it all twines together, causing my core to clench with need.
I know what I want, but I don't know why. I've never felt so drawn to anyone. He’s magnetic, and it’s terrifying. The man is like the walking embodiment of sex, and I've never wanted it this badly. Can he tell, or does he just assume this is how every woman feels around him? I finally remember that his words were a proposition. Let’s get to what we really want. "Which is... what, exactly?"
It's a question I want him to answer, but it’s also rhetorical.
Jacqueline reappears with a shot glass. I didn't even hear the clicking of her heels as she approached us. "Can I do anything else for you, Mr. Boudreaux?"
"No, thank you. If I need anything, I'll come to you."
