AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“There are plenty of people I have relationships with,” I say when she doesn’t continue. “There are plenty of people I care about, and that care about me. When I leave in a couple weeks—” I pause at the slump of her soft smile and the downturn of her eyes.
If she can’t work me out, then I can’t work her out either. One second she’s telling me she can’t or won’t kiss me and now she’s incapable of hiding her disappointment at the mention of me leaving. The worst part is that every cell of my being lights up at it. It’s not like she’s the first woman who’s looked at me like that after I’ve told them I’m not sticking around, but she is the only one that affects me this way.
The waiter brings our drinks over, followed by our breakfast. French toast and berry compote for her and a selection of vegetable sticks with hummus for me with a couple of boiled eggs on the side to up the protein.
“That’s your breakfast?” Rosie’s brow furrows at my plate. “A beet smoothie and…that?”
“Strict diet, remember?” I chuckle at her obvious dismay.
“God…that’s not breakfast. That’s not even a strict diet.”
“Oh yeah? You a qualified trainer or nutritionist?”
“No, clearly not,” she cringes. “But I am human, and that”—Rosie points down at my plate with her fork while I take a long pull of my smoothie—“that is torture. It’s not right.”
“No? And why do you care about what I eat?” My question has her sitting straight and focusing on her plate. “Well?”
“It’s who I am,” she says with a shrug, looking back up to level me with a defiant stare, “I’m a caring person. I care about my friends.”
Friends.
Friends?
Is she really trying to slyly friend zone me?
Christ alive, she’s hard fucking work. I’ve got girls praying for a smile from me. Girls ready to sell their soul for a wave or a hello. Meanwhile, I’m offering myself up on a platter for this one, and she is doing everything she can to sabotage my efforts and her own attraction to me. I should cut my losses and leave, but instead I revel in the challenge some more.
“Torture for some, but pretty good to me. Besides, it paints my tongue like one of those rocket popsicles.” I stick my tongue out, crossing my eyes as I attempt to see it for myself. While she’s trying not to laugh at me, I add, “Be honest, Rosie.”
“About what?” she counters, forking some of her breakfast into her mouth.
“You don’t want to be friends with me.”
“I don’t?”
“Nope.”
“And what makes you think that?” Her attempt at cleaning the compote off her lips only smears it some more.
Leaning forward, I thumb the residue, watching as her eyes widen on mine and her throat bobs at my touch. She can resist me as much as she likes, but in the end, it’s only going to make victory sweeter when she surrenders to me.
“You can’t stop yourself from drooling at the sight of my tongue. Angel, you don’t have to imagine what I can do with it. I’m happy to show you anytime you ask.”
A sheepish look flits across her beautiful face before incredulity sets in. Batting my hand away, she groans up at the sky, “Oh my God. Sweet freakin’ Jesus.” Glancing back at me she asks, “Are you for real?”
“What are you doing later?” I ask in reply, dunking a carrot stick into the hummus and crunching the tip off with a grin.
“Working,” she tells me pointedly. Obviously, she knows I’m not done yet, and before I can carry on, she adds, “No, I’m not telling your stalker ass where.”
Never thought I’d say anything good about small-town life, but the great thing about this place is that there are limited places she can hide from me. Maybe I’m wrong? However, my gut tells me I’m going to find her behind the bar of her parents’ pub when I drop by later. And we both know that she’s going to be damn happy to see me too.
There it is. That smile I’ve been looking forward to since we parted ways this morning. I’ve barely stepped through the door, and Rosie’s beaming at me. I can’t blame her for being happy to see me. If I were her, I’d be happy too.
Pulling up to the bar, I snag the last stool and wait for her to come over once she’s done serving the other patrons. It takes all of a few minutes for me to notice she’s on her own behind the busy bar while her mom is clearing tables and the other girl that’s normally here is going back and forth with food orders.
“Sorry,” she blows out a breath when she finally makes it to me with a glass of club soda with mint and lime garnish. “Ireland’s playing today, so it’s kinda crazy.”
“Where’s the help?”
