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Dax let go of my hand, and I leaned back in my chair in just enough time that the waitress could set our drinks down.
“Anything to eat?” she asked.
Dax rattled off his order, and I placed an order for a grilled chicken salad.
“Grilled chicken salad? I’ve never seen you eat a salad before,” he told me.
I shrugged. “Sometimes I need a change of pace from the bad food. I like to shock my system every once in a while by feeding it good, healthy food.”
He took a sip of his beer, and I nearly leaned forward so that I could wipe the foam from his beer off of his mustache.
He did it for me, though, and I’ve never been so jealous of another person’s hand in my life.
“What are you looking at?” He smiled.
I tapped my upper lip with one finger and said, “You had a beer mustache, and I was contemplating wiping it away with my fingers before you did it yourself.”
He watched me, then picked up his beer, leaving another mustache.
“Now you can take care of it.”
Dinner was pleasant despite Rachelle and her man’s attendance.
Speaking of, I saw her stand up and excuse herself.
As she stood, her eyes caught mine once again, and she stared. Dax’s arm was lying casually on top of the table where he gripped my small hand in his big one.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I gestured toward Rachelle who was getting closer and closer to us.
“Maybe she’ll just go to the bathroom,” I told him hopefully.
Dax grunted out a ‘Yeah right’ and took another sip of his beer.
I leaned over and wiped it free before bringing my wet index finger to my mouth and sucking it clean.
Dax hissed.
“Keep that up and we’ll be going to the bedroom and not anywhere else,” he murmured. “Not to mention I’ve already been thinking of my cock inside of you—”
Dax was interrupted by Rachelle clearing her throat.
“Can I help you?” I asked, trying not to sound as bitchy as I felt.
Rachelle grimaced and turned to regard Dax.
Then she pulled something out of her large satchel and handed it to him.
It was a calendar. The calendar.
“How did you get this?” Dax asked suspiciously. “I don’t even have one.”
“I work for the city,” she said. “All of your boxes of calendars were delivered there. Can you sign the picture? I want to send it to my mother.”
Dax shook his head and handed it back.
“No, thank you. Maybe another time, but I doubt it. But I’m out on a date right now with my girl.” He sounded as if he was trying to control his anger.
I didn’t blame him.
It took nerve for a woman that fucked a man’s life up so thoroughly to ask for a favor.
“It won’t take but a minute…” Rachelle said. “I…”
“I said no,” Dax said. “And honestly, I probably wouldn’t have signed it even if I wasn’t out on a date with Rowen.”
I choked on my gulp of tea and spit all over the table in my haste to draw a breath.
Dax looked at me with concern.
But I was busy looking over Rachelle’s shoulder, seeing her husband barreling down on us.
“Um.” I gestured with my head. “Your husband looks kind of pissed. You might want to run along now.”
Rachelle frowned hard but didn’t bother turning around to watch her husband stalk this way.
“What the hell happened to your hair, freak?” Rachelle hissed.
That was when I realized that, during my coughing fit, I’d knocked my hat off.
“I decided to shave it because I was getting too hot,” I lied.
Rachelle sneered. “Well it looks terrible. Just sayin’.”
Dax got up then and moved in such a way that it pushed Rachelle away from the table and also kept her from getting too close to me.
I wasn’t sure what he thought she was going to do, but he was preparing for it nonetheless.
Then the husband finally arrived, and he looked pissed.
“What’s going on over here?” he snapped.
“Listen, Gary…” Dax started.
“It’s Jerry, not Gary,” Jerry not Gary snapped. “Rachelle, let’s go. I didn’t realize you needed to talk to him for more than five seconds to get him to sign the damn book. You know that we don’t need this. I can afford to take us on vacation.”
“What are you talking about?” Dax asked, sounding confused.
Hell, I was confused, too.
“Let’s leave,” Jerry ordered, grabbing Rachelle by the arm and hauling her away.
That was about when the waitress showed up with a refill on our drinks.
“Love your calendar,” she said. “Where can I get me one of those? I’d for sure love the chance to win five grand. Enough of you come into the diner that I could likely get all of your autographs without having to leave the comfort of my own business.”
“Autographs?” I asked.
“People that get all twelve months signed by the SWAT cops posing get entered into a raffle to win five thousand dollars and a trip to Cabo,” the waitress said. “I’ve heard that it’s legit, too. The mayor is the one funding it.”
