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“Did I say that?” he asked softly. “It’s the fourth of July.” He interjected a fair amount of drollness to his tone. “As I understand it, this is an important date to Yanks. The reason escapes me.”
Her lips twitched and she eyed him. “It’s when we sent your ancestors packing.”
“Ah, yes. That’s right.” He tapped her nose with his finger. “Do you have a barbie to attend?”
“A barbie?” She chuckled and gave a slight shake of her head. “You mean, like, a barbeque?”
“Yes.” He ran his fingers through his thick hair, feeling awkward and foolish and as out of place as ever. “That’s the tradition, right?”
She lifted a shoulder. “Yeah, u
sually. I was supposed to go to my sisters, but I’m kind of avoiding people today.”
“Why?”
“I’m in a mood.” She flitted a hand in front of her. “I’m avoiding people for their own good. Being with Debbie Downer on a holiday isn’t fun for anyone. So I’m going to spend the holiday in my apartment. I just wanted to go for a walk, first.”
“You’re going to be all alone?”
She lifted a brow. “Now who’s the stalker?”
He chuckled, though inwardly he cringed. He’d give her that. He had sounded a bit on the creepy side. All he needed was the eerie Darth Vader voice to go with it. “I bet you have lots of stalker or admirers.”
“Wow.” Her lips tilted up into a smile. “That’s a sweet thing to say. I think. But I’m not an actress or even remotely famous. No stalkers in my life.”
Eyeing her mouth, he couldn’t help but wish she were an actress. Namely, Cossette. He wouldn’t mind having to kiss her every night for the next year. Sometimes twice a day. And then, when they went home together, he could kiss her because he wanted to—not because the script called for it. And he could spend every night making those eyes shine and hearing her bubbly laugh.
He cocked a brow. “Shall I audition for the part?”
“That would be the most boring role you’d ever find.” She pulled at her skirt again, clearly uncomfortable. He should let her go, and yet …
“I doubt that. I’ve had my share of tedious jobs.”
She nodded and started scooting away from him again. “Anyway, thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. It was nice meeting you.”
He took a deep breath. Time to tumble arse over tit into it. “You want to know what I hope to get out of this?”
She stopped walking away from him, her shoulders straight. Slowly, she turned back to him, her brows up. “Sure.”
“I need a distraction, too. Sorely.”
She took a slow breath. “How convenient that we both need to forget, and we’re both here in this alley.”
“Precisely.”
She let go of her skirt and met his eyes. “I don’t even know you. You could be a crazy psycho for all I know.”
“I’m Justin. I told you that earlier. I work here.” He pointed over his shoulder. “And I am the only one here with a British accent, so I’m pretty bloody easy to describe if I do something horrific to you. Don’t forget. The eyes are blue.”
“Oh yeah?” She put her hands on her hips, but ruined the effect by laughing. “And what if you’re a serial killer? I won’t be able to point you out from the dead—though I’d certainly try.”
“A serial killer who invites you to dinner before offing you? If I wanted to kill you,” he motioned around the ever-darkening alley, “this would be a better location than a crowded pub, don’t you think?”
Her lips curved upward into a hesitant smile. “You have a point. But still … ”
“Please? I feel awful about knocking you down. But maybe fate threw us together to help us through tonight.” He rubbed the back of his neck, shooting her the most charming smile he could manage. “We’re here to help one another get blasted and forget.”
She tilted her head to the side and put her hands on her hips. “You believe in fate?”
