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She glanced around while he ordered. Most of the tables were full, and she saw several familiar faces. A woman who worked at the bookstore was sitting alone with a beer and a book, but she’d set the book down in favor of staring unabashedly at Tony.
Amber couldn’t blame her. His jeans were old and faded, the thighs covered with smears of caulk and drips of paint. His T-shirt hung loose over his waist and hips but strained across his shoulders. His ass looked delectable.
The man was sex on legs. A blue-collar hunk of an Italian stallion.
He was also kind, and funny, and deeply uncertain.
And she was fairly sure she’d already fallen in love with him.
He came back with an iced tea and something for her in a Coke glass, settling into the chair closest to hers.
She liked that. Not on the far side of the table, separated by the condiments, but right up close, where his knee could touch her thigh.
He pushed the drink toward her on its coaster.
“Ooh, with a sword and a cherry and everything. This is the classiest drink ever.”
“It’s called a Jack Rogers.”
She took a sip. “This has alcohol in it?”
“Whiskey, Coke, and grenadine.”
“It’s delicious. How many of these would I have to drink to get tipsy?”
He cocked his head. “Two, maybe? You’re a little thing, and you’ve got no tolerance. Three would get you plastered, I bet.”
“I want to try that sometime. Getting plastered. I could drink three of these, and then you could take me home and we could play pirate.”
“Pirate?”
“It’s the tiny swords. They make me think of swashbuckling.”
Another grin, this one a little dirtier. “I have a sword,” he said. “But it’s not tiny.”
“I remember.”
“If you want to swashbuckle again, I’m game.”
“Was that some kind of romantic declaration, disguised as a filthy pirate sex offer?”
Their eyes met. His smirk faded, and his hand covered hers on the table. His palm felt clammy, the way it had in the basement.
“Yes,” he said.
“Maybe you should go ahead and declare it. So I don’t get my hopes up and start thinking this is a date, if you meant it as an entrée to my … you know. Booty.”
“I want your booty, Amber.”
She laughed nervously. “I know you want my booty, you pervert. I’m asking if you want anything else.”
“I do. I want to see where this goes between us.”
She nibbled a cherry off her tiny sword.
It wasn’t I love you and I want you to bear my children.
It wasn’t even I’m feeling reckless and full of despair because I’m head over heels for you.
