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“This isn’t over,” Tucker warned. He stuck a hard pointer finger in my chest. “Don’t go getting any stupid ideas about acting like this didn’t happen, Dunn Johnson. I know you and—”
He was right. I wanted to rewind time to before it had happened. If left to my own devices, I would have smiled and nodded and gone back to my same old ways as if I’d never felt the life-changing effects of Tucker Wright’s kiss on my lips.
I held up my hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay, I won’t.”
His eyes steadied on mine. They were lit with anger and resignation. I hated to see him upset, especially knowing I’d been the cause of all of it. “Don’t freak out either,” he added.
“Fat fucking chance. I’m already freaking out.”
Tucker grabbed the front of my sweater and yanked me close until we were nose to nose. I couldn’t help but suck in another comforting whiff of him, only this time it was more than just comfort I felt. My head spun with a million thoughts, and my dick did a little jig in my pants. Maybe I had a secret desire to be manhandled. This wasn’t the best time to learn about it, though, so I did my best to ignore it.
“Dunn,” he said in a crazy-soft voice. The kind of voice that made it extra hard to ignore my dick. “Do not freak out. It was just a kiss. Do you understand?”
“Yep. Sure.” Part of me wondered if I could ask for another kiss as a kind of… “sealing the deal” type thing.
His eyes bounced between mine assessing the truth of my words. Both of us knew I was lying. I didn’t understand jack shit.
“Go,” he said in the same low voice. “Go home with Jenn.” He shoved me gently away from him, and I turned to jog back into the restaurant like hellfire flames were licking at my heels.
It was going to be fine. I would go back inside, enjoy the steak and baked potato dinner, and enjoy a healthy make-out session with Jenn before the night was over. I’d just let friendship jealousy go a smidge too far, but I could rein in this baby and get back on the horse. No problem.
Jenn’s mouth widened into a relieved smile when I sat back down at the table. “Everything alright?” she asked.
“’Course it is.”
Jenn’s brows furrowed. “I didn’t know you have asthma. It’s not in your medical chart. Don’t you think that’s something your girlfriend ought to know?”
The word hit me like a fork on metal siding. I didn’t want a girlfriend. If I had a girlfriend, I couldn’t do things like kiss other people out in the parking lot of the Steak ’n Bait. Could I?
“Why are you looking in my medical chart?” I asked instead, trying not to notice Tucker returning to his table flush-faced and beautiful like a damned shining star. “You know what? Never mind. We should order.”
Carter stood up and helped Tucker into his chair like he was some kind of Disney princess. I bit my tongue to keep from telling the guy Tucker had been helping himself into chairs for decades now.
“So… tots okay?” Jenn asked.
I side-eyed her. I knew what tots represented around here. I wasn’t stupid. “I thought you said no strings, no commitments,” I began. “Are we… we’re not exclusive, are we?”
She rolled her eyes and huffed. “Fine. No tots. I get it, jeesh.”
I leaned forward and tried to meet her eyes. I didn’t want to feel guilty for the kiss since I couldn’t exactly take it back.
“No, but for real,” I tried. “We talked about this before, remember?”
Her face broke into a sheepish grin. “But I really like tater tots.”
“Fine. Get the tots.” I sensed Tucker stiffen somewhere behind me, so I made sure I said the next part just as loud. “But we’re not sharing them.”
I spent the next several minutes trying desperately not to listen to every smarmy, conniving, charming word out of Carter Snake-In-The-Grass Rogers’s mouth. He talked about things I didn’t understand like cardiac electrophysiology fellowships and antithrombotic therapy studies. It was a stark reminder of the kind of people Tucker hung out with at work. Smart people. Well-educated people.
Not dairy farmer people who barely scraped together enough brain cells for a high school diploma and some after-hours business courses at the community college.
Jenn told me about a few job leads she had for when Tuck’s receptionist returned from maternity leave, and I tried my best to give her my full attention and contribute.
“I heard Alva Nichols might be looking for help at the veterinary clinic,” I suggested. “She might even be willing to help you get classes to become a vet tech if you want. She did it for Petey Winchell, remember?”
Jenn sighed. “Everyone there has to wear those white smocks. Ew. I was thinking about trying for the cosmetics counter in Jester’s.”
