AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I can’t stop myself from being amused by her. And I thought the awkward bumbling of the other day was cute; her irritation is a whole other level.
My menu still prone on the table where the hostess placed it, I cross my arms over my chest and lay it all out there. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you the other day. I can’t imagine that made you feel great.”
She purses her lips and scoffs under her breath, but for the most part, stays silent.
I push onward. “Is that why you sent those text messages? A prank to get back at me?”
Her eyes skitter upward so quickly, they almost seem out of control. But for the first time since leaving Bruce & Sons, she’s making direct eye contact.
A rosy smear of color deepens on both cheeks, and she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear nervously. “Oh. Those. I guess you got them.”
I smirk. “I did, indeed.”
Her head quirks to the side just slightly, and then her shoulders square. “You know what? Yeah. I sent them as a prank to get back at you.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me it was you?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs and has to avert her eyes from mine for the briefest of moments. “I guess I was too surprised to see you there looking grown and successful and not remembering me.”
I cringe. “Shit, I feel like a real asshole.”
“Because you were,” she teases with a little grin. “You were all,” she says and drops her voice to mimic mine, “‘I know the Willis family. They’re good people.’”
I can’t help but laugh at her ridiculous impression. “And all the while, you were just standing there like, hey, you idiot, I am a Willis?”
She shrugs and offers up a cheeky grin. “Pretty much.”
My chest blooms. Finally, she’s starting to let her guard down.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You look…” I pause, steeling my voice against making my next word sound as depraved as it is in my head. “Different.”
If her blush is any indication, though, I’m pretty sure I fail.
“So…uh…do you know what you’re getting to eat?” she asks, changing the subject to something innocuous—thank God—while looking up at me from beneath the long curves of her full, feminine lashes.
“You can never go wrong with their Reuben on rye.”
A small smile quirks up the corner of her soft pink mouth. “So, I take it you’ve eaten here before?”
“Only once a month for the past two or so years.”
She giggles, and I kind of hate how much I enjoy that sound coming from her lips.
I feel like a bit of a bastard for being so…observant when it comes to her.
Observant? More like enamored.
Fuck. This is my best friend’s little sister.
The one who had permanently red lips in the summer from eating her favorite cherry popsicles and had posters of Joan Jett in her bedroom.
Needless to say, I shouldn’t be thinking about her in any way besides friendly. Neutral. Unaffected.
Yeah, but what you should be doing and what you’re actually doing are two different things, you bastard.
I’m so curious about her that I find myself lifting up my glass of water and taking a drink just to distract myself from my thoughts.
I can’t remember the last time I was this intrigued by a woman.
It’s probably just nostalgia, I tell myself. That’s all this is.
Yeah. This is just nostalgia. It has to be.
A waitress named Karen stops by our table and takes our order—Reuben on rye with fries for both of us—and when she leaves, I lean forward and turn faux serious. “I have a question for you.”
She licks her full lips nervously but doesn’t let our eye contact flounder. It seems, now that we’re getting the initial awkwardness out of the way, she’s finding a little more confidence. “And what’s that?”
“Do you still listen to Kate Bush?”
She nearly chokes on the drink of water in her mouth. “What?”
“When we were kids, you always used to sing ‘Wuthering Heights’ in the morning…”
At the top of her lungs, every single morning when she was getting ready for school, and it was miserable for everyone inside the house. Maybe never quite grasped that she couldn’t hit those falsettos like Kate.
Her brown eyes pop wide open. “You heard that?”
I grin. “I’m pretty sure everyone in the whole neighborhood heard it.”
“Jesus Christ.” The apples of her cheeks flush red, and amusement fills up my chest like a balloon. “I was what, like, twelve? And, apparently, believed I had a budding music career ahead of me.”
My grin grows wider. “So, I take it that’s a no?”
“Uh…definitely a no, and I’d like to make a rule for this lunch.”
I quirk a brow. “A rule?”
“Yeah.” Her nod is firm, and her eyes turn serious. “No talk of memories that include me being an awkward and embarrassing teenager.”
