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“To say the least. My mate told me how to get here.”
The skin along the back of my neck tingled. Mate. Such a simple word, but so alien here. Friend, buddy, teammate—that was the small town life. Football and basketball were gods here. That and the small businesses that made us who we were.
A small town. A safe town.
One made for families.
Not for Rory Fergusons.
“Who’s your friend?”
His blue eyes went a little cool.
I held up my hands. “You don’t have to tell me.” Relief and a little annoyance filled his eyes. “If you want to leave alone anyway.”
His gaze narrowed. “Is that right?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know you from the doorknob over there.”
“Not sure you’d know my friend.”
“So, what’s the deal with you being so cagey?” I started to slide out of the booth. “Look, if answering questions is a problem, then I’m good with just getting your check.”
He reached across the table to close his hand over mine.
Nope. I was right. I definitely wasn’t ready for him to touch me. Not because I wanted to pull my hand away, but because there was the zing.
I knew it was going to be there. Some things a girl just knew.
I also knew he was like a rich, sinful, caramel treat. He’d taste so damn amazing, but I’d pay for him for a good long while. The question was just how good was the caramel? Or was he even worse? Would he be like my favorite mint, so good I’d never be able to forget?
Wow, overthinking.
He could just be Ben & Jerry’s.
My hand was still hot where he’d touched me. Ben & Jerry’s, my ass. Not that there was anything wrong with store bought ice cream, I just knew I made better. Same as I knew he was going to taste far more decadent.
“No. I just…” He sighed and pulled his hand back. “I like this.”
I twisted back into the booth. “Like what?”
He shrugged and looked down. “I’m no one here. No preconceptions.”
“Yeah, for you, that’s cool. For me, you could be married, a serial killer, a criminal…”
He frowned and looked up. “Wow, dark.”
“Try being a woman in this age. That’s nothing.”
“You’re right though. Being a woman in the industry can mean experiencing plenty of the dark. You’re right to be careful.”
Industry. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Sex trafficking? “Then why won’t you answer me?”
“Whatever you’re thinking is wrong.”
“Who are you to tell me that?”
“Because I can see the wheels in your head turning. I think some of that is part of living in this damn town. The proprietress of the place I’m staying at couldn’t stop interrogating me. Is there something I should know about Crescent Cove? Are you hiding a murderer here or something?”
