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Mike took the bowl and looked over the few scraps of lettuce that were left before turning to Samantha. “You want the rest?”
“Sure.” She took it with a smile and scooped the pathetic salad onto her plate.
He watched her pop an olive into her mouth, her lips pursing as she bit into it. Lips he was desperate to kiss. Right there in front of everyone. But even he, a new student of the casual game, knew that was a big no-no.
“So, Michael, what are you up to these days?” Mr. Ballman asked, drawing his attention away from the woman next to him.
“I’m working at a gym.”
“Working at a gym?” he repeated before shoveling more food into his mouth.
“As a personal trainer,” Mike said with a nod.
Mr. Ballman shook his head as he chewed then took his time wiping his mouth. “Surely a man such as yourself has better prospects than working at a gym.”
Mike’s jaw worked back and forth. He didn’t appreciate the judgmental comment or the fact that he spoke like a steel kingpin from the 1900s.
“I can’t imagine you’re making much money,” he went on, needling Mike on the very thing that was a thorn in his side. “You need to go into business for yourself to make the big bucks. Don’t work for the gym. Own the gym,” he said, brandishing his fork with a flourish.
Mike stared hard at the painting on the wall. Ballman was definitely one of those pull yourself up by the bootstraps types but had no real idea what it meant to struggle, but Mike wasn’t about to get into an argument. He had officially become a godfather today; he couldn’t fuck up on setting a good example already.
“What about you, missy?” Ballman asked, tilting his head around Mike to look at Samantha.
She put her fork down and rested her hand on Mike’s leg underneath the table, as if she knew he needed it. “What about me, Mr. Ballman?”
“What do you do?”
“Well, I’m home for a few weeks before I go to Texas,” she said, pausing to take a sip of her peach iced tea. “I’ll be finishing up my doctorate there.”
“A doctor? Of what?”
“Psychology, specializing in counseling people who suffer with eating disorders.”
His brow rose, sufficiently impressed, as he leaned back in his chair, his gaze shifting back and forth between Samantha and Mike, who was feeling more and more inadequate. A thirty-year-old man, living in his parents’ basement, while struggling to make a decent living. Not great “prospects.”
“Hey,” Samantha whispered quietly, capturing his attention. “You okay?”
He blinked, clearing his thoughts, and leaned in closer to her. “You know what we should do?”
She twitched ever so slightly when he briefly nuzzled his nose along her shoulder. “What?”
“Watch that horror movie you talked about. That one you named Eddie after.”
She bit her lower lip, obviously trying not to laugh. “Twilightis not a horror film.”
“You said it was about vampires.”
She narrowed her eyes, still alight with humor. “It’s a romance.”
“I’m not really into romance,” he said, but if it was her favorite, he’d watch it.
Mike ignored his brother’s curious gaze as Samantha put her hand on his arm, saying, “You’ll love it. Like peach and chocolate ice cream. Trust me.”
Two words were never easier to accept. “I do.”
10
Sam shoved another pizza roll into her mouth as she scooched back up the bed. “It’s starting.”
