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“Slow down there, sailor. You go in without me, and some of these guys are gonna think you’re fuckin’ fair game.”
Her head swings to me as her brows go up. “Me? I don’t think so.”
Anyone else, and I’m thinking fishing expedition with the goal of catching herself some compliments. But there’s something about the surprise, the genuine disbelief and dismissal of it all that has me thinking not.
Has me thinking that the people in her life must be fucking idiots.
Because guys are definitely checking her out.
At first, it’s the dress because the girls in here are either in jeans and a T-shirt or blouse, or wearing some style of dress or skirt that shows off legs, and their figures.
The princess might do that kind of thing, but I’m getting the feeling—right out of the goddamned ether—that she doesn’t.
Nothing wrong with it.
I love a girl who knows she’s got the wares to draw all the looks.
But there’s something about the princess and her subtle ways. A man might miss her first look. The second? It draws.
She does that, and they look. Assholes.
And I need a fucking drink.
Her gaze shifts to a gaggle of girls looking our way, then to me, and a small smile breaks the surface.
I scowl. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Definitely something.” If she had a hat on her head, I’d be tempted to pull it low over her eyes, just because I fuckin’ could. “You mean those ladies?”
“Maybe.”
I lean down to her. “Jealous, Princess?”
“Me? No!” She huffs out air. “I mean, they’re pretty, and they seem to like you. Do they—”
“Yeah, yeah, come on, Princess.”
I lead her to a table because I’m starved. Besides, I promised her dinner. One of the few free ones is in the back, a darker spot, and marginally quieter, which suits me just fine.
Sidney’s cheeks shine with a pale pink blush and her eyes sparkle.
She takes her seat before I can pull out the chair, and I’m still half wishing I hadn’t let my mouth take over in the truck with all that crap about women and playing around. It’s all true. But what the fuck was I even thinking?
Most definitely, I shouldn’t have told her what I did. It’s not like I haven’t fallen straight into fuck town after the meet and greet. I just choose not to. That’s not even saying I don’t do just that on occasion or that I need wining, dining, and walks on some fucking beach at sunset with horses. I’m just a little choosy in my old age, that’s all.
If I’m gonna knock boots, I like more than a tasting menu.
Is it me, or do I sound like a doddering monk instead of a healthy man in his mid-thirties? Jesus.
Why should it matter to her? I’m not like what a lot of people think. I’m not wanting to claim the discarded playboy hat left by Leland when he fell hard for Sarah.
It was almost a warning, like she’s some kind of good-time gal or some shit. Which I really don’t give a fuck about either way.
She’s not staying in town.
Not long.
