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I look down at her and lose my concentration again. “Don’t you feel everyone looking at us?”
She glances around. “It’s a Tuesday, so there aren’t that many people out and about.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“The fact that there aren’t that many people? No, kids are in school.”
I growl, and she laughs, rising to her tiptoes. “Jon, I know this is an issue for you.”
“I hate being the center of attention.”
She cocks her head. “Then why did you date all those supermodels? They’re always being photographed.”
“Yeah, but people aren’t looking at me.”
“Ohh, burn on me.”
“What?”
“Well, you think they are looking at us but not specifically at me. I get it.”
“No. That’s…” I groan. “That’s not what I meant at all.”
“Sure,” she says, stepping around me and reaching for the diner’s door. I grab her and back her up against the side of the restaurant. I place one hand on the window above her head.
She looks up at me, her face flushes, and another small smile curves her lips. “You drive me insane.”
“Good. You need to let loose, Jon.”
“I thought I was pretty good at that last night. And this morning.”
A faint blush colors her cheeks, and it is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. “No complaints.”
“I would think not, as loud as you were.”
Her eyes widen. “Jon Howard! I can’t believe there are people who say you aren’t funny.”
“Who says I’m not?”
She slips under my arm. “Lots of people. They’re wrong, though. You’re an acquired taste, that’s all.”
I open the door for her, and we step into the diner. Everyone is looking at us, and I feel the old panic. Being my father’s son didn’t make it easy on me when we were in town. A lot of people do not like him.
She leans closer and says, “I can hear your sphincter closing up, Jon. Just remember, you just mauled me in front of them.”
“I did not maul you,” I whisper to her.
She heads off to the table where Ted and my mother are sitting. She’s beaming at me, as is Ted.
“Hey, sweetie,” my mother says. “Avery.”
We get settled in the booth, and the waitress steps up. “Would you like something to drink?”
“I would like a coffee with cream,” Avery says.
“Coffee, black.”
When she leaves, albeit slowly and with a nasty look thrown in Avery’s direction, my mother smiles at us.
