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“Wait…” He looked from the waitress to the table, then back to her. “You think that was a set-up? That her kid isn’t really ill?”
“You didn’t think that?” she asked.
“No. I thought …” He covered his face with both of his hands. “Bloody hell. Is that what happened? I sort of thought it was going well.”
“Maybe her kid really is ill,” Allie said doubtfully as she went back to pouring drinks.
Hugh peeled his hands from his face and took a long swig of his pint. “What do you think went wrong?”
“Maybe it was your shirt,” she said flatly.
“What’s wrong with my shirt?” His voice came out louder than he intended as he looked down at himself.
“I was joking,” she said, glancing over her shoulder and looking thoroughly amused. She shook her head. “I really shouldn’t make jokes like that. It’s my first day on the job, and if my boss hears me, it might be my last.”
Hugh smiled as she set off to deliver the drinks to the table closest to him. He took another swig of his drink, then looked down at his shirt again.
“It was a joke,” Allie said, when she returned and caught him frowning down at his clothes.
“Was it though?” He ran a hand over his chest. “Because you’ve made me really paranoid that there’s something wrong with my shirt?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your shirt,” she said, the corners of her lips twitching upwards. “I was teasing.”
“Really?” He looked her right in her bright blue eyes. “Be honest. Is there something wrong with it?”
“No.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “There’s nothing wrong with your shirt.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Why do I think you’ve answered in the most diplomatic, ambiguous way possible?”
“I was honest,” she said. “Which is what you asked for.”
He pursed his lips, then glanced down at the shirt again. “Does it look good?” When she didn’t answer, his head shot up. “Please just tell me what’s wrong with it?”
“We already established there’s nothing wrong with it.” Allie walked around the bar and gestured for him to stand up.
He adjusted his jeans, then smoothed down his shirt before holding his arms out to the sides. When she raised her hand and made a circling motion with her finger, he sighed and did a slow turn.
“Not bad.” She smoothed the navy cotton at his shoulders, then ran her hands down his arms. Her hands stopped to squeeze his biceps. “Ooh,” she said with a grin.
Chuckling, he took a step back, effectively brushing her away with the action.
“Wait!” She reached for his arms again. “I wasn’t teasing then. You have muscles hidden under there.”
“Movement would be difficult without them,” he said dryly.
She arched an eyebrow. “You know what I mean. Do you work out?”
“Yeah.” His heart rate increased as she ran her hands over his pecs and down the front of his shirt. “Not obsessively or anything. A bit of cardio, some weights.”
A whiff of her perfume hit him, making him conscious of how close she was standing. She seemed to notice at the same time and took a pointed step back.
“Maybe for the future of your dating career, you might consider wearing something that hints at what’s going on underneath,” she suggested.
“I can tell you one thing.” He smirked. “I’m never wearing this shirt again. Thanks for that.”
Her face burst into a smile. “Sorry. You asked me to be honest. And it’s really not that bad, it’s just not the best fit and …”
“And what?” he asked indignantly.
