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He gets up without protesting.
Good decision, dude.
I would have no problem booting him in a more direct way, if it came to that.
I settle on the puffy, worn leather, feeling lucky.
Really lucky.
I turn to face Gemma, who’s angled toward me. “It might have something to do with that country duet you just fired off like you were up for a Grammy,” I say as our knees touch, denim on denim. I can feel the heat of her body, and a shockwave passes through me.
There is no one else I’d rather sit next to tonight.
This girl showed up mere days ago, but she fits into this place like it’s her second home. And she looks really, truly happy right now. That happy glow makes her even more attractive than usual, if that’s even possible.
Her cheeks have little blossoms of pink on them, and her eyes are shining. She’s still wearing Frankie’s hat. It’s too big, cocked over her brow, pinning her brown hair down.
I reach out and gently push the brim up an inch.
Now I can see her bright, vibrant green eyes. I can’t help myself. I reach out and use my fingertips to slide her hair back behind her ear. Tingling heat passes over my fingertips, up my arm, straight into my heart. “Might be the hat, too.”
“What?” She reaches up, and laughs as she pats her head. “Oh my gosh, I totally forgot I was wearing it.”
“You look good with your hair down. And with it up. There isn’t really a time when you don’t look good.”
She swivels on her seat to face the counter, then leans her elbow on it and glances over at me. “Parker’s secrets of seduction, secret number three: tell her she’s beautiful.”
“I think I just got a peek in your playbook, too. You cast a spell over men by singing oldies but goodies.”
“Slightly off key,” she adds with a nod. “Gets ’em every time.”
I chuckle. “Well, Superstar, what do you want to drink? If you save this seat for me—because I know another guy’s gonna come up here and try to snag it—I can go grab you a refreshment.”
“No way. Are you kidding me? I can’t have another beer. I’m a total lightweight. One was enough, but thanks.”
“Okay, no beer. I’ll grab something else. You’ll like it.”
“You’re on the clock, you know,” she teases, as she taps her watch. “I get sixty minutes with you and if you leave, we start the clock back up when you return.”
“Got it. Save my seat. Seriously.” I make my way back through the flap, and pull two pint glasses off the shelf. Then I rummage through the side fridge and grab two bottles from the back. I pour one into each glass and add dashes of maple syrup, scoops of ice, and straws.
When I return to Gemma, she’s hat free, and Frankie’s ambling back toward the stage, his head-wear back in place.
Gemma gathers her glossy hair and pulls it over one shoulder as she eyes the drinks I’m carrying. “I guess I’m not a cowgirl anymore…”
“You’re whatever your heart tells you you are.”
“Ha. Guru Manning. Hey, what are these? Or are you going to make me try first, analyze later?”
“I’ll go easy on you this time. Don't want to push my luck.” I slide a soda toward her. “Birch soda, made with—”
“Let me guess. Local bark.” Without waiting, she pulls liquid up through the straw.
Those lips…
I have to really work hard to speak, not just gawk. “Yeah. Bark.”
Her eyes widen. “No way! Really? I was kidding.”
