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A tingle went through me, standing so close to him. He still hadn’t greeted Lo and Roger.
His mouth curved up in a tender smile before he stepped back. “Roger. Lo, you look amazing as well.” He left my side, giving her cheek a kiss.
Roger turned in, angling his head. “Me too, buddy.”
Everyone laughed.
Travis flashed a smile, returning to my side, his hand going to my back again. But he didn’t pull me close. He kept some distance between our bodies, enough to breathe, but his hand stayed. It was a move to claim me, but in a respectful way. He was letting me know he was interested, which I had to admit, had my stomach starting to flutter.
The guys chatted as Lo swept the room. She tended to do that everywhere we went, and she always knew four or five people. People respected her and liked her. No matter her age, she had the popular-girl thing going for her, but she’d been one of the cool athletes who was nice too. She got invited to all the parties, no matter who was throwing them, and if she didn’t go, they’d keep inviting her and would keep hoping she’d come. They’d never be mad at her.
Vicky and Howard had the same quality.
The hostess came over, showing us to our picnic table in the back outdoor area. On the way we passed a dance floor and a huge, old-school barbecue grill. There were tables inside, with booths lining the walls. You might think this was one of those places only regulars go, and others might avoid because of the rougher crowd. There were quite a few bikers congregating, but it was a Friday night. A lot of other customers were here too. College students. Twenty-somethings. People in their thirties and forties. Some who were retired. There was no one too good for Jack’s BBQ. As we wound to our table outside, three people stood up to greet Roger and Lo.
Travis and I kept on to the table. He waited until I sat before settling in next to me. “Being a cop, no one greets me like that.”
I smiled, his joke easing my tension. “Even other cops?”
He laughed. “Touché. We go to a cop bar and they’ll be all over us. Everyone would want to know you and try their hand at stealing you away.”
My cheeks got warm.
He got quiet before leaning over to speak under his breath. “I know this is a friends-only thing, but I hope it’s okay if I admit that I’m still hopeful it might turn into something more. No pressure, though, and I mean that. I can back off if you’d like, treat you like a genuine friend, because I want that as well.”
I looked at him and saw he was watching Lo with knowing eyes. I held what I’d been about to say.
“Lo told me you don’t socialize much,” he added.
The way he said that—my back straightened. “Is this a pity date?”
His eyes widened. “No. God, no, unless it’s the other way.” His mouth tugged up in a crooked grin.
I flushed because it worked for him—the crooked grin, the self-mocking comment and tone, but his eyes were intense.
I sighed, feeling my tummy flutter. “You have a cop’s eyes.”
He shrugged, but those eyes never lost their intensity. “Attribute from the job, I’m afraid.”
“I’ve grown up seeing cops’ eyes, and for a while, it was every day.”
His mouth flattened, but he was still leaning toward me.
I couldn’t ignore the tingle I got from him. “I never knew if I liked seeing those eyes or not, because at that time in my life, everything shifted. My dad was barely around when I was growing up, and my mom said it was always better if we didn’t have a relationship with him. He showed up at random times. He’d stay a few days and take off. My mom said he preferred it that way so we knew his face, knew the name she called him, knew his voice. That was it. But after surviving the Midwest Butcher, my mom and brother died in a car crash, and because the man whose sperm created me wasn’t a father, I went into the foster system. It all happened within a few days. A twist of the universe let it pour when it was already raining. I’ve always associated seeing a cop’s eyes with the worst week of my life.”
He straightened up, moving away from me.
I put my hand on his. “But I like yours.”
His hand jerked, but didn’t move away.
“I’m finding that they’re growing on me,” I added.
He exhaled slowly, as if he’d been holding his breath, and turned his hand upside down. Just as slowly, he laced our fingers. He moved our hands down to his lap, hidden from the table. “That’s good to know.”
There it was. Another tingle.
Maybe Lo was right.
