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“Fox!” I shout, giving in.
His head snaps around and the smile on his face turns into a wily grin. Half of me wants to check to see if his newest fan is watching him stalk toward me, but I can’t seem to free myself from the eye-lock.
He stops in front of me, his chin dipped, eyes still burning mine. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I raise my beer and take a sip, and then offer him a drink. He polishes off the entire thing. “Hey!”
“I worked hard up there. I needed a drink.” A light sheen of sweat decorates his handsome face. “I’ll buy you another one. Unless you want to make those girls jealous and lay a big, wet, sloppy kiss on me.”
I force a laugh but a kiss—sloppy or otherwise—doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Like, at all. “In your dreams, Fox.”
“In my reality, too.” One hand slides across my lower back and he tugs me until I have to grip onto his arms or lose my balance. “Remember?”
How could I forget?
“Come on, it’ll be good for ratings.”
I lift onto my toes, touch my nose to his, and whisper, “Buy me some French fries.”
I push off his chest, intending to walk to the food truck with a hand-painted banner that reads FRESH CUT FRIES! but I don’t make it that far. He lifts my heels off the ground, lowers his face, and kisses me. The kiss is hard and firm...and far too brief.
“French fries it is,” he says against my slightly ajar mouth. “And more beer. God, Kitty Cat, our job sucks.”
Before we start for the den of saturated fat, he shouts, “Nicely done, Burke!”
His cohort is still standing near the two girls, appearing to flirt with the one who wanted him. I receive a dirty look from the one who wanted Barrett for herself.
I’m not petty. I don’t play games. But I can’t help flashing her a smile as I put my hand in Barrett’s and walk with him to the food truck.
Chapter 15
Catarina
After inhaling our salty, heavenly fresh cut fries, Barrett and I wander over to an outdoor patio for some real food. The area is typically reserved for drinks for some of the ritzier events at the museum but has been modified to accommodate diners specifically for the long day of imbibing.
We pick one of the wrought-iron tables outfitted with cushioned chairs. Barrett’s kicked back, legs stretched out in front of him, sunglasses on, elbow resting on the chair’s arm. The sun sits hot on my back. The gentle breeze from earlier is a memory. I order an ice-cold glass of water and the lunch special: grilled fish tacos with fried plantain chips. Barrett follows suit.
I take a long gulp of my water. “Ahh. I needed that. Drinking beer in the sun is tough business.”
He rests his glass on the coaster in front of him, his lips quirked. “Mia won’t like that we’ve given up.”
“Given up? I don’t follow.”
“I thought we were supposed to get tanked and reenact a reality-show hot tub scene. Here we are, eating and rehydrating like responsible adults.”
I can’t help laughing. “How many reality-show hot tub scenes have you witnessed and/or participated in?”
“Several on both ends.” He grins, the big bad wolf.
“What about this alleged long-term on-again-off-again girlfriend? Did you skirt around when you were ‘off’?”
“Excuse me. I’ve watched my share of The Bachelorette.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“Well, the answer is none of your business.” He drinks his water and I wait. He takes another drink.
“Tell me about the girl who held the heart of the bad boy of the NFL for six years.”
