Page 10 of Unbound
“Right.”
An invisible hook tugged the edge of Jasper’s mouth upward. “Am I one of your goals?”
I lifted an eyebrow at him. “Maybe,” I said.
“Your funeral. I’m not the kind of guy you’ll ever be able to just ‘check off your list.’”
I started to respond but bit back the words, choosing instead to push more French fries into my mouth. That was another thing I could have told him—that I eat when I’m nervous—but based on what I knew about Jasper, he’d already figured that out.
The rest of the meal proceeded in silence. I watched Jasper and he watched, well, everyone. The main entrance to the diner was over my left shoulder, and every time it opened, Jasper glanced up to see who was coming in, and he watched everyone leave. It occurred to me that this seating arrangement, with Jasper facing the door, his back to the wall, probably wasn’t an accident. He’d sat there specifically to keep an eye on things.
We finished our meal and stood. Jasper reached for his wallet.
“My treat,” I said.
Jasper snorted. “No chance.”
I frowned. “I’m sure I make more than you. Let me treat you.”
Jasper grunted his defiance and headed for the counter, handing a couple of twenties to the girl behind the register and then leaning on the counter to survey the diner.
Jasper was starting to be a real pain in the butt for me. One minute, we were tangled up in each other’s arms tighter than a sailor’s knot. The next I could barely talk to him and felt a million miles away. We weren’t dating, or even close to it, and yet Jasper insisted on paying for my meal like we’d been together for years.
Dammit. I was in trouble.
