Page 12 of When the Walls Come Down
Shane’s proud gaze came back to mine, and he pointed his finger over the screen of his phone. “Now, would that number start with a Georgia area code, or did you switch it to a four-one-five when you moved?”
I bit the inside of my cheek and cut my eyes across the bar, but out of excuses, I did it while saying, “Maggie.”
“Maggie Peach,” he whispered as he pecked the screen.
“Quit calling me Peach.”
“What?” He feigned innocence. “Since you’re not exactly forthcoming, I’ll just have to use Peach to fill in any facts I don’t know about you yet. Last name? Peach. Favorite color? Peach. Favorite food? Peach. Favorite flavor Tic Tac—”
I opened my mouth to shut him up, but he lifted a finger to silence me.
He quipped, “Trick question. Mint. They don’t make a peach Tic Tac.”
It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes since this guy had barged into my space and settled on the stool beside me, but it was hands down the most entertaining fifteen minutes I’d had in months—including those before I’d moved to California.
Yes, I was attracted to him, and taking Melanie’s advice about getting laid sounded incredibly appealing at the moment. But dinner, and drinks, and conversation, and laughing, and finally feeling alive again sounded better.
After taking his phone from his hand, I tapped my number into it, correcting him as I worked. “Maggie Light. Gray. Italian. And I hate mint Tic Tacs.” I handed it back to him. “Everyone knows orange is where it’s at.”
In the small space between us, he extended a hand my way. “Shane Warren. My new favorite color is blue. For the record, that’s just been amended. Favorite food is steak, medium rare.” His voice rose as he added, “Which we all seem to know.”
Chris rolled his eyes.
And then Shane’s dark gaze dropped to my mouth. “And, maybe, I need to give orange Tic Tacs another shot.”
“Maybe you do,” I whispered, putting my palm in his, heat pinking my cheeks.
We stood there for several beats. Gazes locked. Him shaking my hand. Me holding his. It was about to cross into awkward territory when, in classic Shane Warren fashion—yes, I could say that even after only knowing him for a mere fifteen minutes—he defused the situation.
“Come on, Maggie Peach Light Gray Italian. Let me buy you another drink.”
I laughed, my head thrown back and everything. Without a second thought, I sat my ass back down on the stool next to his and let the man buy me another drink. “Just one.”
“Just one,” he agreed. “I usually don’t drink this much, to tell you the truth. Christopher, another round, please.”
Chris’s eyebrows drew together, an interesting amount of curiosity coloring his face. “You sure?”
Shane nodded.
The bartender seemed shocked but answered, “Coming right up.”
“Drinking problem?” I inquired. Otherwise, why was he being looked at so oddly for having a few drinks? He didn’t seem drunk or anything. The last thing I needed was to get involved with an alcoholic like my father. I was living a life for my mom, not trying to slip into her shoes.
“Nope. No problem.” His tone was casual and believable. “See, I’m kind of a routine guy. Not really sure if that’s good or bad at the moment. But for a long time, it’s just been me, and drinking alone isn’t a healthy hobby. You know what I mean?”
I couldn’t disagree with his logic. “I get it. Actually, it was my sister who suggested I come out tonight. She said I was being boring.”
“I like your sister, and she may be right. You haven’t pulled a knife on me or even danced on the bar yet.” His sarcasm made me homesick, or maybe it was the opposite. His wit made me feel more at home than I had since I’d arrived.
“You haven’t busted a move, either, wise ass.”
Our new drinks were placed in front of us, and it naturally felt like my turn in the conversation to ask him something, but I was beginning to feel as bad at small talk as he was. Nevertheless, after a few beats, he saved me.
“Thanks for asking, Not Peach Light Gray Italian. I’m not from the Bay area, either. Actually, I hail from the Pacific Northwest. Seattle. Born and raised.”
While he spoke, I tilted my head toward him to listen, but I did everything I could not to make direct eye contact. There was something about his ability to hold my gaze that set me on edge. Less was more, or I’d be naked before the night was said and done.
Well, maybe just one little look.
Out of the corner of my eye, I stole a glance at the sharp, handsome features of his face. “Why did you move here?”
“A job. A much-needed change.” He huffed. “Guess I got the job part down well enough. Maybe not so much the change part though.” He was speaking my language.
