Page 22 of Great White
I smirk. “Body language. Tone. The look in your eyes. I know when someone is up to no good.”
Tate leans forward and stares intently. Suddenly, I’m nervous, and now there are butterflies in my stomach. The exact kind he described. The kind I loathe. “No estoy tramando nada bueno?”
I barely have any idea what he said, but I am compelled to answer, “Yes.”
Tate smirks. “I’m only interested in getting up to no good with you.”
“It will never happen.”
“Why?”
“I don’t mess around with the help.”
Tatepffts. “That’s the oldest, dumbest excuse in the book. I’m not afraid of your bite,Tiburona.”
“You should be,” I warn him.
“I can handle myself. And I can handle you, too.”
I glare. “No one handles me.”
“No.” He shakes his head lightly and smiles. “No one does. It’s what draws me to you. You’re a wild great white, unable to be tamed.”
“Remember that and we’ll get along.” I suck down my margarita.
“We’re already getting along.” Tate sits back as the waitress places our dinners in front of us.
“Is that what you call it? You must not know what a healthy relationship looks like.”
“Play hard to get all you want.” He looks down at his food and chuckles to himself.
“I’m not playing hard to get. I don’t like you.”
“Yes, you do. You all but rubbed me like a cat earlier when I was standing behind you.”
“Excuse me? You were crowding me. Being all macho protective. I wasn’t rubbing up against you; I was refraining from elbowing you in the gut. I didn’t want to start a scene. Lord knows what would’ve happened.”
“Well, excuse me for trying to do my job.” Tate throws his fork onto his plate. He’s mad.At me?
“I don’t need you to protect me. I need you to do what I say.”
“Well, you weren’t saying much, so I did what I thought was right. A little gratitude can go a long way.”
“Gratitude?You’re delusional.”
“And you’re a . . .” Tate stops himself from finishing his sentence. He tightens his fists and takes a deep breath. We’re definitely not getting along now.
Tate snatches his shot of tequila and shoots it with authority.
“Better?”
He glares. “Let’s just eat.”
“Good idea.” I poke my fork at the chopped-up meat sitting atop a soft tortilla. We say nothing as the sky churns above us with fiery colors of the sunset. Red, oranges, and golds light up the desert landscape, casting everything in an amber-hued glow.
A mariachi band strolls out onto the deck. The sound of trumpets and guitars and big, bold, beautiful lyrics are serenaded at the sunset. People begin pushing empty tables away as the dining space quickly turns into dancing space. There aren't many patrons outside with us, but there are enough to give Tate and me a show.
People sway and twirl to the cheerful music. Happiness abundant.
