Page 18 of A Guy Walks Into My Bar
Dean’s grin widens. “Right. It’s just like being in France or Japan or Portugal and needing a translator.”
“See? I knew you’d get it.”
“I get it completely. You need an Englishman to help you decide whether it is the cream or the jam that goes first on your scone.”
I had no clue there was a set order. “Yes, that. Exactly. As you can see, how else could a barbarian like myself enjoy a proper afternoon tea?”
“I can’t even imagine how you would,” Dean answers, then whispers, “The scone tastes the same either way.”
“Whatever you say.” I grin because it’s looking like he’s saying yes.
We stand on the street, as crowds walk by with their shopping bags and talk about the great weather.
This is it, my chance to seal this sort-of date with Dean. The man doesn’t seem opposed to public displays of affection, so I go for it.
I grab the back of his head and bring him close, giving him a hot, hard, hungry kiss that I hope leaves him wanting more.
I whisper against his lips, “I will see you tomorrow.”
Dean blinks, looking frazzled, maybe even as rattled as I feel. Then he nods. “Yes. You will.”
And I want to punch the air. But I restrain myself, keeping it cool. “I’ll need your number to text you the info.”
Dean types it into my phone then takes a deep breath. “All right. Tomorrow, then.” He licks his lips. “Fitz.”
Yes, there’s my name again, and it sounds so damn good the way he says it—like sex and desire on his tongue.
He turns to walk away, but before he covers five feet, he spins around and returns. With a resolute expression and dark eyes fixed on me, he takes out his wallet and fishes around. He finds a bill and presses it into my hand, curling my fingers around it. “You won the bet. Softball is great.” There’s a pause, then he taps his finger to his bottom lip, humming in consideration. “Or really, I suppose there’s something about how we played the game that worked for me.”
As much as it goes against my nature, I don’t touch him. I don’t kiss him, and I don’t say a word. I let my crooked grin do the talking as he enjoys having the last word—an admission that he wants me the same damn way I want him.
I watch as he walks away this time.
It’s a great view.
I can’t enjoy it too much, though, because a familiar voice pops up behind me.
“I’d say that was successful.”
I whip around, and there’s Emma with shopping bags full of used books.
“What luck that there was a used bookstore right down the road,” she says. “And that I just happened to see my brother making out in the street.”
I grin. “Why hide my talents when the public should see them?”
She laughs. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re a little sneak.”
“Not a sneak. Just an excellent wingwoman.”
I want to disagree, but I can still taste Dean’s kiss on my mouth. Then, of course, there’s his number in my phone.
And tea tomorrow.
And the promise of something else too, if my kiss worked the way I hope it did.
9
Dean
A man cannot survive a force of nature without reinforcements.
When a hurricane barrels toward your city, you batten down the hatches.
The same strategy applies to Hurricane Fitz.
So I make sure that I squeeze in time for a run before I’m due at The Magpie. Running centers me. Clears my head. Gives me time to think.
After all, I’m a thinker, as he said.
I scoff at that label as I run alongside the Thames, logging another mile as I go.
But he’s right. That’s my style—I contemplate.
As I run, I imagine a sheet of paper, and I’m sketching out the pros and cons of a few red-hot, smoking nights with a visitor who’s taking off soon.
On the one hand, I don’t date younger guys.
On the other hand, we’re not going to have a relationship. Also, he’s only four years younger, as I learned today.
On the one hand, he’s a customer, and that’s against the rules.
On the other hand, he can’t be a customer after the end of this week.
On the one hand, he’s leaving in five days.
On the other hand, he’s also leaving in five days.
“What’s the worst that can happen in such a short time?” I ask out loud.
“That is an excellent question. Inquiring minds want to know.”
I swivel around, slowing my pace as my mate Sam comes alongside. We started the run together, but I peeled ahead, and now he’s caught up to me.
“Talking out loud? Still hearing voices in your head?” Sam’s dark eyes glint as usual. He grins like he’s got a secret that no one else knows.
“I was drawing an important conclusion,” I say.
“Do tell. Was it about drinks or cooking or the state of the world? Or wait! Was it some piece of secondhand furniture you can’t decide whether to buy or not? Or maybe a book you want, and you’re going to go read twenty reviews before you pull the trigger on a nine-pound purchase?”
