Page 38 of Vipers & Roses

His comment can be interpreted two ways, and I’m unsure which way he wants it to go. Perhaps two years away from the dating scene has made me rusty on man language. “Whose turn to ask a question that no one answers?”

“Yeah, I notice you divert,” he mumbles.

“You can’t talk,” I snap at him.

He takes another sip of beer, and I notice that his glass is two-thirds empty, whereas mine has been barely touched. His smile washes away as he leans back into his seat. “Did something happen to you?”

My cheeks burn slightly, and I’m pleased we’re in a dimly lit room with plenty of distractions. “What do you mean?”

“The Glock,” he taps his fingers on the table. “I saw how you were firing it as if you were there in the moment, killing the person you’re avenging. So, either you’ve been hurt and believe whoever hurt you will return for you or…”

“Or?” I urge him to continue, curious about his theory on the girl he just met.

“Or…you have a great imagination and watch too many thriller shows. So, which one is it?” he questions inquisitively.

He hit the post because it was the third option he hadn’t thought of or assumed I’d never be brave enough to undertake: avenging my enemies by hunting them down and shooting them before they came after me. “You make me sound like a victim.”

“Are you?” he asks, watching me bite another curly fry.

“These fries are great,” I state, getting an eye-roll out of him.

“Diverted again,” he mutters under his breath, but loud enough so I can hear it.

“I do love a good thriller,” I exclaim and realize that I’m pouting flirtatiously. I immediately stop when I notice the devilish expression on his face. It occurs to me that I am very attracted to this man’s suave charm and warmth, and I’m wrestling internally with his lack of attraction to me, even though his body language contradicts his words. “Why did you bring me here?”

He drains his beer, swallows, and glances at the bar. “I’m going to get a refill,” he states, ignoring me in that nonchalant panache.

“Are you going to answer my question?” I snap as he stands up and examines my beer.

“A confession,” he projects charmingly and turns his back to walk away.

“About what?” I call as he swaggers away, noticing his butt moving in those black jeans. There’s a breezy effortlessness about him that’s so alluring to someone like me who has a mountain of troubles on my shoulders. Yet, his carefree nature is at odds with his chosen profession. You’d think he’d worry about getting caught and imprisoned, so scrutinizing every person who steps into his world would be imperative. It only takes one misstep, and he’s screwed, not only with the police but with the man he works for.

“About a lie I told you,” he calls back to me, but by the time he reaches the bar, he’s too far away for me to yell, so I impatiently wait for him to return.

“What did you lie about?” I ask again when he returns with his second beer, and my chest is about to explode.

He grunts a smile as he plants that ass down opposite me. “About my tastes.”

I hesitate and sip my beer as those eyes watch my every move, waiting for me to respond. “Tastes in women?”

He cocks his eyebrows as a yes.

“So, you don’t like thin-lipped women?” I tease.

He suddenly seems uncomfortable, glancing about the room before concentrating on me again. “I like what you are.” His finger points at me from the hand holding his beer. “Everything.”

“What do you mean?” My cheeks are burning because he’s about to confess something, and I’m unsure if I’m ready to hear it.

“Ev-ery-thing,” he repeats slowly. “Top to bottom.”

“Freckles?” I ask, pointing to my cheek.

“Cute,” he answers.

“Green eyes?”

“Spectacular,” he answers.

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