Page 60 of Don't Go Faking My Heart

"Get out of here before I regret letting you two come."

"You playin' tonight?" Rusty asks before we leave.

"Rus, don't make me throw you out." Patty points to the door, and we exit through it a moment later.

The bar is hopping, but Rusty winds us past the crowded tables and leads us toward a set of double doors where a bouncer is stationed.

Rusty nods at the guy, who nods back and lets Rusty through.

“I recognize that bouncer.”

“That’s Walt. You’ve probably seen him on patrol. He's a cop who works security here for extra cash when he’s off duty. His wife is expecting their first baby.”

“And let me guess: you helped him set up his nursery.”

He laughs. “No, Walt built the crib all by himself.”

The lounge is empty except for a couple of musicians setting up on a stage. I'm not much of a bar kind of girl—my meds and alcohol do not mix well—so I've never been here before. But I've heard they get good live shows.

We sit down at a table in the back and we're both hungry enough that we dig into our food. I take a huge bite of my Reuben quesadilla and moan.

"Okay, you're right," I say, leaning over my plate, where extra food from my quesadilla plops. "This tastes even better after working up an appetite."

"Don't I know it?"

Rusty tucks into his food, unaware of the fact that I'm watching his every move. He takes a decent-sized bite, not too big and not too small, and he eats it politely but unselfconsciously. He also has weirdly good posture. He's bent over his plate a little, like any sane person eating messy bar food, but he's not hunched like Gollum eating potatoes and petting his Precious the way I am. My curls fall in front of my face, and I have to use my arm—the one not covered in quesadilla drippings—to push them out of the way.

Rusty smiles at me and tucks my curls behind my ears.

"Thanks, Farm Boy."

He smiles and takes another bite. The way his jaw flexes with each movement entrances me.

"You're an attractive eater."

He chokes. "Wha—?" He coughs and takes a drink of his ice water. "Sorry, what?"

"I mean it! You're an attractive eater. You eat like a man, but without being piggish."

Rusty laughs, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't know what that means."

"I make everything look like one of those old school burger commercials we watched in marketing classes. Did you watch those? The ones where the girl takes a bite and the burger is so juicy, it's falling apart all over her? You look like a cologne commercial and I'm all disgusting."

Rusty laughs behind his hand again. "A cologne commercial? Am I playing a guitar solo to a wolf in the middle of a desert?" It's my turn to laugh. He swallows and drops his hand so I can see just how big the smile he's trying to hide is. "You know, those burger commercials worked because guys liked seeing hot girls attack a burger like that."

"I'm not hot."

"You're hot."

I roll my eyes and take a bite of my quesadilla. Russian dressing squishes onto my chin. With my mouth full, I say, "Not hot."

Rusty looks like he's trying not to laugh as he reaches across the table and wipes my chin with his napkin. "Hot."

I snort and then choke a little and cough and then snort again and try to swallow, but I start laughing, and bits of food fly out of my mouth and then a little bit of food goes up my nose, and I start laughing even harder. Rusty comes around the table and pats my back. I want to make a joke about him doing the Heimlich, but I have to grab my water and try to drink through the coughing and laughing.

Tears stream down my face from laughing as Rusty pats my back again.

I look up at him, sure I've leaked and dribbled through my waterproof mascara and lip stain. Rusty raises his eyebrows like he's so wildly attracted to me, he can barely stand it. "Hot."

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