Page 7 of Stuck with Me

I accept the beer when he hands it over, nodding my thanks. Taking a seat on a barstool at a small table, I peruse a menu before putting in my order for a burger and fries. While I wait for my dinner, I sip my beer and mindlessly scroll on my phone. The beer is smooth with just the right amount of sweetness mixed with spice. It reminds me of home.

After about fifteen minutes, my food arrives, and I order another beer. With my fingers finally thawed, I shrug off the Carhartt jacket. The material is a little stiff but I’m glad I chose the one lined with sherpa.

Rosalie’s earlier comment enters my mind. It pisses me off that she called me out on my new winter wardrobe. It pisses me off more that she was right. It rarely drops below forty degrees in Southern Texas. Going to a cabin in the mountains in the winter meant I needed new clothes. I’m not about to freeze my nuts off while I’m here.

And shit, it's as if fate hates me.

The door to the bar opens, and none other than Miss Rosalie Milano enters. She brings a whoosh of icy cold air in with her. Along with a magnificent smack in the face of fiery tension.

I study her from across the bar. The way her smile brightens up her entire face, the adorable mole above her upper lip, her ass in the tight jeans as she works the room. While she presented an icy exterior with me, the other people in this town get a kind and easy-going version of her I wasn’t privy to. I want to encounter this girl. The one guys are falling over and women are laughing with.

When her gaze finally lands on me, we lock eyes while I guzzle my beer. Her demeanor shifts instantly, and she glares at me. I must be all kinds of fucked up because my hormones buzz and stand at attention instantly. And so does my dick. I half expect her to ignore me or maybe turn back around and walk out.

So she takes me by surprise when she struts right over to me. “What are you doing here? Is the restaurant in the hotel not up to your standards? Because I would think The Pines would be a step down for you.”

My lips twitch. “I like this vibe better than the one at the hotel restaurant,” I lie, knowing the hotel restaurant is already closed.

Her brows lift and she looks like she’s fixing to say something but the bartender interrupts.

“Rosie,” he calls. “Want your usual?”

“Yeah, thanks,” she responds without taking her eyes off me.

I feel as if we’re in a fucking standoff. In some kind of a childish staring contest, except nothing feels childish between us. The sexual tension humming between us is anything but juvenile.

From my peripheral, I watch as the bartender approaches and puts a beer in her hand.

“You guys already finished the Martin Christmas Eve festivities?” The bartender asks her.

“I left early and told Cammie I’d see her in the morning,” she responds, still holding me prisoner with those big, brown eyes.

“And she let that slide?”

Rosalie finally glances away, and I seize the opportunity to blink.

“I had to promise I’d come over first thing in the morning dressed in my Christmas pajamas.”

“Those fucking jammies. Guess we’ll be suffering together at least,” the bartender says.

“Jones, have you met Mr. Moretti?” Rosalie says, staring at me again and resting a hand on her jutted hip.

“Moretti? Moretti? Hmm…sounds familiar. But can’t say I have.” The bartender shakes my hand. “I’m Jones Martin. Nice to meet you.”

I tip the brim of my cowboy hat.

Before I can respond, Rosalie interrupts by saying, “No, it’s not fucking nice to meet him.”

“Dammit all to hell, Rosie,” Jones says it like he’s tired. “He’s a paying customer.”

“This ishim.” She throws her hand up. “The grandson of Gigi’s ex-lover. Or as Cammie is referring to him, meet Mr. Cabin Stealer.”

I cough. “Mr. Cabin Stealer?” I repeat under my breath.

“Uh oh. Sorry, man.”

“Don’t apologize to him,” Rosalie snaps, swinging her attention back to Jones.

“I’m only apologizing because there’s no way in hell you’re getting that cabin,” Jones says, tugging a dishtowel free from his shoulder.

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