Page 16 of All We Need

This isn’t on the agenda.

The hopeful gleam in his eyes eases my guilt and worries me.ClearlynothingIsay is going to deter him and nowIregret being nice.Ithas no benefits.He’slike a pesky bug.Avery handsome bug.

“You know what they say…” he drawls.

“No.Idon’t.Andneither do you.Don’tsay it.Don’tbe that guy.”I’mpractically begging asIpoint a finger at him in warning, which he ignores.

“Never say never.”

CHAPTER FIVE

booth

The last thingIsee is her wild mane of curls whipping in the wind before she disappears from view.

Should annoying her get me hard?

Patrick watches me with amusement.

“Who was that?” he asks, brow raised.

“No one.”Eyeslowered,Irun my hand along the bar.

It was one of the first things installed and handcrafted by my father andGeorge, who spent hours collecting and salvaging driftwood they found washed up on the shores ofPiperBeach.Iwas too young to remember it being built, butPatricksays he learned a lot of new swear words that year.

He considers me for a beat before his eyes pop out of his head and he bellows with laughter. “Holyshit.That’sthe girl from the fair, isn’t it?Ican’t wait to tellGraham.Boothwith a crush.Howfucking adorable.”

“It’s not acrush,you prick.Iwanted to…ask her a question.”Hesees right through my lie.

“Was the question ‘Whydon’t you like my dimples,wah wah?’”Then, he gapes at me and gestures to my outfit. “Isthis why you’re wearing this atrocious getup?”

I avert my gaze. “Iwas gonna go for a ride.”

“Bullshit,” he hisses. “You’retrying to impress her with the bike shorts, aren’t you?”

I cough into my fist—barely muffling my “Fuckoff”—before storming away.Statisticshave proven that women like my bike shorts.DidIput them on today in the hopesI’dbump into her?Perhaps.

I’m headed toward the kitchen whenJules, our assistant manager, waves me down.

“Hey, do you know the woman who just left?”Shepoints toward the tableSilvervacated.

“Umm, yes?”Kinda.

“Great.”Sheshoves something into my chest. “Givethis back to her, would you?Shemust have left it in her rush to get out of here.Tellher we have her dry cleaning bill covered too.”

She disappears, leaving me to stare at the small wallet in my hand.Icontinue to study it asIwalk through the swinging doors, the aromas and heat hitting me all at once.Simonnods at me before returning his attention toKyle, our line cook and newest hire.Hisskills aren’t where we need them to be and from the frustrated sighSimonreleases, he’s fed up already.

I’d be more patient if his attitude didn’t stink and he wasn’t continuously late.

I stand outside the large walk-in refrigerator, tossing the wallet up in the air.

Surely the waitstaff has to look at theIDwhenever they’re handed a lost wallet or purse?Slowly,Islide out a card until the edge of a driver’s license appears, andIpause.

I feel slimy.

With anyone else, this would be normal, but it feels invasive considering she wants nothing to do with me.DecidingIhave no other choice—and curiosity eats away at me—Ireveal aNewYorkdriver’s license.Then, her name.

AlessandraArgiros.

---