Page 56 of Casita Casanova
“If I do, you have to understand it’s our firstandlast.”
He smiles a slow, deliberate smile that stirs that desire low in my belly. “We’ll see.”
I breathe deeply and shake my head.
“Do you always play hard to get?”
“Always?” I chuckle, then realize half of the pitcher of margaritas wasn’t spilled and just sits here between us, waiting to be loved. I pick it up, fill his glass, then fill my own. “I was with my ex for twenty years, Cas.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. You were nine when we started dating.”
He levels an irritated stare on me. “Stop doing that.”
“It’s the truth.” I shrug.
“So? Why are you so hung up on it?”
I sip my margarita without answering. WhyamI so hung up on it?
The server returns a few minutes later with two bags. One has our order of tacos, obvious by the grease already soaking through the brown paper, and the other is a white plastic bag with two large drink cups inside.
A stout man with a dark mustache and eyes that disappear into his wrinkles approaches behind her. “I’m so sorry about the accident,” he says, his accent thick. “These are on the house.” He motions to both bags.
“Oh, no,” I say quickly. “We couldn’t possibly—”
“Thank you,” Cas says. “We appreciate that.”
Excuse me?
“Please come again, give us another chance.”
“Of course.” Cas nods and claps the man on the shoulder.
If he’d look at me, he’d see I’m glaring daggers into the side of his big, beautiful head.
When the manager is gone, Cas motions for the server and she hurries back over. “Did I forget something?”
“Yes, actually.” Cas pulls out his wallet and hands her a fifty-dollar bill, leaving both of us with our mouths dropped open. Then he grabs the bags and motions for me to go ahead of him.
I do so with a big, stupid smile on my face.
He’s not half bad, once you get past the cocky playboy persona.
“You should have seen your face,” he whispers, walking close enough to me that I can feel his presence along every inch of my frame.
Heavenhelpme, this man is dangerous.
“I thought you were going to stiff her.”
“Maryn,” he practically growls. “Please don’t say things likestiffright now. I’m barely keeping it together here.”
As we make our way through the interior to the front doors, a table of twenty-somethings watches us, eyes flicking back and forth between Cas and me like ping-pong balls.
“Oh my god,” one of them whispers to the other. But she’s clearly been drinking bottomless margaritas all afternoon and has lost the ability to whisper. “How didshegethim?”
“Mommy issues.”
