Page 51 of How You See Me
Josie scowls, but the bartender smacks the counter and scurries off before she can protest.
“You shouldn’t have,” she repeats my response for the hat gift with the same irritated flavor I gave it. What goes around comes around, darlin’. “Are you really that low maintenance, or do you just not care?”
“I’m used to MREs, cafeteria food, and warm beer. Whatever he brings will be better than that.”
“Fair enough.”
We sit in silence, and while she absorbs the energy of the room and feeds off it, I’m drowning. Maybe it’s her fruity scent or how close her stool is to mine at the packed bar. I could touch her leg, back, or any part of her with minimal effort. It’s pure torture.
She squeals when a new song starts. “I love this one. Be right back.” Hpping off the stool, she rushes to the dance floor, the ends of her long hair bouncing with each step across the waistband of those godforsaken shorts.
The lights bounce off her smooth skin while she moves to the beat alongside the other dancers. She follows the steps clumsily, but by the first chorus, she’s mastered the choreography and synchronization.
Watching her move is addictive. I barely notice when my beer arrives or another woman claims Josie’s seat.
“Awesome tattoo,” she says, pointing at my bicep.
She leans on the counter to face me, one leg crossing over the other between mine. With the short skirt, it’s meant to be seductive. But I’m not here to flirt or pick up women, and I don’t appreciate her taking Josie’s spot.
“Thanks.” I take a long swig, willing Josie to reappear and end this ambush. “That seat is—”
“I’m Gretchen.”
And I’m not in the mood.
Luckily, the bartender is hovering. “Where’s your girlfriend?” He passes me my card. Either he read my discomfort and wants to help, or he’s fishing for Josie’s availability.
Doesn't matter. I’m riding it out. Anything to free myself of Gretchen and keep—I check the bartender’s name tag—Damian from hitting on Josie. “She’s dancing.”
Gretchen’s posture deflates. “Just my luck.” She climbs off the stool as Josie arrives.
She freezes a few feet from us, observing the aftermath with amusement and then what appears to be disappointment. But this hat and the weird, neon LED lighting could have me reading her all wrong.
Damian lingers nearby, probably expecting a show from this non-existent triangle. If it were someone else, I’d participate to get rid of himandGretchen, but I will not play with Josie’s heart to make a point.
Gretchen scans Josie, then waves a dismissive hand in my direction. “Don’t worry. Your man was a loyal gentleman. Such a bore,” she adds and struts away.
Josie’s laugh rings out over the music as she climbs onto her stool. She chugs half her melting cocktail before addressing the issue. “My man? That’s a new development.”
“Misunderstanding.”
“She was pretty.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“You’re not interested?” Her easy tone doesn’t match her dark, thoughtful eyes.
“We have a pact, remember?”
“You can find someone attractive and want to spend time with them without involving sex, you know?”
“No, thanks.” I smirk against the rim of my glass before taking a swig.
“Is that how you really feel or are you just messing with me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you the person your reputation paints you to be? Jordan and Jackson didn’t exactly correct Grant when he assumed you were a player.”
