Page 24 of The Pretenders of Copper County
She lifted one eyebrow and sucked a tooth. “The burger’s real special. You want special cheese with that?”
“Uh.” I glanced back down at the menu. “Sure? But can I get a side salad instead of fries, please?”
Her eyes got squinty. “Burger comes with lettuce already.” She turned to Reed. “What about you, handsome?”
“Same, but I’ll take the fries. Thanks.”
She grabbed the menus and disappeared.
When she was gone, an awkward silence descended—or, at least, a silence that felt awkward tome, probably because I’d been thinking about how sexy Reed was.
Reed didn’t seem to feel awkward at all. He was focused on the television across the room, though I got the feeling he was very aware of everything else happening around us. He had that same kind of tiger vibe that Crys gave off, but with Reed, the vibe wasn’t scary so much as… scary-attractive.
When I found myself tugging at my sweater cuffs while staring at the open collar of his flannel, watching the way his throat bobbed rhythmically as he swallowed his beer and feeling an answering rhythmic throb in my pants, I gripped the edge of the table and looked away in a panic.
Christoforo Winowski, control yourself.
This whole situation was banana-pants-weird—I’d been adjacent to agunfight, for the love of John Ruffian—and the only thing that would make it weirder was me thinking spicy thoughts about the man who thought he was supposed to be protecting me.
“So!” I smiled brightly, determined to overcome my awkwardness. “What’s the plan after the burgers? What are you planning to do with me?” I sucked in a horrified breath. “I mean, notwithme, like… like…” I pressed a hand to my stomach and glanced around the bar, desperate for a conversational life preserver—or perhaps a handy hole to fall into—and noticed the bikers in the corner groaning about what was happening on the television. “Good gosh, those Bruins need toget the lead out, am I right?”
Reed cocked his head. When he really focused those green eyes on me, the effect was hypnotizing. “Hockey fan, are you?”
“Um…” I bit my lip, hesitating, but admitted, “No. More of a figure skating fan, to be honest. I, ah, took lessons when I was a kid for a little while.”
He frowned a little. “Why do you sound like you’re making a confession? My sister skated for a bit. It’s not as easy as they make it look on TV.”
“It’s really not.” I exhaled shakily. Something about big, gruff Reed complimenting the sport hit me hard in the best way. “Pretty cool when you learn how to do something you didn’t think you could, though.”
“Always.” He sipped his beer. “How’d you get into it?”
“Oh. Ha. Funny story.” I toyed with my fingers. “When I was about seven, Uncle Danny told me I needed to play a sport.A man needs a physical outlet to hone his mind,Christoforo. Even that young, I think he knew I’d never pick anything really aggressive like boxing or football, but I’m pretty sure he was hoping for baseball or soccer. Maybe even golf.” I grinned. “But Nonna and I had this little ritual whenever she wasn’t feeling well, where we’d sit on her sofa and watch one of the movies in her collection of VHS tapes, and her very favorite wasThe Cutting Edge?—”
Reed groaned.
I laughed. “It’s a really good movie. The kind of movie where if you like it, I’ll probably likeyou, you know? Have you ever seen it?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “My uncle Drew shares your grandmother’s taste in movies.”
“Well, anyway, I loved everything about it. The characters, the romance, the way the big, burly hockey guy learns there’s more to life than… you know, pushing people into the walls of the rink?—”
“Checking them into the boards,” Reed corrected.
“Sure. So I told Uncle Danny I chose figure skating. I wanted to be a butterfly on the ice.” I gave Reed a half smile. “Danny, uh… had some concerns?—”
“I’ll bet he did.” Reed’s nostrils flared. “Guy like him? Bet he had plenty of old-fashioned bullshit opinions?—”
“He did not!” I said, instinctively defending my uncle. “You don’t know him, Reed. His concern was that it wasn’t practical. It was too many hours away from the family, doing things that wouldn’t toughen me up and prepare me for life.” I ran my finger down the side of my beer glass. “He used to say that it wasn’t safe to be too gentle. If you didn’tshowpeople how strong you were, they’d take advantage of you.”
Reed grunted. “And don’t they?”
“Maybe. Sometimes. But I’d rather be too kind than not kind enough, you know? What’s wrong with making the world a little softer and a little prettier for other people?” I shrugged. My uncle had never understood that, so I didn’t really expect Reed to either.
But Reed didn’t dismiss the idea. Instead, he shrugged a little and said, “Nothing wrong with it,” which was so thrilling my whole body went hot and shivery.
“So why’d you stop taking lessons?” he went on.
“Oh, that.” I waved a hand. “I was pretty good on the ice, and I even took some dance classes to improve my flexibility, so when I was around ten, I told my coach I wanted to be paired up so I could start doing the cool aerial moves. I’d been working on my salchow, and I wanted to do athrowsalchow so badly?—”
