Page 4 of Wild Card
GWEN
The server rushes away before I’ve even finished saying, “Make that two.” When I turn my focus back on the man across the table from me, I am met with a look that could kill.
And if I hadn’t seen him be so damn nice to that poor customer service agent, I might buy it. Except I was there. From a few spots back in line, I watched him speak up for the woman without hesitation.
Hell, he’d even used a fresh and amusing spin on one of my favorite sayings.
So, no, Bash, the grump whose dark, heavy brows are tugged down tight with an adorable little wrinkle at the top of his nose, does not put me off at all.
I know what a truly mean expression looks like—the kind that precedes words sharp enough to wound. This isn’t it. Instead, he looks like all bluster and chiseled features.
If I had to use one word to describe him, it would bemasculine. From head to toe.
Chunky black leather boots, no-nonsense Levi’s, and a soft, boxy flannel shirt give him a total lumberjack vibe. A grumpy lumberjack.
But it’s his face that’s most eye-catching. Not traditionally handsome, not conventionally pretty. His nose is strong, his jaw square, and his thick beard is neatly trimmed. Streaks of silver dust through his dark-brown hair that’s trimmed close on the sides and styled neatly on top.
“Did you just invite yourself to my table and then order for me?” His deep voice rumbles but there’s no bite.
“Oh, is thisyourtable? My apologies. I didn’t realize you owned the airport.”
A vein on the side of his neck pulses. One that I know is only visible because this man is tense as hell. “No, but it’s a known rule that when someone is sitting at a table, the other chairs are also taken.”
My lips form into an O as I pretend to be enlightened by this new information. “Gosh, I had no idea. I haven’t read the rule book to being stuck in an airport overnight. Do you have it on hand?”
He glares back at me, tongue swiping over the front of his teeth.
I smile, offering an innocent shrug. “Strikes me that we’re all fucked tonight, and any open chair is fair game. If you don’t like me, then I fear I cannot help you. But if you just don’t like margaritas, then I’m happy to help you out by drinking both. I don’t have anywhere to be tonight, and I do love a good margarita.”
His full mouth pops open as though he’s about to say something, but no words come. He just stares back at me like I’m an exotic bird he’s never seen before. Finally, he mumbles, “I like you just fine.”
“Wow, high praise coming from you. Thank you for blessing me with your approval,” I tease, watching his eyes roll and a muscle in his jaw twitch like the implication annoys him somehow.
“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it.”
With a satisfied smile, I lean back, crossing my arms to mimic his position. “Do I? All I know about you is that you prefer limes to lemons and have a strong moral compass.”
His head tilts ever so slightly. “Strong moral compass?”
“The booking desk.”
Understanding flares in his eyes. “Saw that, did you?”
“In all its glory. And it really was glorious.”
He grunts as he shifts, his eyes flicking away like he’s uncomfortable with the compliment. “It was no big deal.”
My head joggles as I consider that. “I mean… No one else did anything. I suspect, for that woman, it was a pretty big deal. It’s quite the phenomenon that men like that are all fire and brimstone when they’re talking to someone they can intimidate.”
Just ask my dad.
He’d wanted to send me out into the world meek and obedient.
And he failed.
The only thing he sent me into the world with was a defiant backbone, unfailing optimism, the desire to chase my dreams…and a few daddy issues. But none of those issues areactuallyhim. Because I haven’t spoken to the man in eight years.
Bash scoffs at my assessment, fiddling with the napkin of rolled-up cutlery before him. “Yeah, that guy was a fucking loser. I can tell you that much.”
