Page 49 of 7 Miles High
“This place has been here since the eighties?” I ask.
“Yes. Not too many restaurants can say that.”
The stairs lead to a medium-sized footprint of a patio. The canopy protects the diners from the bright sun, or on the odd day rain. And the view. It’s fantastic. Gorgeous. It’s ocean and sailboats. It’s beachgoers and umbrellas. To the right are the surfers lining up to catch the best waves.
“Wow. Beautiful.”
We’re led to a small table against the low stucco wall.
“Here you go. Your server will be with you shortly.”
And she’s gone, leaving Natalie and I to get settled. I hold out the chair for her.
“You know I love that,” she says, looking over her shoulder.
I take my seat. “What?”
“Your gentlemanly ways. It’s refreshing.”
“Isn’t that something most men do?”
“Most isn’t all.”
“I don’t know what kind of an idiot wouldn’t.”
Her eyes lift to a place somewhere behind me and her face visibly pales.
“Well, you’re about to.”
“What a coincidence. Hello, Pussycat.”
Before turning I feel the heat rise to my face. What the fuck.
“Hello, Alex. And please refrain from calling me that again. I know I told you that already.”
Good thing she spoke up because he was about to get a fist in his annoying fucking face. I watch him walk up between us and completely ignore me. He’s trying too hard. I do the opposite. I stare him in the eyes and smirk, making sure he knows I don’t consider him any kind of a threat.
“Sorry. Force of habit. John and I are just over there having a drink. Hey, we could join you. You up for that?”
This time it’s my turn. “No. We aren’t. But thanks for asking. This is a private party.”
I love that Natalie is just smiling the hell out of the moment. No verbal agreement necessary. Awesome.
The look on the prick’s face is exactly what I was hoping for. He knows he’s outmatched, out gunned, outsmarted and out of options. But it doesn’t take away from the fact if he could he’d punch me in the face. Think again.
“No worries. You two have a good lunch. I’ll call you this weekend,” he says casually.
“Whatever for?” She says it with knitted eyebrows and narrowed eyes.
“Just to catch up. Talk then,” he says, turning and walking away with a too casual gait. The guy’s trying to look cool. It isn’t working.
At first there’s no further discussion about the man. I’m trying to consider him a minor distraction like an annoying fly you swat at. But it isn’t working.
“He pisses me off. I don’t like how he ignores what you tell him,” I say.
“He means nothing. Let’s not waste our time talking about him.”
“I’m just telling you, my fuse is short with this asshole. There’s a limit.”
