Page 75 of The Mating Game
“Just thought I’d ask,” I tell him breezily. “No big deal or anything.”
There’s a stretch of silence as I fidget, trying not to be embarrassed about being shut down. I bite at the end of my thumbnail absently while I try to appear as if I’m not watching him work. It’s only that his dark curls sort of fall into his eyes with his head bent like it is, and the way his flannel shirt (green this time) is rolled at the sleeves…I’m just saying. Forearm porn could be a thing if we believe hard enough.
“So, um,” I start nervously, averting my eyes to my lap as I attempt a casual tone. “I called my friend today. The one fromTravel Quarter.”
Hunter tenses, his hands going still on the paper as he looks back up at me. “What?”
“I thought…I don’t know. I just wanted to reach out to him. It really stuck with me, what you said last night, and I know that this place could do well if someone gave it half a chance.”
His expression remains blank, eyes flicking down to the wooden countertop as if thinking. “Huh.”
“Are you mad?”
“What?” He seems confused when he looks back up. “Mad? I mean…” His mouth opens and closes briefly as if considering his words. “I’m not mad. I just…Why do you want to help so much? Or I guess I mean…more than you already are.”
Don’t start asking questions that I don’t even know the answers to myself, buddy.
I shrug as nonchalantly as I can manage. “It’s not a big deal,” I say weakly. “It was just a phone call.”
“Uh-huh.” I can feel him looking at me even when I’m still too afraid to look up. “And what did your friend say?”
“After he saw the photos, he said he thinks this place has real potential. He’s talking to his editor about getting it a page in the next issue for this ‘Secret Getaways’ segment they’re doing.” I realize how presumptuous I sound. “I mean…that is…if you evenwantthat. It would mean we’d have to do an interview. Plus, we’d have to really speed up the timeline to get the foyer done next week. And then we would need to make sure you own something that isn’t flannel. Actually, maybe people would dig the flannel. We could—” Idolook up then, catching the strange expression on his face. “What?”
“You keep saying ‘we,’ ” he says, almost like a question.
“Oh.” I feel my neck heat. “Well…of course I wouldn’t mind helping you get ready for it. You’ve been helping me out—”
“I didn’t offer to help you to get anything in return.”
“—and Jeannie has been cooking for me this entire time—”
“That’s part of your stay.”
“—and I just want to help, okay?”
He looks at me again with that expression I can’t make heads or tails of, causing me to question everything I’ve done as I start toworry all over again that I’ve overstepped. He doesn’t say anything in response to the things I’ve said, and I can feel myself about three seconds from beginning to squirm before I blessedly hear the horn honk outside.
“Oh shit. That’s my brothers,” I half sputter as I push up from the chair. “Just…think about it, okay? He’s supposed to call me back soon, but if it’s not something you want, I totally respect that. But I thought it couldn’t hurt to call.”
Hunter nods as he watches me go, and still I canfeelhis eyes on me, even when I don’t look back. Outside the cold air seems extra icy as I shrug into my coat, and I can only imagine that it’s because my face is most likely as red as my lipstick. Thomas is leaning out the window of his jacked-up Chevy, waving me over, and I pick up the pace as I try not to think about the innkeeper I’m leaving behind. Mostly trying not to be embarrassed about the way I just railroaded his life and, even worse, the way he flat out rejected my attempt at sort of somewhat asking him out.
Told you he could have said no, my brain mocks.
As I climb into the truck, I think to myself that it really is a bummer.
“—and I wastelling Jarred about the time you renovated that cabin in Wyoming,” Cat is rattling off as we step inside the bar, tapping snow off our shoes. “That kitchen lives rent free in my brain. Not to mention flooring! One day I definitely want to—”
“Babe, take a breath,” Jarred laughs. “You’re going into overdrive.”
Cat looks sheepish even as her boyfriend throws an arm around her. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I assure her as I follow them toward a booth against the wall. “I really loved that project.”
Fred’s is both everything and nothing like I expected—scuffed wood flooring that’s seen better days, a massive hand-carved bar that stretches down one side of the entire room parallel to a line of red leather booths on the opposite wall, and an array of sometimes-cracked neon signs that range from beer brands to half-naked ladies.
It’s sort of amazing, actually.
Cat and Jarred pile in on one side of the booth as I take the other, his head coming a good foot above her petite frame even when sitting. His hair is tied back with an elastic, and his light brown skin complements her olive tones in a way that has them looking like some sort of model couple. He throws an arm around her shoulders as he stretches out, scratching at his neat beard absently as he turns to crane his neck toward the bar in search of a waitress.
