Page 76 of Hopeless
“Yeah? How’s the job hunt going, Bailey?”
She tips her chin up defiantly. “Great. I dropped off a bunch of resumes this morning.”
“And this week?”
Her jaw ticks. “You know I did.”
“Hear anything back?”
“Fuck you,” she murmurs with a shake of her head, clearly frustrated.
“You can’t keep letting those assholes see that you’re scared of them.”
“I’m not!” she snaps, and I know I’ve hit a sensitive spot.
“You’re better than them, Bailey.”
We have a silent staredown. I know she’ll never respond to my statement. I suspect, deep down, she doesn’t believe the words.
But I do.
“Get dressed. We leave in”—I lift a wrist to check my watch—“two hours. I’ll take you to dinner first.”
“No.”
“Fine. I’ll take you wearing that.” I wave a hand over her orange bikini. “Since I’m so impulsive, I’ll probably break the wrist of every fucker who so much as looks at you.”
Her jaw drops, mouth opening so daintily. The speechless reaction fuels me, so I prop my helmet on the new bike and bound up the stairs to get showered.
But not before I stop at her chair, fist her ponytail, tug her head back to drop a kiss to her forehead, and say, “Let’s go give ‘em something to talk about, sugar tits.”
“Everyone is staring at us.”
“No, they aren’t,” I reply while regarding the check.
“They are.”
I don’t bother glancing up. I know people are gawking. Talking. Whispering. I don’t especially care, but Bailey does. She’s kept her eyes downcast, and she’s spent most of our dinner with her left hand hidden beneath the table.
“They’re only staring because we’re sitting on the same side of this booth, which is fucking weird.”
Her head snaps up as she hisses, “You’re the one who yanked me in here beside you!”
I smile at her because I like when she’s feisty and shit. Normally, I’d hate the sensation of being boxed into a corner where there’s no view of the door and no easy escape. It’s a terrible defensive position. But it was worth it to not leave her alone on the other side, exposed to prying eyes—worth it to feel Bailey so close for an entire meal.
I reach up and drape an arm over her shoulders, pulling her stiff body into mine. Then I drop my head, dusting my lips over the shell of her ear. “Fuck yeah, I did. And I’d do it again.”
When she tilts her face up to mine, her breath whispers against my lips as her eyes move around my face.
We’re seated in the fanciest steakhouse that Chestnut Springs offers. It’s booked solid, full of people, on a Thursday night that coincides with the kickoff of our weeklong town fair.
But when she looks at me with this intensity, our surroundings melt away.
I don’t know how no one else sees it. Seesher. It’s like we’re all staring at the same painting and every other person in this town is missing the point.
Without thinking too long about it, I drop my head closer and let a sliver of light through the door of our arrangement. An opening for her to kiss me.
“We should go,” she whispers, tilting her head ever so slightly. Her soft lips graze my rough stubble, and I’m transported back to that night at 2:11 when she came into my room. Those same lips against my chest. Her tight heat around my fingers. My utter lack of control to stop myself where she was concerned.
