He studied the hamburger in his hand. “So you’re saying my dinner is at the epicenter of world hunger and basically the end of the natural world as we know it?” He stared right into my eyes as he took a huge bite. “What a delicious way to go,” he said around a mouthful of food.
“You’re a horrible person.” I stabbed at a piece of romaine lettuce with my fork.
“Awwww. I’m sure you say that to all the guys.”
A cherry tomato died at the end of my fork tines. “Why are you here?”
He wiped his mouth and lifted a fry. “I thought it was pretty obvious.” He popped the fried potato wedge in his mouth. “I’m eating dinner.”
A cucumber succumbed to my silverware attack. “No. Why are you here?”
He looked right at me and repeated slowly, “I thought it was pretty obvious.”
Obvious to whom? The need to reduce the human carbon footprint was obvious. The need for social reforms was obvious. Why a man I couldn’t stand and who had made his mocking regard of me evident chose to not only eat with me but blackmail me to do so was about as clear as a mud puddle.
“How’s Sierra?”
His jump in topic and the casual way he brought my daughter into conversation left me reeling. “Pardon?”
His brow quirked. “Your daughter? Eight years old, about this high”—he motioned with his hand—“and too smart for her own good.”
“I know who my daughter is.”
He shrugged. “You seemed confused.”
My molars ground together. “She’s fine.”
“Still playing soccer?”
I pushed down the queasiness in my gut. Sierra didn’t get her athletic prowess from me. And as much as I encouraged her to put her energy into debate club and her chess team, she’d still managed to talk me into signing her up for team sports. Stupid debate club coming back to bite me on the behind.
It took all my will to remove the anxious tension I felt when I pictured my daughter padded up and on the field. “No. She decided she wanted to try football.”
“Flag?”
“Tackle.”
Drew blanched. “But the league here is co-ed with a high majority of players being boys.” He said it as if I weren’t aware of the ramifications.
I bristled at his tone. “And I’m not raising a wilting daisy.”
He studied me, thoughts skimming across his face, never settling long enough for me to get a read. “What made you so…”
“Dramatic?” The word punched out my lungs.
He shook his head slowly, almost as if my word choice saddened him. “I was going to say passionate.”
Passionate sounded…nice? But that couldn’t be right. In the months I’d been acquainted with Drew, he’d never said a nice thing to me. No, his M.O. was to see how many of my buttons he could push. He got some sick satisfaction in working me up into a tizzy. I told myself repeatedly not to rise to his bait, but there were a few (okay, a lot) of issues I refused to stay silent on. Which meant passionate to me—me caring enough about things to fight for them—but probably meant something different to him. A wild, unbalanced harridan with too much zeal and not enough self-control.
“I only seem passionate because you look at the world through a lens of apathy.”
His jaw clenched then released. A low chuckle rumbled through his chest and he stood. “Come on. We’ve eaten and discussed three topics. Let me walk you to your car so you can collect your money.”
He threw a one hundred dollar bill on the table while I stood. If he thought I’d let him pay and somehow be indebted to him, he had another thing coming. I opened my purse, but a hand closed around the opening.
“Don’t.” All playfulness vanished from his eyes, and they seemed to darken somehow. “I can’t make that guy take back the lies he said to you—and they were lies, Nicole—but I can prevent him from heaping insult on top of injury by taking care of the check and tip.”
Where had the immature version of Drew gone? Who was this man in his place? Shocked from an argument, I nodded in agreement. He placed his hand on the small of my back, the pressure reigniting my brainwaves enough to have the mental acumen to move away from his touch.
I couldn’t see his grin but felt it thickening between us.
“Is this you?” He nodded to my pale-blue electric car with the Save the chubby unicorns bumper sticker outlining a white rhino.
I pressed the button on my key fob to unlock the doors.
“For our next date, I’ll pick you up in my SUV. It might use more gas, but at least it wasn’t made on the backs of child labor in cobalt mines.” He turned and started to walk away.
“I’m not going… My car wasn’t…” I sputtered, his mocking laugh echoing in my ears.
Crime-a-nitally, I really hated that guy.
2
Drew
Nicole Applegate was one infuriating woman. Ninety percent of the time I wanted to shake some sense out of her. Yes, out. (She had way too much for her own good.) The other ten percent, I thought it would be a better idea to kiss her senseless. Either way, I one hundred percent thought she needed to relax a bit more.
She was as tightly wound as violin strings. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoyed plucking those tight strings and hearing her sing. And man, could she let out a full concerto on the right topic. But the woman never rested. If she wasn’t careful, all those beautiful strings were going to snap, then all she’d be left with was a gorgeously-shaped piece of wood. Elegant curves and all.
No hum of an internal combustion engine announced the car pulling up to the stop sign beside me. I paused at The Loft’s entrance and turned to see Nicole behind the wheel of her green machine. I had no idea if she called her electric car that, but remembering the outrage in her cobalt-blue eyes when I accused her vehicle of supporting child mining made my lips turn up.
I stared at her through the driver’s side window. No way she couldn’t feel someone’s eyes on her. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel, but she stubbornly refused to turn her head and look at me. Once the car with right of way at the four-way stop passed the intersection, Nicole accelerated like a turtle—although I bet she wished she had some horses under that hood that could peel away with rubber burning—and left me in a cloud of dust only seen in her imagination.
I chuckled, shook my head, and opened the front door to the restaurant. I’d been at the bar waiting for a to-go order when I’d overheard Nicole and jerkface’s conversation. I’d wanted to haul him out of the restaurant by the back of the collar and banish him and his not-so-subtle jab at Nicole’s figure. Then maybe I’d do him a favor and toss the card of one of my optometrist friends at him, because he was obviously blind. Nicole may’ve had a sharp tongue, but she was soft in ways that made a man entertain thoughts he shouldn’t.
Like kissing her senseless ten percent of the time.
“Ready for your order?” the bartender asked when he noticed my presence.
“Yes. Thank you.” He slipped to the back and returned with a large paper bag. I handed him a five dollar bill as a tip, took the food, and left.