He was cute. Not so stunning that she was put off. He was that warm guy who probably had a lot of women friends because he was nice.
“You were nineteen when she was born?” That was a big age gap. For some reason she wanted to keep the conversation going.
“Yep.” His lips curled up, and he was awfully cute when he smiled. “She’s my half sister, though that’s a ridiculous qualification. She’s my sister, and I have an even younger brother. My mom’s second act was pretty spectacular. Hey, Leslie. Can I get another beer?”
The bartender slid the old-fashioned in front of Tess and nodded the man’s way. “Sure thing, David. Is she okay?”
“Carys? She’s dealing with mean-girl crap,” the man named David said. “It sucks, but she’ll get through it. She’s a smart kid, and she’s got a network of friends who don’t go to her high school.”
The bartender popped the top off a longneck and replaced the one David had finished. “I’m glad to hear it. Your burger should be ready soon.”
A burger. That sounded so good. She was probably going to be eating something super fancy like pâté or Cornish game hens with caviar.
“I think you’ll find Leslie makes an excellent old-fashioned,” David said. “It can be a tricky one to get right.”
“Don’t I know it?” She took a sip, and it was excellent. “That is good. I bartended for a couple of years.”
“Me, too. It’s how I got through college.”
“With all those books, I would say you’re still in college.” Those weren’t fiction books. They were older tomes, reminding her of the science books her dad collected. That was when she realized who she was dealing with. Not the man, but the type. There was a reason the guy in front of her felt comfortable. “You’re a professor.”
He grimaced. “I’m not even wearing a tweed jacket. Do I give off ivory-tower vibes or something?”
“Nah, I just know the type. I’m the daughter of two teachers. My dad taught biology at a community college, and my mom was a high school Spanish teacher. She’s retired now, but she still volunteers. And it’s the books. They’re older and not from a library or a college bookstore. You’re taking notes. You’re either a writer researching something or a professor researching something. I made an educated guess.”
He tipped his beer her way. “Well, it was a good one. I’m a junior professor at UT Dallas, and I am working on a biography of a quirky South American billionaire who bought an island and created his own country.”
“Oh, that’s interesting. When I think ‘history professor,’ I think of medieval England or the Ottoman Empire.” She relaxed a bit, enjoying the conversation. How long had it been since she’d talked to a guy simply because it was nice to talk to him? And not about the security industry. That was all the guys in her office talked about. Work and sports.
“I know about those, too. They emphasize European history in American schools, but I did a semester at University of São Paulo and kind of fell in love with South American history and contemporary politics,” he explained. “And I’m surprised. Your eyes haven’t glazed over yet.”
Oh, she liked his smile, and he wasn’t wearing a ring. Hadn’t she told herself she wasn’t going to do this? But really, what was she doing? Talking to some random pretty man in a bar she didn’t frequent often. She’d been to Top for office-related occasions and a couple of times with Michael, but she typically went to less fancy places for food. She was more of a food truck girl. Why shouldn’t she spend the half an hour or so she had chatting up the attractive professor? “Well, like I said, I’m the child of two teachers, so you can hit me with all the lofty terms you like. It makes me feel at home. I come from a long line of intellectuals.”
Her brothers had all gone into white-collar professions. Two lawyers and an accountant, and their precious baby girl had screwed everything up by going into the Army and then becoming a bodyguard.
“Well, that’s good to know.” He held out a hand. “I’m David Hawthorne.”
She took it. His hand was warm and surprisingly callused for a professor. He’d done work in his time and probably still did. “Tessa Santiago. Nice to meet you.”
“Same.” He sat back. “You know it’s funny. One of my favorite teachers was Mrs. Santiago. She taught Spanish at Bell High School.”
Her jaw dropped because it was such a small world. “Seriously? That’s my mom. She taught at Bell forever. Dad was at TCC.”
“You’re little Tess.” His whole face lit up. “Sorry. Your mom talked about you. She used your name in many assignments. La pequeña Tess no tiene zapatos.”
“I wasn’t that little, and I always had shoes. I’m roughly the same age as you.” It was crazy how embarrassed she could still get. And his accent was good. He didn’t sound like some Texans speaking Spanish.
“Were we in the same class?” David asked.
“I went to Trinity,” she admitted. “We actually lived in Euless, so Mom taught at Bell, but all of her kids went to the enemy school.” Bell and Trinity were high schools with a healthy rivalry. It was something she and her brothers had regularly teased their mom about. It was nice to talk to someone who came from her old neighborhood. “I’m sure that we passed each other at the stadium on Friday nights, though.”
“Ah, you are under the mistaken impression that I attended football games. You need to meet my brother. He was the football guy. I was likely studying for Academic Decathlon.” He winced. “I was kind of a nerd in high school. I’m probably still a nerd.”
He was a hot nerd, and she couldn’t forget how he’d handled his sister. “I only went for the soda. It wasn’t allowed in my house, but I could sneak it at the games.”
“Here you go.” The bartender was back, and she’d brought heaven with her. She placed a burger and some of the crispiest-looking fries she’d ever seen in front of David before glancing back Tessa’s way. “Can I get you some food?”
Tessa frowned. “No. I’m supposed to eat froufrou stuff. I’m here for a party.”
The bartender sighed in obvious envy. “Oh, they are having the most delicious quail this evening. And the foie gras is divine. You’ll love it.”
The bartender turned away.
“You do not look like you love duck liver,” David pointed out. “I’m going to admit something, and you can never tell a soul. I think it’s gross, and I don’t like escargot. I don’t care how much garlic and butter you smother it in, it still tastes like snails and dirt.”
She liked him quite a bit. “Why can’t I tell anyone?”
“Because my mom works here, and she’s proud of the food. I’m going to admit that I’m more of a Tex-Mex guy.” He gestured to the basket in front of him. “But they make a fabulous burger and fries, and I can share if you like. It might fortify you for the four-course extravaganza to come.”
Her stomach rumbled. She was actually hungry, and it was for more than food. She wanted to talk to this man. “All right, David. I’ve got a couple of minutes. So how did a kid from Bell High School end up in Brazil? Did you know your Spanish wouldn’t work there?”