“But I…”
“Don’t like fries?” I raise my eyebrow again.
“Everyone likes fries.”
“Everyone?” I ask her.
“Maybe not everyone, but those people are monsters.”
“Then we’ll eat, yeah?”
She tucks a lock of her dark-brown hair behind her ear as the pink hits her cheeks again. “I could eat some fries.”
“Burger too. They make the best here.”
“They do?” she asks me, telling me she isn’t a regular, but I knew that because I would’ve zeroed in on her if I’d seen her before.
“One bite and you’ll never want anything else,” I promise her.
“Are you sure you don’t have anyone else to be with? I’d hate to keep you from someone.”
“Babe, I came alone and planned to leave alone. I just wanted to stop by for a drink, watch all the happy bullshit, and go to bed. I have no plans. No hot date waiting for me. Nothing. Nada. No one.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Fries and a burger?” I ask her again.
She nods with a smile so small I almost miss it.
“Jimmy,” I call out as he breezes by us, the bar area busier than it was a few minutes ago. He looks my way, stepping back in front of where we’re standing. “Can I get two burgers and fries?”
He grimaces, tipping his head and sucking in a breath between his teeth. “Kitchen’s only making fancy shit tonight, man. I can probably twist an arm for a basket or two of fries, but that’s about it.”
“Fuck,” I hiss, my mouth already watering at the thought of a greasy burger. “Two fries will work.”
“I’ll try my best,” he says before disappearing into the back.
“Come here often?” she asks me, her eyes on the swinging door where Jimmy has gone.
“Not often often, but I’ve known Jimmy most of my life.”
“Small towns,” she sighs, bringing the glass of whiskey to her mouth.
“Seeing as I’ve never seen your face, I assume you’re not from around here.”
She shakes her head as she pulls the glass away, licking the liquid from her lips. “Chicago.”
“No shit. I have family in Chicago. Great fucking city.”
“It’s the best,” she replies, her lips no longer curved into a smile. “I wish I’d never left.”
“Why did you leave?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes life requires a fresh start.”
“Ain’t that shit the truth,” I mumble under my breath.
I’ve wanted a fresh start for years, putting the nightmare of that night behind me. But I know, no matter where I go, the memories will always find me. There is no escaping the reality, regardless of how far away I put myself.
“Fries will be out in five,” Jimmy says, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“Thanks, man.”
“Anytime,” he tells me before taking off toward the other end of the bar, where some barely dressed girls are using their breasts as a lure to get his attention.
“My knees feel funny,” Arlo states before taking another sip of her drink.
I grab on to her arm near the elbow as she starts to sway, and with the other hand, I push the tall stool behind her ass. “Sit.”
She plops backward, her ass landing on the edge of the stool, and gapes at me. “You’re very…”
“Handsome?”
“No.”
“No?”
She smiles, and it lights up the room. “Well, kind of, but that’s not the word I was going for.”
“I’m wounded.”
She tips her head back, laughing, and places her hand on my arm. The contact is innocent, but her touch scorches me. “You’re crazy.”
“I’ve been called worse,” I tell her, doing nothing to move my arm away from her hand.
“I find that hard to believe. You seem sweet.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“I didn’t say you looked sweet.” She smirks. “You look like sin, but what you did tonight is sweet.”
“I look like sin?” I raise an eyebrow, giving her the smirk right back.
“You look like trouble.”
“Got me there, beautiful.”
Beautiful is an understatement.
Her green eyes are so striking, I can’t stop staring at them, even if they are framed by thick black glasses. My gaze doesn’t even wander lower to check out her rack, which is typically where it goes after I see a pretty woman’s face.
Jimmy places the basket of fries between us, and Arlo instantly moves her hand away like we’ve been caught having a moment we shouldn’t be having.
“These look great,” she says, immediately grabbing a fry, but I touch her wrist, stopping her before she pops it into her mouth.
“Babe. You still want a tongue?”
She looks at me funny before her eyes dip to the French fry hanging between her fingers. “What?”
I tick my chin toward the little potato. “I don’t even know how you have skin on your fingers holding that fry, but your mouth won’t fare so well.”
She drops the fry, the burn finally hitting her skin. “Shit.” She places the pads between her lips and slides them into her mouth. “I wasn’t thinking,” she mumbles around her fingers.
“Happens to the best of us. Just give them a minute to cool down.” I nudge her glass of water in front of her. “Hold it.”
“What?” she says, looking at me like I’m a weirdo again, but she’s the one with her fingertips still in her mouth. “Why?”
“The cold glass will stop the burning.”
She shakes her head, muttering under her breath. “Sorry. It’s been a long night.”
“Don’t apologize. How could you know about the wicked ways of their French fries? But now you’ve learned—the hard way, mind you, but you learned.”
She reaches for the glass of water and lets out a loud sigh when her fingertips slide against the cool condensation.
“Better?”
“Much,” she says, leaning forward over the bar, looking more relaxed than she was a few minutes ago. “Thank you.”
I test a fry, giving her fingers a break. “They’re better now, but you may want to blow on them.”
“You go ahead,” she replies, smiling at me again. “I’ll let you test them for safety reasons.”
She watches my hands carefully as I place the fry against my lips before pulling it between my teeth. Her eyes are glued to my mouth, her lips parted, and the air changes, almost crackling around us.
When my tongue sweeps across my bottom lip, taking in the salt, her lips part even more. “Guess they’re safe,” she whispers.
“They’re perfect.”
“They sure are,” she says, but she’s not looking at my eyes or the fries. Her gaze is still firmly planted on my lips in rapt attention.
“You going to have one?” I ask her when she doesn’t move.
Her cheeks turn pink. “I should go.”
“You don’t have to leave.”
She glances down at her hand still wrapped around the glass, gripping it like her life depends on the connection. “No, really. I have to go,” Arlo says, pushing herself away from the bar, releasing the glass. “It’s late, and I’ve been enough trouble.”