“You’re too good to me, you know that?” Mitch’s bright blue eyes laughed down into mine, and the curve of his smile felt good against my palm. A dimple even appeared under my thumb and I snatched my hand back, keeping the movement casual. I’d been a breath away from stroking that dimple with the pad of my thumb, and that was getting a little too into character.
“Much better than you deserve. I know.” Our smiles to each other were full of manufactured affection, yet it all felt so . . . comfortable. In a way that talking with Mr. Gray Suit hadn’t.
Mitch stepped closer to me, fitting his body against mine, then glanced over at Mr. Gray Suit as though he’d just noticed him. “Hey, man. You need something?” His voice was light, but his arm tightened around my waist in a not-so-subtle message to the guy on the other side of me. Back off.
Mr. Gray Suit got the message. “Nope. I was uh . . . yeah. Y’all have a good night.” He fumbled for his wallet, then moved down to the end of the bar, where Nikki was waiting to cash him out. She glanced over at us, shaking her head. I could relate. I shook my head a lot when I dealt with Mitch too.
Speaking of . . . now that we were alone, I pulled out of Mitch’s embrace. “What was that all about?”
“What?” He picked up my glass, sniffed at it, then put it down with a grimace. “I was helping you out. That guy was practically drooling down your shirt.”
I scoffed. “I had it handled. I don’t need your help.”
“You don’t have to.” Mitch shrugged. “Needing and wanting are two different things, you know. You can want something and not need it.”
“Fine.” I tilted my head back, finishing off my cider. “Maybe I don’t want it either.”
Mitch looked up at me through his lashes, and for a split second I forgot to breathe. Damn. Was this what women saw when he really turned his attention to them? I didn’t think of Mitch in that way. I mean, sure the man was gorgeous. Well over six feet tall, his physique spoke of lots of quality time spent with a squat rack, and combined with his golden-blond hair and stunningly blue eyes, he looked like someone who had hit the genetic lottery. He had a smile you wanted to bask in, and a jawline you wanted to run a hand down to see if it felt as sharp as it looked.
Something must have shown on my face, because his expression shifted. He lifted an eyebrow, and this was nothing like when Mr. Gray Suit did it a few minutes ago. I caught my bottom lip between my teeth, worrying the skin, and Mitch’s eyes darkened.
“Liar,” was all he said, but his voice had a roughness to it that I’d never heard before. The air between us was charged with electricity, and for the space of a few heartbeats I couldn’t breathe. Worse, I didn’t want to. I bit down on my bottom lip harder so I didn’t do anything stupid. Like bite down on his bottom lip.
Then I forced out a laugh, breaking the spell. “Okay, whatever.” I picked up my glass, and dammit, it was empty. I put it down again.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” Mitch leaned an elbow on the bar. “You’re not a drink-alone-at-the-bar kind of person.”
“How do you know what kind of person I am?” But he just looked at me with his eyebrows raised, and I had to admit he was right. I wasn’t that kind of person. I put my hand over the card and, after a deep breath, slid it across the bar in his direction. He flipped it open, his face darkening as he read.
“Her father?” He closed the card and handed it back to me. “I didn’t realize he was in the picture.”
“He’s not.” I stuck the card in my purse; I’d had enough of Robert for one night.
“But he wants to be, huh?” Mitch gave me a questioning look. “What does Caitlin think about it?”
“I don’t know,” I said wearily. “She’s still deciding. That’s one reason she showed me the card. I think she wants my input.” He nodded, and I hated the pity in his eyes. I didn’t want pity. “Let me get you that beer.” I leaned over the bar, catching Nikki’s attention to order a beer for him and a second cider for me. “The least I can do for helping me get rid of that creep.”
Mitch accepted the beer with a thoughtful look. “You know, if you really want to pay me back, I know a way you can help me out.”
“Oh yeah?” I picked up my cider. That first, icy cold sip was always the best. “How’s that?”
He didn’t meet my eyes. “Be my girlfriend.”
I sputtered through my sip of cider. “Be your what?” I waited for his serious expression to break, for him to give me a grin and turn the whole thing into some kind of innuendo.
But instead he grabbed one of the menus on the bar. “Let’s get some food. Want a pizza or something? My treat.”
My immediate instinct was to say no. I’d been out for an hour or so now, and I was already starting to itch to be home. I’d had enough peopling for one night. But there was something about Mitch that made me want to stay. He didn’t seem quite like himself, and I didn’t want to leave him on his own.
“Sure,” I said. “As long as you leave off the pineapple.”
Mitch snorted. “Like I’d do that to a perfectly good pizza.”
I smiled and leaned over his shoulder to look at the menu in his hand instead of getting my own. We agreed on one with a lot of meat on it and moved with our drinks to a booth. We sat in silence for a little bit while I waited for Mitch to elaborate on this whole “girlfriend” thing, but he didn’t seem inclined to.
“So . . .” I said.
“So . . .” He took a pull off his beer, then cleared his throat. “How’s . . . how’s your leg?”
“My leg?” That was quite a subject change. My car accident was three years ago—not ancient history, but long enough that it wasn’t constantly on my mind. My leg had been all but shattered then. Now it ached a little when it was about to rain. “Fine,” I finally said. “I mean, I pretty much had to give up running, but it’s fine. So why do you need me to be your girlfriend?” May as well be the one to rip off the Band-Aid, if Mitch wasn’t going to do it.
He chuckled around another sip of beer. “I phrased that wrong.”
“So you don’t want me to be your girlfriend.”
“No, I do.” He cocked his head to one side and thought for a moment. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, the pizza isn’t here yet, so why don’t you get started.”
His lips lifted in a smile, but it wasn’t Mitch’s usual. The guy was ridiculously cheerful on the worst of days, but this smile was different. It was hesitant, not like him at all. And that was what kept me sitting in the booth. “So here’s the thing,” he finally said. “There’s this . . . thing.”