His gaze swings to where I’m touching him. Damn, he feels good, but if I leave it there, I do look too eager.
I drop my hand.
His eyes return to my face. “Why would I think you were doing that? Are you that strategic? Or are you simply that determined?”
I square my shoulders, taking the bait. “I am determined. Make no bones about that. But I don’t need to engineer anything. My guess is that my little sister is playing wingwoman. She was scanning the fair a few minutes ago, and I bet she knew you were going to be here.”
“Ah, yes, of course. I did text your sister to give her a heads-up where I’d be.”
I shoot him a look. “C’mon, man. Your bartender friend. Remember? I bet they were behind this. My sister was talking to her last night, and Emma has a little matchmaker in her.”
Dean laughs, a sexy sound that turns me on then undoes me when he leans a little closer, lowering that deep voice. “Blaming your sister? Seems like a strange excuse when you could just admit you were dying for another opportunity to run into me.”
“Pretty sure that’s obvious, but I’m happy to spell it out if you’d like.”
He pats the back of his jeans, his grin going crooked. “Need a pen?”
“Sure. Paper too? Or do you just want me to give you my hotel key card right now?”
Dean laughs. “So, that’d be a yes for both strategic and determined.”
“Got that right. Incidentally, yes is my favorite word.”
“I’ve no doubt it is.”
Already the picture of Dean is filling in. He’s the kind of guy where I have to read between the lines. And maybe he wants me to.
Because how he says something reveals more than what he says at times. The timbre of his voice, the way he moves closer to me—they give me plenty to read. “Has anyone ever told you that you are an insane flirt for a man who’s already turned another man down?”
Dean strokes his chin, looking to the sky as if deep in thought. “No, I don’t think anyone has told me that. Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“What I’m saying is that you can’t seem to resist flirting with me.”
Dean’s quiet for a moment, meeting my gaze. “If that’s the case, it’s only because you give me so many opportunities to do so.”
“Well, trust me, I plan on giving you plenty more.”
“Is that so?” We walk to the next stall, where he gives the cocktail mixes a once-over.
“Yes, that is so. That’s what I told my sister a few minutes ago,” I admit, because I’m easy to read. I lay my cards on the table.
Dean looks far too pleased with this new detail as he heads down the row, checking out other booths along the way. “And what exactly did you tell her?”
I exaggerate shock. “Dean, are you fishing for compliments? Trying to get me to tell you every little detail that I told sweet Emma?”
Of course, I could tell him that—or the things that I didn’t tell my sister. The things that I kept to myself. Like how I am dying to get my hands on him. To feel him. I bet he’d like hearing that more than he lets on.
But now’s not the time.
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Hmm. Do I want a recap with every detail? That is a quandary.”
I shake my head, amused at how he plays hard to get at times, then not at all at others. “Such a quandary indeed.”
We come to a stop near a couple of booths featuring glasses. Dean’s not looking at me, because he’s checking out shot glasses.
But I’m not letting him off the hook.
I step closer, reaching past him to pick one up.
Letting my arm brush his.
I hear the slightest catch in his breath, then he looks at me, a little more serious for a second.
I wait for him to go next.
And he does. “I guess I do want to know some of the details. Tell me the good ones. Tell me the best ones.”
My skin heats as I run my finger over the shot glass. “I told her I was going to return to your bar tonight. That I wanted to see you again. And that I was pretty damn sure you wanted to see me again too.”
Dean’s lips twitch. “You think so?”
“Yes.”
“Your favorite word.”
“Especially in this situation.”
“And why do you think I want to see you again, Fitz?” His question doesn’t come out as a challenge. It’s an invitation. He wants me to tell him, to lay it out.
“Because I felt the chemistry, and so did you. And you know it’ll be so good for both of us. Ergo, go out with me tonight once you’ve finished your shift.”
There’s that grin again. “Go out with you, or go to your hotel? Which one is it?”
“Both, Dean. Both.” I set the shot glass down and meet his gaze. “I don’t know how to make this more clear. When I see something I want, I do absolutely everything to get it.”
We’re both quiet for a beat as he levels me with a stare that says he’s studying me, trying to figure me out.
Or maybe trying to figure out what he wants from me.
What he’ll let himself have.
Finally, Dean asks, “And am I that something?”
“You are that something, and you are that someone.”
He gives a casual shrug. “You might not like me if you get to know me.”
He walks toward another booth, and I match his strides.
“Maybe you could let me be the judge of that.”
Dean seems to consider this as he segues to another topic. “What’re you doing in England anyway? Are you and your sister on holiday for the summer?”
There’s something more to the question. I’m not sure what exactly, but I have the sense that maybe he’s making sure I’m leaving. Just a hunch. Funny, that he knows so little about hockey he’d think I might stay. Or even stay for the rest of the summer.
“Don’t worry. I have a J-O-B calling my name in the States. My team isn’t moving to London. I’m returning to New York in”—I stop, making a show of looking at my wrist even though I don’t wear a watch—“five days. Thursday, I’m outta here.”
Dean’s eyes seem to spark when I mention the timing, or really, the expiration date. That is intel I file away because it tells me even more about him. “But I’m here now because Emma got into this incredible art program at the University of London. I thought I’d come over with her to get her set up and just have a good time.”
“That’s kind of you,” he says, his tone genuine. “Looking out for her.”
“Well, Emma’s awesome. She’s my baby sister. The others are a little older.”
“How many sisters do you have?”
“Three.”
“What’s that like? Besides loud, I suspect.”
“Are you an only child?”
“Yes. Is it that obvious?”
“Now it is. Only children are notorious for being extremely stubborn and often resort to playing hard to get . . . especially when they’re pursued by the second youngest in a family of four.”
A laugh bursts from his chest. “Was there a study on that?”
“Yes. By the American Journal of Why the Hell Won’t You Have Dinner with Me. But the study found the more persistent the second youngest is, the greater the chance of a yes.”