Chapter 3
~ Braden ~
Now what?
Sammie swallowed my Mitch story, and I owe her at least a steak dinner. Even worse, I have no idea what I’m going to do with her when I get to San Francisco.
Although, judging from the sparks of heat prickling my skin every time I glance at her, my body knows exactly what to do with a hot hacker with lightning fast fingers.
“Since you’re Mitch’s man,” she says after her stomach growls loudly. “I say you treat me to a king-sized steak. He’s paying, right?”
Actually, I’m going to have to pay, but for now, I better stick to the charade until I figure out how to turn her into an asset. Actually, her beauty and the waves of attraction tangling between us is already an asset, but I’ll need her help to nail Mitch eventually.
Since Christmas is coming up, and I have some downtime before reporting in, I can allow myself some time to fantasize about this intriguing woman.
Unlike my usual type, she’s a petite brunette with flyaway ends in need of a haircut. Her light-brown eyes are rimmed with thick, dark lashes, and her lips are plump and juicy. Yeah, I can picture her tongue wrapped around a king-sized piece of meat, red and rare.
I clear my throat and answer her. “Mitch is going to pay, all right, but it can’t be a blank check.”
“Aw, come on, now. Mitch can’t be so stingy when I sat my ass in the can without implicating him.” She taps my shoulder, and an electric spark jangles straight to the tip of my dick. “Put it on the expense account and tell him he owes me.”
“What exactly does he owe?” I tamp down the waves of lust surging through my bloodstream and ease the car into the fast lane.
“My silence.” She clamps her lips shut. “Weren’t you the wise guy who told me to keep quiet?”
“Uh, that was me impersonating Mitch. Since you’re with me now, feel free to dish.”
“Not opening my mouth for anything but a big, juicy steak.” She pulls a baggie from her backpack and takes out a tube of lipstick.
Yikes. My cock throbs at the bright-red ring she could smear around it. I better find that steakhouse, so I can watch her lips in action.
I tap the navigation system and ask it to search for restaurants near the pass through the Sierra Nevada mountain range.
After locating a roadhouse not far from the interstate, I follow the directions to a quaint diner called Sherelle’s Roadhouse.
It’s nestled underneath a stand of ancient sequoia trees, and the parking lot is unpaved, but covered with gravel. A pocket of rusty pickup trucks and beat up cars are parked close to the doorway, and sawdust covers the steps leading to the wraparound porch.
“This looks like a freaky, out of the way place,” Sammie says, glancing out the window at the dark shadows cast by the towering trees.
“Don’t judge a book by the cover,” I proclaim, swinging myself out the door so I can come around the passenger side.
“I expected something more upscale.” She tugs at the hem of her sweatshirt and shrugs. “But I’ll keep an open mind, as long as Mitch treats me to spa day at a casino.”
Greedy girl. But how can I blame her when the last three years were boring and monotonous?
“I hope you like this place.” I offer her my arm, and she hangs on—not that it’s slippery or wet or there’s any need for it, other than it feels like a first date for me.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not looking for romance or even a one-night stand, and I’m used to being alone. Even though, I have a largish family—a blended one full of brothers and stepsisters, I stay as far away from them and all their constant pestering and bickering as I can.
A man can spend a lot of nights alone, especially when he lives a lie, and the holiday season is my loneliest time since I refuse to spend it with the people who turned right around and forgot about my mom the very next Christmas after she passed.
I open the heavy metal door to the diner, and we step into the rustic dining area decorated with old mining equipment and yellowed photographs from the Gold Rush times.
A cheerful fire crackles and spits from the stacked stone hearth next to a Christmas tree decorated with spray-painted gold nuggets, golden pine cones, and gold glitter stars.
Sammie’s face beams at the woodsy tree-topper angel rising from a pine cone base. “I’m so glad I got out before Christmas this year.”
“When was the last time you celebrated Christmas?” I ask, pulling her to a booth near the fireplace where a waitress greets us with a breadbasket and menus.
