She glares at me but prances off quickly.
“Did you steal her boyfriend in high school or something?”
“Or something.”
I take another bite of my burrito. It’s far tastier than I want to admit to Adam, especially since he ordered for me instead of asking what I wanted.
I certainly don’t want him to know how much I liked that he took the chance. God, my priorities are messed up. Adam Lancaster is probably two decades older than me. Give or take. And the confidence, the swagger, the experience…
It makes the way he’s looking at me all the more intense. More telling.
And I like it.
I shouldn’t though. Older men have been the pinnacle of my every bad decision. I’m not prepared for whatever he’s got up his sleeve.
“Something to do with you evolving from being the perfect princess to a healthy and normal young woman?”
Did he really just say that? Does he really not know already?
I snort, biting into my burrito again. I maintain eye contact, and he doesn’t back down. In fact, it almost looks like he inflates with a little puff of his chest.
I wipe sauce from the corner of my mouth, watching him follow the movement. And he smirks.
I swear he might burn something down with the heat he’s slinging my way as my thumb dips between my lips. This is not safe. Not good.
However…
The heat that floods me is not normal. God, I am so messed up.
“I’m not sure healthy is accurate, but more normal than the people here think is acceptable.”
It doesn’t take me long to finish my treat, and we’re moving again.
Finally, he’s shifted his attention from studying me. More people are on the street as they move around for lunch.
Adam’s sending serious looks at people as they watch us. Has he not heard the story? Or stories as it were? Who knows how many versions are floating around at this point.
Or maybe he has heard, and that’s why he’s hovering. He’s my type after all.
Even the crinkling lines around his eyes when he smirks at me is sexy.
His directness is even hotter. He hasn’t backed away from one of my stare downs so far.
Adam Lancaster is not a shy or timid man. I should feel fully inadequate next to him, but I don’t.
After another sharp look at two older ladies whispering to each other and pointing at me with their canes, Adam clears his throat loudly, and they hurry off. “So far, I don’t find anything unacceptable about you.”
A renewed heat fills my cheeks. No one’s been bold enough to openly defend me.
Believe me, maybe. But not defend me to others.
Plus the constant contact…his hand has found a permanent spot along my spine as if he’s afraid I’m going to turn tail and run.
To be fair, that is my M.O.
“I feel like you’ve had too much time to perfect your smooth talk.”
Somehow, we’re on the sidewalk in front of my house, and he pauses. Does he know enough to know where I live or was it me who led us here and slowed us to a stop?
