“Yes.”
Nash slides in next to me, watching me scroll through the options. I’ve stopped actually reading the screen. How can I? Nash Watson is so close his body is touching mine. “Can I pick one?” he asks close to my ear. I feel the hairs on my arms stand on end. He does that to me––the man gives me goose bumps.
I sigh. I’m going to have to engage with him. The sooner I do, the sooner he’ll go away. Maybe he’ll take Max with him. “Sure.” I move to the side slightly as Nash begins to scroll through the list. I swear, if he picks Bon Jovi….
“I remember you loving this song. You used to play it constantly.” He points to a song by The Police.
I nod. I still love it.
“And U2,” he says, selecting another song.
“Hey,” I say, pushing up against him. “Use your own money if you want to choose songs.”
Nash chuckles and moves to his right, allowing me to get back to the task at hand. I look over and up at him. “You can go now.”
“Nah, I think I’ll stay and make sure you don’t play any Bon Jovi.”
I roll my eyes but inwardly smile. How does he know so much about my taste in music? I guess I used to listen to music a lot at the farm. I’m just surprised he noticed.
“I won’t be playing any Bon Jovi. You’re safe.” I nudge him with my elbow. “Go on. Go sit with your friends or whatever.” I scan the room quickly, wondering who he’s here with.
“All right.”
When he turns to leave, the warmth I felt on my right side is gone and it makes me a little sad. I liked him close. Choosing the eighteenth and final song, I turn toward my table and stare. Nash is in my seat. Max is still in the chair next to the table, and Rose is leaning in, moving her lips. What is she saying to them? I rush to the table and stare down at the small space left open beside Nash.
“Sit.” He pats the seat.
Growling, I slide into the tiny spot and realize I have to press my entire hip and thigh against him in order to fit on the seat. Great, just great.
13
Nash
What are the odds?I’ve been to Sisters a hundred times, and I’ve never seen Isabelle here. And you want to know something? I don’t think I like it. Not when I walked in and saw fucking Max Lang sitting at her table. Sure, I was supposed to meet him here for a beer, but I didn’t think he’d be sniffing around my… Isabelle.
What the fuck am I talking about? Of course he’d be sniffing around Isabelle. She’s got pin-up girl written all over her, and that’s something Max can’t resist. I stand back for a minute or two and watch them interact. The other teacher is doing most of the talking, but Max is chattering on as well, while Isabelle sits back looking uncomfortable. I swear I see a blush creep up from the front of her top to her face. They’re embarrassing her. Isabelle slides out of the booth just as I approach. I guess she doesn’t see me because she runs right into me. I quickly take hold of her arms, so she doesn’t fall. “You okay?”
She mumbles a response before walking toward the jukebox. As I watch her leave, Max greets me. “Yo, man. You’re late.”
Of course I’m late. I had shit to do. Then I had to drop Andi off at my mom’s place for the night. I can’t very well drink beer with Max, then expect to drive my daughter home, can I? No, I can’t. I shrug. Looking at the table, I see a pitcher of beer along with Max’s preferred import. “Let me get some beer.” But I don’t head to the bar. Instead, I find myself standing as close to Isabelle as I can without wrapping her up in my arms—which I’d very much like to do but know I can’t.
I help her choose some of her favorite songs until she waves me away. Literally. She tells me to “Go on. Go join your friends.”
That’s a great idea. I turn and make my way back to the table, stopping first to buy beer for Max and the girls and grab a water for me. When Isabelle approaches the table, I want to laugh. Her face can’t hide a damn thing. I’m in her seat, but there’s room for both of us, so I pat the seat. “Sit.” And surprisingly, she does without a fuss. No doubt it’s because this place is getting busy and making a fuss would draw attention to herself. When her thigh and arm are pressed up against me, I lean down to whisper. “How was your day, babe?”
She turns her head so slowly she looks more like an owl than Isabelle. “Babe?” she whisper-hisses.
I shrug. What can I say? It feels natural to call her that. “So? Your day?”
“Fine. It was fine.”
When she doesn’t ask me anything in return, I volunteer, “My day was good. Cy is doing well.”
That got her. “Oh?” She smiles. “That’s good to hear?”
“Yep.” I nod. “Cal sorted that all out.”
“Good. So glad that has a happy ending.”
