That brought me up short. “You can speak Spanish?”
“Solo un poco,” he answered in stunted Spanish. “My nanny, who practically raised me, was Cuban. I learned some of her language from hearing her speak it here and there.”
“Oh,” I said, a little flustered. “And she called you an asshole often?” I tossed back, arching a brow.
He chuckled, shaking his head back and forth. “Not usually, but she had a penchant for calling the little boys who were picking on me at the playground that while she chased after them with a shoe in her hand.”
I gaped at him. “Kids used to pick on you?” I tried to picture the confident, self-assured man in front of me being teased or taunted.
He shrugged. “I wasn’t always this charming and good-looking, you know?”
I rolled my eyes so hard I could practically see my brain.
“The scrawny, ginger-haired kid always gets picked on. Especially when he’s a little smartass who likes to stir up trouble.”
“That sounds more like you,” I said. “Where’s our server? I’m starving.”
“I ordered for us already,” he said, spinning his fork on the table in front of him.
“You what?” I gawked at him.
“I’m starving, too, and you were late,” he stated without looking up from the fork. “So, I ordered my food, and since it seemed rude to only order food for myself, I ordered for you, too.”
“But you don’t know what I like.” My lips pulled down into a frown.
We were eating at the best authentic Mexican restaurant in the city, and I wasn’t even going to get to order what I wanted.
“You order the same thing every time we eat here. I assumed you would order the flautas again tonight.” He spun the fork again, the metallic whirring noise jumbling my thoughts. “Although,” he continued, “I wasn’t sure what kind of drink you would want. Sometimes you get the margarita and other times you get water with two slices of lemon. If I had to guess by looking at you now, I’d say it’s a margarita night.”
I stared at him, perplexed. He remembered my order? Was he this observant with everyone?
Jack and Olivia loved to eat at this place and occasionally they would invite all of us out together. We had only been here a handful of times together, but he remembered my order. I was speechless.
Ben flagged down our waitress. She was thin, her hair sleeked up into a ponytail. The scooped neckline of her black t-shirt showed off her chest. Why did I always end up with drop dead gorgeous waitresses whenever I went out with Ben?
He gestured toward me. “She’s ready to order her drink, Jasmine.”
Oh, great. He was on a first name basis with her already.Jasminelooked at me expectantly.
Ben’s lips twitched as he read the stubbornness in my eyes. As much as I wanted to prove him wrong and order a drink he hadn’t mentioned, a margarita sounded phenomenal after my brief sprint to the restaurant from the cab.
“I’ll have a margarita. Lime. On the rocks and salt the rim, please,” I told her, ignoring the smug look on Ben’s face.
She giggled, nudging Ben with her hip. “You were right!”
Ben chuckled. “I told you I’m good at reading people,” he answered, throwing her a carefree smile.
I narrowed my eyes at his easy flirting, and she rushed off to put my drink order in at the bar. I hated the feeling of jealousy that still writhed and twisted in my stomach like a snake, coiling in on itself, ready to strike.
It was ridiculous. The reality was Ben wasn’t mine. He never had been.
I blew out a frustrated sigh.
Ben stared at me curiously, likely wondering where my mind had gone. I hoped my emotions weren’t as clear to him as my ordering preferences.
I shoved my feelings aside and decided to dissect his appearance instead of my inner turmoil.
His suit was rumpled, his tie slightly askew, and his mane of red hair disheveled. It looked like he’d run his hands through it all day, which he did when he was frustrated. I wondered if my tardiness had caused it or if it was merely work-related.
