He nods as he and the blonde head for the door.
“Well, let me check my schedule!” I pull my cell phone from my hip pocket and pretend to bring up my calendar. “Tonight after I get off work, I have drinks with Ryan Reynolds! Tomorrow night it’s dinner with Justin Timberlake! Sunday I have a lunch with Chris Pratt! But, yeah! Look at that! I’m free Sunday morning! I’ll see you there!”
When he throws back his head and laughs, the sound is deep and throaty and…okay…never thought I’d say this about Luc, butsexy. The blonde’s eyes go wide. Then she smiles and glances around the room like she’s in possession of the winning Powerball numbers.
Luc blows me a kiss and ducks out the door with the blonde in tow.
After setting full pint glasses on the bar for two regulars, I watch him walk by the front window and wonder if he plans to take the blonde back to Cash’s or drive her all the way out to the bayou. Part of me hopes it’s Cash’s. I don’t like thinking of him all alone in that dilapidated house. In pain. Suffering.
“I should probably stop by after work to check on him,” I mumble. Then I shake my head and remind myself that’s the last thing I should do.
This afternoon proved that when I’m near him, he’s the moon and I’m the ocean. His gravitational force affects me whether I want it to or not. And that’s not something I’m ready to deal with.
Not yet.
Then again, there’s nothing wrong with leaving a care package on his front stoop, right? Luc said his place is barely livable. Some bread and cheese and maybe my old iPad, which has a gazillion movies downloaded onto it, would go a long way to making him feel more at home.
Besides, how could I call myself a genuine Southerner if I ignored the rules of hospitality?
