“Wasn’t it a different kid a couple days ago?” I ask under my breath.
She nods, eyes on what she’s doing.
“You take in all the strays?”
Her shrug is almost defensive. “I’ll feed whoever’s hungry.”
“That’s one way to run a business.”
“That’s theonlyway.”
Her gaze meets mine and my stomach clenches, though I can’t exactly say why.
No, that’s a lie. I know exactly what it is.
This brings me back to when Dad used to give coffees to the homeless guys who stopped by every morning and sent whole meals home with the couple who came to clean the diner at night. I remember Mom getting pissed because, as she put it, these little gifts, “Ate into the profits,” but in the end, Dad’s funeral was a packed, loving celebration of his life and, well, I don’t know what happened at Mom’s. I couldn’t make it that day.
I’m about to go back to the table when she looks up at me, her expression changing when she catches sight of my full face. “You okay?” she asks.
It takes me a second to realize she’s staring at the bruise beside my eye. “Oh, yeah, just went a little rough at the gym this morning.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Are you a boxer?”
“I fight occasionally.”
“Fight.” The air around her fizzes. She’s probably thinking about last night.
“In a ring.” I give her a smirk. “With a referee. Not always in back alleys. Or parking lots.”
She looks over at the gathered staff and lowers her voice even more. “So. Um, hey. Did you, uh…” Is she blushing? Fuck, she’s pretty. Those big warm eyes—grey-green-brown—that sweet, wide mouth. I can’t stop staring at the little dips above her collarbones and up, up to where I see the faint red imprint of my teeth. Fuck if the sight of it doesn’t make me want to bend her over the bar again. “Did you look?”
“Look at what?”
She steps closer to whisper. “At the schedule. The one I gave you.”
Confusion settles over me until I remember the paper she handed me at the start of the shift. A schedule. I did something with it.
Where is it? Slowly, I set the glasses on the bar, reach back and pull the paper from my pocket.
It’s a calendar. A bunch of dates are marked with big Xs. Not a work schedule, I’m guessing.
“Jake, you know what, maybe this wasn’t…”
Fuck.Me.
It’s a goddamn sex schedule. A whole three weeks of it. Spaced out so there are two per week. Near the end, there are five days that say PERIOD in block letters.
My cock’s instantly hard.
I swallow. “No. This works.” A quick glance at her rosy cheeks, her bright, skittish eyes. “You do that stuff where you, uh, take your temperature? In the morning?”
“Yeah, but…” She won’t look at me, not directly. “You can get pregnant any time. Even during your period.” She points at the paper. “I blacked those days out, though. I know guys?—”
I’ve never considered it before, but I open my mouth and say, “We’ll see.”
Her thick, dark brows lift in surprise. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. TBD, then.” She takes a shuddering breath. “Might already be pregnant, anyway. But, if not, when you get a chance, maybe just confirm which of these dates you can?—”
“All right,” I tell her, folding it more carefully before putting it away. “I’ll let you know.”
