“I didn’t tell him.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
“West is four years older than me. He had his own life. He had his own stuff going on. I was never going to go whining to him whenever I had a difficulty. That’s just … it’s silly. It wasn’t something that I needed to do. So I didn’t do it.”
“He should have. He should’ve known, and he should’ve beaten them up.”
She laughed and rested her head against the back of the seat. “Appreciated.”
There was something soft about her then. And it evoked something in his chest. Because now he was looking at her and seeing something other than all that brash attitude she put on display; now he was looking at her and he was seeing someone softer. Someone who had been treated badly in this life.
Someone who wasn’t all that different from him.
They were seated at the table, and he knew that everyone was paying attention to them. That people were fascinated by seeing them together. Especially because word of Jessie Jane’s candidacy was now common knowledge in the area. But also because not only were the two of them never seen at nicer establishments, but the two of them were never intentionally seen together. Not before this past week. Jessie tossed her head, her glossy brown hair shimmering over her shoulders. She smiled as she looked at the menu. She slippedback into that cocky ease. That ease he was beginning to realize was a mask, and an important one.
A defense against being wounded.
She looked down at the wine list. “I don’t really know anything about wine.”
He saw her bravado falter just a little bit then.
“Do you like it?”
“I guess. I favor a bottle of Two Buck Chuck, if I ever have it.”
“I’ll choose something for you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Let me.”
He reached out and put his hand over hers. It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t part of this game they were playing. The back-and-forth dares, the tit for tat. He wanted to reassure her. His intention wasn’t sexual, but it didn’t stop him from feeling all the heat and fire he always felt whenever she was near.
Her cheeks turned pink, and she looked down.
“I’ve got it,” he said. “What are you interested in for dinner?”
“I like pasta,” she said.
“Good. I’ll choose a wine that I think would go well with your pasta.”
“How did you learn that?”
“Oh, I have at different times in my life tried to figure out what the hell I might talk to my family about. You know, that family.”
“Oh.”
The waiter,Bradley—Flynn took a dislike to him immediately, though he wasn’t sure why—came to the table. He was one of those servers who didn’t write anything down, and Flynn was never a huge fan of that.
But, as long as the guy got their order right, he supposed he would be impressed, rather than annoyed.
But then he saw Bradley look down Jessie’s dress, and he decided his initial irritation was justified.
But Bradley wasn’t here with Jessie, and Flynn was.
Flynn ordered some fancy-sounding appetizers. Then he chose two different pasta dishes, and glasses of wine he thought would complement them both, so that he and Jessie could split the meal and get some variety.
“Wow. I didn’t know you could pass for civilized.”
