Perfect.
I didn’t even look at her. I didn’t have to. Conversation flowed around us, drinks were ordered, and chips and salsa were consumed–but all I could think about was the warmth radiating from Hallie’s body, seeping into my skin like a secret between us. I let my leg drift toward hers, our knees touching beneath the table, out of sight from her family. She didn’t shift or move.
I was quietly dominant, my refusal to look in her direction likely confusing her. I answered questions, cracked jokes, and played the part of the charismatic family friend they all loved having around. But beneath that shiny wood table, my fingertips brushed against the bare skin of Hallie’s knee.
“I’ve never met a kid who liked spicy food this much,” I said with a laugh, watching Cayden sink a chip into the communal bowl of salsa as my hand curled further around Hallie’s leg. Her thighs were pressed together tight, but I forced my fingers between them at the knees.
While my left hand rested on the neck of my Corona bottle, my right one wedged lower between Hallie’s thighs. The people around us were none the wiser, too focused on the little one’s antics and the giant sombrero on Mrs. Rutherford’s head to see what I was up to. Hallie participated in the conversation like normal, laughing when the time was right and teasing her mom like everyone else.
But I could sense the tension. In my peripheral vision, I saw her shift and angle her body forward like it would help conceal her lap. Anna sat on her other side, so consumed by the phone in front of her face I wasn’t the least worried she’d spot what I was doing and draw attention to it.
I forcefully slid my hand further up Hallie’s thighs, my pinky finger pressing into the seam of her little white shorts. The fabric was thin enough that I could feel the heat of her through it, tracing the outline of her folds. Hallie’s laugh came a beat too late when Brooke finished a funny story about Cayden, and I felt her thighs clench around my hand. A second later, she let out a breath, forcing her thighs to stay parted so no one would notice the unnatural stiffness in her posture.
And then, just as I got comfortable enough to slip my thumb under the hem of her shorts, I heard Anna gasp and say, “What’s with your arm, Knox?”
It felt like my heart slammed against my ribs. Every head at the table turned my direction, and I yanked my hand back over to my own lap in an instant.
And then I followed Anna’s wide-eyed stare. She was staring at myleftforearm, where four angry red scratches–put there by Hallie’s fingernails–were on full display.
Shit.I’d forgotten about them. It wasn’t like I could cover the scratches with a long-sleeved shirt–that’d be even harder to explain in the middle of summer, wouldn’t it? I’d meant to come up with a story before I walked in, a way to blame the scratches on a stray cat or a run-in with the thorny bushes outside my apartment building. Now, with all of them staring at me, I stumbled. “I–it’s nothing,” I said, turning my wrist over.
Adrian laughed across the table, listing a beer bottle to his lips. “Yeah, we all know what that looks like.”
“Those scratches aredefinitelyfrom a woman,” Anna said, leaning forward so she could get a better look. For the first time, I looked to my right, briefly making eye contact with Hallie, who looked like she wanted to melt through the seat.
Even Brooke, who usually had a stick up her ass, joined in on the teasing. “Has our Knox recently taken a lover?”
“What does that mean?” Cayden asked, crunching a tortilla chip.
I just chuckled, crossing my arms at the edge of the table. “You guys are making a lot of assumptions,” I said. “I’d tell you the truth, but you’d never believe it–so I’ll just let you all entertain me with your theories.”
“Look at that smile,” Mrs. Rutherford said, nodding toward me. My cheeks warmed, but I took comfort in the fact none of them would ever theorize the scratches came from the innocent-looking woman beside me. “That’s the smile of a man who’s had a woman leave her mark on him, if I ever saw one. And I’m not talking about the scratches.”
Damn, Mrs. Rutherford was too good. She gave me a knowing look beneath her ridiculous sombrero, tilting her head ever-so-slightly.
Mr. Rutherford laid his arm on the back of his wife’s chair, shaking his head. “I think you’re all forgetting the man’s the head of security at the arena. Probably a scuffle with a feral concertgoer.”
I nodded slowly to thank him, letting the rest of them think I’d acquired the scratches at work. “Yeah, people really don’t like that ‘clear bag’ rule,” I tried to joke, but the Rutherford women remained skeptical, all of them but Hallie eyeing me like they knew I had something to hide.
They had no fucking idea.
I was grateful when the server returned with our entrées, a couple of others trailing behind her to help run plates. One of the men smiledwhen he spotted Hallie, recognition flickering across his face. “Ah, you get to be a customer today! You have the night off?”
My eyes snapped toward Hallie, whose cheeks flushed as red as the bowl of salsa in front of her. She shifted in her seat, letting out an awkward laugh before answering, “Uh, yeah?”
I heard the feigned confusion in her voice and understood the situation immediately. El Castillo must have been one of the restaurants Hallie frequented while doing food deliveries, and she assumed they wouldn’t recognize or remember her.
But Hallie wasn’t the kind of woman anyone could just forget. Her warm smile, her infectious laugh, the quiet but confident way she carried herself–she drew people in without the slightest clue she was doing it. So of course this man recognized her. I had no doubt he was attracted to her, too, as anyone with working eyes would be.
Once everyone had their plates and the staff disappeared back to the kitchen, Brooke raised an eyebrow across the table at her sister. “What was that about?”
Hallie shrugged, picking up her fork. “I don’t know, that was really weird, wasn’t it?”-
I cleared my throat, trying to keep my tone casual as I reached for my beer and said, “He must have confused you with someone else.”
I caught a flicker of gratitude in Hallie’s eyes when they met mine. And when everyone was distracted by the food in front of them, I dropped my hand to her lap again. But this time, instead of the aggressive teasing from before, I gave her knee a gentle, affectionate squeeze. Hallie’s death grip loosened on the cloth napkin in her hand, and she let out a soft breath like all the tension drained out of her.
Just when I began to withdraw my hand, Hallie’s fingers found mine beneath the table. She gave them the quickest, softest squeezeback in a subtle “thank you” before returning her hand to the tabletop.
