“That’s too bad. I hear they have all-you-can eat wings on Fridays.”
He stared at me like he wasn’t sure if I was joking or not. That’s what my weird sense of humor often got me—people who didn’t know what to make of me. “It’s a joke. A bad joke. Get it? Wings because you had trouble containing your bird?”
He scoffed but his smile told me he could appreciate my sense of humor. “I didn’t have trouble. Shiner Bock just had ideas of his own.”
“You named your bird Shiner Bock?”
“You got a problem with that?” He clamped his hands on his hips. I might not be interested in looking at every single man as a possible mate, but even I had to admit I didn’t mind checking him out. It was impossible not to. Tousled hair the color of the sand on the Galveston coast. His eyes hovered between blue and green, going from the color of turquoise in the bracelet mymom had left me to a much darker blue color like the fields of bluebonnets that lined the highways in the spring.
“No, no problem. Just an odd choice, that’s all.”
“I’m sure you’ve named some of your rescue mutts some odd names now and then.” He leaned his backside against the truck, and I almost let myself get sucked into the flirtatious undercurrent that seemed to pull at me.
“Nope. We don’t typically name our rescue pups after alcoholic beverages.”
“That’s too bad. You could have had a Fireball or maybe even a Cosmo.”
“Oh, we do have a Cosmo, but he’s named after a TV character.”
“Let me guess. Kramer? OnSeinfeld?”
“Yeah. Are you a fan?” I had the complete series on DVD at home. It was one my brother liked to watch over and over again.
“Of course. No soup for you.”
“Right. The soup episode.”
“It’s a classic. So what other shows do you like?”
I shook off the warning that I probably should stop sharing tidbits of my personal life. Alex had a way about him that made people feel comfortable, made them let down their guard. But instead of backing away, I leaned into it.
“I’m a closet fan ofGilmore Girls.”
His lips twisted and his brow crinkled. “Can’t say I’ve seen that one.”
Common ground. Hmm. What dude shows had I seen recently? “How about reality TV? The ninja warrior show?”
“Oh, I love that one. Even thought about trying out sometime.”
“You have?”
“Yeah. Does that surprise you?”
I nodded. “Most guys with your, um”—I let my gaze travel up and down his full six-foot-plus frame—“build don’t seem to do very well.”
His eyes sparked. “What’s wrong with my build?”
Now I’d done it. That’s why I didn’t make a habit of talking to strangers. Especially good-looking, quick-witted guys who never seemed to have any trouble twisting my words around and getting me to sound like a complete and utter idiot. “There’s nothing wrong with your build. It’s just that?—”
“I get it. The guys who win those competitions aren’t quite so bulky. It’s too bad I’m cursed.”
My mouth went dry. If being cursed meant he was built like a Chippendales dancer, then I wished with all my might I’d get infected by the feminine version of the same curse at some point in my life.
“Uncle Alex, Frankie’s letting Shiner Bock out of the bag.” Izzy leaned out the window.
“Coming.” Alex turned back to face me, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. “I need to get going.”
“Uncle Alex is in charge tonight, huh?”
