I shake my head. “Relax. If you walk into the bar looking like you’re going to strip the nearest man to his skin and ride him like a bronco, Sam will think it’s for him.”
“Who’s to say it isn’t?”
I chuckle. “You have made it clear this date is to show Sam you are everything he doesn’t need or want. If there is any stripping, it will be for me.”
“Cocky, aren’t we?”
“Self assured. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong.”
My head snaps to the side, finding her lips twitching. “About which part?”
She shrugs. “That’s for you to figure out.”
I shake my head at myself. These are my consequences, so I guess I have to own them. I drive down Main Street and pull into the parking lot of the bar and grill. It’s Saturday night, so it’s rammed full of old and young townsfolk. It’s the place to be unless you want to take the longer road into the city.
I put the parking brake on and climb out of the car, rounding the front and opening the passenger door like the gentleman I can choose to be. What’s surprising is that Miss Independent hasn’t launched herself from my car.
I poke my head inside and offer her my hand. “You coming?”
Her eyebrows dip. “Very funny.”
She fumbles in her purse before dropping something small and plastic in my hand. “I can’t use that, you do it. Have fun.”
She barges past me toward the bar’s entrance. I turn the odd object over with a frown. What the hell is this? I slam the car door and stride across the parking lot, my legs eating up the distance so I reach the door at the same time as Cleo. I pull it open and usher her inside.
“What’s this?” I whisper in her ear.
Goosebumps erupt down her neck and before I think better of it, I nip the sensitive lobe of her ear. She stumbles just as Sam and Amalee turn on their bar stools to greet us. I slide the unknown object in my jeans pocket. I’ll have to figure out what it is later.
Sam greets Cleo in a weird half-hug, half-kiss on the cheek thing you’d offer your grandmother. I resist the urge to shake my head. He meets my eyes, his gaze already wide as he fucks up even the simplest of things.You’re on your own, buddy.Then a warm body presses against me, and Amalee reaches up to lay a kiss on my mouth. I twist my head to the side, so her lips graze my cheek. There’s only one woman’s mouth I want to feel pressed to mine, and she’s all fire and spice, not ice and control.
I gently pry Amalee’s arms from around my waist. She’s being overly familiar, and I don’t appreciate it. However, it’s for Cleo’s benefit, not mine. She’s trying to stake her claim in pink sticky lip gloss and sharp nails.
Sam looks totally out of his depth as he leads us to a booth. Cleo stands to the side and waits for Sam to slide in. He doesn’t. He just blinks like a fucking idiot. Cleo doesn’t like being trapped, and with his sheltered upbringing, he can’t comprehend why she is waiting.
I untangle myself from Amalee and slide into the booth in front of Cleo, catching her hand in mine and dragging her innext to me before nodding at the seat across from us. Amalee huffs, then realizes she broke her perfect princess facade and takes the seat opposite mine with a false smile in place.
“What’s good here?” Cleo asks, staring at the laminated menu with a frown.
“The salads are amazing,” Amalee says, batting her eyelashes like someone blew dust in them.
“The salads are shit. Anything butchered is excellent—the steak and ribs in particular,” I mutter. Cleo snorts and slaps a hand over her mouth, her eyes crinkling in the corners.
“I could order for you?” Sam says.
Cleo’s hand drops and she slow blinks at him. I grimace and drag my phone from my pocket before shooting him a GIF of someone shoveling a grave hole. “No, I can manage to pick my own food like a big girl.”
“Of course, I didn’t mean?—”
“It’s fine,” she cuts him off. “Asking for recommendations isn’t the same as ordering for someone. That kind of control is?—”
“Sexy,” Amalee breathes in my direction. Cleo and I side-eye each other. We are on the wrong date, and we both know it, but the two people actually suited aren’t even aware of each other. Sam’s head dips as he reads my message.
“Do you want to order for me?” Amalee asks in my direction while doing that ridiculous thing with her eyes.
“No. Do you have something in your eye?”
