She shifted on her old platform shoes. They reminded her of a time when she wasn’t always so stressed.
He smiled like a loon.
Well, bugger her, because she seemed to have adopted a new puppy. A tall, lanky, semi-bearded, musical savant of a canine.
“What can I get you?” she asked. See? Preparation for her new gig as a waitress was already in play.
He tapped a beat out on the table with the palms of his hands before pushing away. “I’ll come with.”
Um…that totally negated her attempt at getting a breather.
“Unless you’d rather I sit tight?” he asked, as though reading her thoughts.
“No. Come along. That’s perfect,” she replied. Which, for posterity, she should point out, was not perfect.
She headed toward the bar. Linx? Oh, man. Linx followed her.
When they arrived at the bar, he stared at his phone. His forehead scrunched.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
He scowled. “No.”
Do not ask if you can help. Don’t do it. That’s not vacation speak. Vacation chat does not include rock star assistance service.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I’ve got to jet.” He thumbed through something on his cell screen, forehead still smooshed in concern, not glancing up.
“Can I help?” she asked because she was Becca and she couldn’t not. She did, however, prevent herself from putting her hand on his arm like her fingers itched to do.
He nodded, the long strands of his overgrown hair brushing the collar of his Metallica tee. “I have to check on something.”
“Linx…” This time she actually did put her hand on his arm.
That caught his attention. He tangled her gaze with his and didn’t let go.
She felt that look in the center of her chest.
Then he tore through the link, looking again to his phone. “What are the odds you’ll give me your number? I can call you after I deal with Gibson?”
“Your cat?” she asked.Seriously?
“My cat.”
Was he for real? This was a brush off. He was brushing her off for something better but didn’t want to relinquish her as a back-up. She got that. That was what guys like Linx did. Guys with all the prospects in the greater Denver area.
It was her turn to scrunch her forehead. “Your cat?”
He glanced back to his phone. “Shit. He’s crawling in my wall hole.”
“Your wall hole?” Was he actually speaking English? Because this was, quite possibly, the most ridiculous blow off she’d ever heard.
He looked up, eyes wide. “He got in the wall.”
No, it wasn’t her business, but she still peeked at his phone. On the screen was an image from one of the home-pet-nanny-cam things. If he was making this story up, he was really running with it.
The camera focused on a giant hole in a wall. A black cat with a white nose, and white paws, crawled out of the broken drywall before ducking back into the depths of the wall. The cat wore a leather jacket that made him look less like Muffin-the-neighborhood-tomcat and more badass-rocker-cat.
Linx dressed up his cat. Yeah, he could totally have her number.
