“I build houses…in said small town.”
“Please. I could out-hammer you any day.”
“Yeah?” His eyes sparkle with mischief, sitting up taller for the challenge. “Name three kinds of nails that aren’t on your fingers.”
“Finishing. Casing. Brad.”
His eyebrows rise, and he pauses, staring at me. “Marry me.”
I laugh and lift my drink to my lips, reveling in the booze hitting my system. “You said before that no one has been able to figure out that drink,” I say, not even acknowledging what he just said. “But I think our friend behind the bar has nailed it. No pun intended.”
Tucker studies me. His eyes remain fixed on my face as if memorizing me—the color of my eyes, the tone of my skin, the crinkle around my eye. It’s uncomfortable but also exhilarating.
I’ve never had a man look at me like he’s captivated by me.
“I like you,” he says.
“We’re still strangers,” I say in a tone that says he isnothaving an out of body effect on me.
“I’m like a fast pass in the amusement park. We can get past the stranger-danger zone and into friendship territoryveryquickly.”
This time I laugh hard—full on, bending over the bar top with laughter.
“Did you really just say that?” I ask, catching my breath. “That sounds like a corny pickup line.”
“All great love stories start with a corny pickup line.”
I don’t have time to respond because the server drops our food in front of us. But my cheeks feel warm, and I hope it’s not obvious. I can’t believe he just said that…but I kind of like it. It’s bold.He’sbold. Tucker didn’t even flinch when I called him outon how corny it sounded. Most guys would have backpedaled, but he doubled down. I’m not sure if it’s cocky or charming.
Maybe both?
I find myself staring at this man next to me, and he seems like the kind of guy who knows exactly what he’s doing, standing here with that smirk on his face, and slowly sipping his bourbon. Still…there’s something in the way he just said that, like he actually believes it.
Like he’s daring me to believe it, too.
“So, you said you’ve got an interview tomorrow,” Tucker says, thankfully changing the topic. He picks up a french fry, bringing it to his lips. “What’s the interview for? Anything I can help you with?” he asks, before taking a bite.
“It’s a TV thing.” I shrug.
“Damn. So you’re not just some girl walking around the city in a bright yellow jacket, huh?”
“Nope. I’m a girl in a yellowblazerwho might be on your TV one day.”
He smiles so wide that for the first time since he sat down next to me, I see a dimple form. Dammit, I’m supposed to be acting completely uninterested here, and he’s making it very difficult.
“I don’t watch TV,” he replies, eyes laser focused on me. There it is again, the steady stare that makes my stomach flutter like champagne bubbles rising inside of me. “But if you’re on it? I’d learn your schedule, set reminders, and make it my new favorite show.”
Heat prickles my skin, and suddenly the air around us feels heavy.
Trying not to show how his words have affected me, I decide to accept his offer to help with this. Maybe he can even give me a better answer than I’ve come up with for one of the interview questions they gave me ahead of time.
I turn in my chair, fully facing him. “Maybe you can help me with an interview question since you build houses for a living.”
“Shoot.”
“What doeshomemean to you?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. I watch as the smile on his face fades just enough for me to notice, but I can tell he’s hiding it. He reaches for his drink, taking a sip before placing it back down. I immediately regret asking because it seems to have triggered a memory for him, but the words have already left my mouth. I can’t take them back.
