The waitress returned, and we finally ordered.
“I’m gonna smoke real quick,” Delilah said.
“Sorry, Nova,” Hudson said, slowly sliding out of the booth behind her. “Hold down the fort?”
I nodded, used to their heathenry by now. My adrenaline was wearing off, which meant I was forced to replay what I’d confessed willingly to Jayne over and over again, cringing harder each time.
“Don’t smoke?” a deep voice asked, attached to a familiar tattooed man sliding into the seat in front of me.
I looked around, as if for help. “Did you follow me here?”
Wes leaned back, unbothered. “I could ask you the same thing. This is my diner, darlin’.”
I scoffed. “Oh,yourdiner, right.” I was starting to think Wes believed he was in an old western movie.
As if on cue, a different, older waitress stopped in front of us with a tray of food, her face lighting up. “Hi, honey, how are we today?”
“Doing just fine, Destiny. How are the kids?”
“Trouble,” she said, blowing a black strand of hair out of her face. “Martha wanted me to tell you how much they love the new dining room table.”
Wes smiled. “Ah, well, thank you. Tell her I said the pleasure was all mine.”
She nodded and was on her way.
I stared at him, slack jawed. Whowasthis guy?
“You make furniture?”
He nodded. “Among other things.”
“And you live in Williamsburg?”
He paused, his eyes losing a drop of their previous humor. He stared at me for a moment longer before relaxing again. “I aged out of Williamsburg. I live in Greenpoint. What about you and your little friends? Bushwick?”
When I made an insulted face, he laughed, the sound disorienting me just as it had before. “We aged out of Bushwick,” I mimicked childishly. “We live in Williamsburg.”
Fuck, I shouldn’t have told him where I lived just to make a point.
I realized he must’ve been the hottie Hudson had clocked in the middle of our conversation, which meant he’d likely been sitting in the booth directly behind me.
I internally groaned.
“How much of our conversation did you eavesdrop on? Are you going to rat me out to Circle authorities for thinking they’re a cult?”
“If I were to rat you out, it would be for your obvious ulterior motives,” he said.
My eyes narrowed on his infuriating smile.
“But seeing as I have equally ulterior motives, your secret is safe with me. I believe we’re both looking for answers, no?”
“Are you a journalist?”
“No, are you?”
“No.” My foot tapped wildly underneath the table. “My friends clearly think the whole thing is harmless wealthy people bullshit. What about you?”
I could’ve sworn those stormy eyes drifted to my lips. His tattooed hand was wrapped tightly around a mug, and I couldn’t help but watch the bulging flex of his muscles.
