Page 50 of Slow Hands Cowboy

“Tell me more,” he said.

“We probably need to have a glance at the menu.”

She looked down at the menu and knew without having to think too deeply about it that she was going to get the ravioli, whatever the special ravioli was, because it was what she always wanted.

Lana had handmade pasta and an herb garden in the back of the restaurant, and anything that they served was a revelation. Usually, when she came, she filmed it and put it up on her social media so that she could help get more bodies into the restaurant, but that wasn’t happening today.

“Glance away,” he said.

The waiter returned promptly and gave them a basket of bread and a little dish of olive oil and vinegar.

Walker ordered a steak with roasted vegetables on the side and mashed potatoes, while she got her ravioli and a garden salad.

And with all of that out of the way, she could no longer avoid his questioning.

But she was going to make him ask the question again.

“Tell me,” he said. “Is that why?”

“Now you seem to be the one begging,” she said, looking back down at the table.

Then she found her chin being lifted. He gripped it with his thumb and his forefinger, tilted her face up so that she was meeting his gaze. “That’s not begging.” He was smiling, and nobody around them would be able to feel the danger, the undercurrent beneath his words, but she could feel it. The warning.

They definitely looked cozy, physical, and they were supposed to, she knew.

But no one would have any idea of the game that was actually being played here.

And what game is that?

She didn’t want to answer that internal question.

“It seemed like it,” she said, her words more hushed than she would like. Because it gave him way too much information on what he was doing to her.

“No. But we can have a primer on that later if you would like.” He dropped his hand then. “How come you don’t want to tell me?”

“I don’t like thinking about it. And I am sorry. I almost told you that earlier today. But… I’m so used to just not acknowledging that. And not thinking about what a terrible thing it was. I just figured that you never thought about it again.”

“You left me standing outside the gym with a corsage that matched your dress, while you walked in with a different date.”

Everyone liked me…

No, they hadn’t, and there were good reasons for it. She’d blocked out some of the stupid, mean things she’d done because they hadn’t felt mean at the time. She’d only thought of how it touched her circle. What it made those people think of her. If she could prove that she was uninterested in Walker, or in certain groups and certain activities then it built a case for her being her father’s daughter, not her mother’s.

She’d heard people say so many times that bullies were only compensating for their insecurities, but she’d never thought of herself as a bully so she’d nodded along and filed it away.

She might not have been punching people and taking their lunch money, but she’d worn the cloak of queen bee, and she’d used her status to make herself feel big. By making others feel small.

“I didn’t see you.” She couldn’t bring herself to look at him now.

She hadn’t seen herself.

“Made no difference to me.” She did look up at him then. He was grinning. “Natalie Rogers was in town. She’d graduated the year before, and I texted her and went to her place, and she took care of me.”

Something hot and sharp sliced through her midsection, which was ridiculous. She had ghosted him. He had every right to go and get laid, even if it seemed like there was a problematic age gap between him and the girl that he was doing it with. She’d graduated. That meant that she was at least eighteen. He had been –

“Glad for you,” she said. “Really. Not about the corsage, though, and I am sorry about it. Really.”

“Awfully kind. And apologies are always appreciated, even if it is a number of years too late.”