Page 48 of The Pucking Wrong Man

“Breaks over,” a voice called through the charged silence between us. I reluctantly glanced beyond her to see a pink-haired woman with wrinkled skin like a walnut glaring at the two of us like we’d mortally offended her.

“I’d better get back to it,” Anastasia murmured, but she was different than she’d been before, softer almost, as if I’d managed to break through some of her walls.

I’d take it. I’d just sit here while I waited for her, bathing in the memory of what her perfect lips had felt like.

“I’ll be here when you’re done. You’re off at nine, right?”

“See, when you say things like that, I really do think you could be stalking me,” she said, some of her sass leaking back into her voice.

I winked at her, once again not responding to that because what could I say? I was her stalker.

She went back to work, and I went back to ordering a dish every hour so that I could wait for her without causing her any issues.

It was the longest two hours of my life, made worse by the fact that I’d touched her.

I’d kissed her.

And now I wanted to do it over and over again...and much, much more.

Anastasia

I couldn’t tell you what I did the rest of my shift. Usually, I knew what dishes I’d washed, what tables I’d cleaned, how many spilled drinks I’d mopped up…

I couldn’t concentrate on anything that happened for the rest of the night.

All I could think about was him.

How he’d looked. What he’d said. The way he’d touched me.

The feel of his lips against mine.

Had that really happened? Or had I hallucinated it? Any moment now, I was expecting a camera crew to pop out and tell me that I’d been “Punk’d” or something, because things like that—fairy tale kisses with gorgeous celebrities that said sweet things that made you melt—they definitely did not happen to girls like me.

This wasn’t Hollywood.

I wasn’t a princess.

And now I was quoting Taylor Swift lyrics.

That confirmed it. I had definitely imagined it all.

Except, each time I came out from the back...he was still there. Still gazing at me with that gorgeous face. Pulling me in with every smile he gifted my way.

I was surprised every single time I saw him.

“Ready to go, little dancer? You’re probably exhausted,” he said, unfolding himself easily from the bench seating despite the fact that he had to at least be six-four. That could not have been fun to sit there for the last four hours.

Camden grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. I got about halfway there when I woke up from whatever spell he’d had me under—because what the crap was I doing?

He was going to walk me to the doors of the shelter?

Not happening. He noticed my steps had faltered and sent me a questioning glance. I didn’t want to make it a big deal since everyone in the restaurant seemed to be watching us walk out, so I pasted a smile on my face and followed him outside.

As soon as we were through the door, a chill biting into my bones as a gust of wind whipped across my face, I yanked my hand away.

“You don’t need to walk me home—and I’m pretty sure that violates all the stranger danger lectures they gave us in school,” I said, trying to sound like I was joking even as I started to walk away.

“Anastasia,” he growled, and the sound was so sexy I felt it right between my legs.

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