Page 5 of Close Knit

I scan the room again. Should I make a run for it? Flashes catch the corner of my eyes, and I look back at her. “Goose?” I respond.

“Are you asking or telling me?” The stranger stops knitting and reaches for the drink beside her, sliding it closer and wrapping her lips around the straw. Her gaze remains fixed on me as she sips.

A chuckle clips out of my chest. The release of warmth in my stomach feels foreign. Against every rationality, I’m compelled to indulge in this small game. I straighten and extend my hand out to her. “It’s Goose. Goose Featherington.”

“I like that.” The grip of her small hand is firm yet gentle. We shake for longer than reasonable for two strangers on a no-name basis, and she’s the first to pull away.

“Do you do this sort of thing often?” I ask.

“Attract handsome men on the run?”

The compliment forces a grin to my lips. “Handsome?”

“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those guys who lives in a parallel universe with no mirrors and pretends to be oblivious about what their face looks like.” Another curled brow. Another spill of warmth into my gut.

“Well, thanks? I guess,” I say because it’s been so long since a stranger has complimented me. “I meant to ask if you frequently do whatever it is you’re doing in…what looks like a place my grandparents would frequent?”

Dimples appear on her cheeks. “Your grandparents must have great taste. Mine only taught me how to give epic foot rubs.”

My eyes narrow with curiosity. “Foot rubs?”

“Every time I’d visit my nana, she would crack open her rose lotion and sit by the television, putting these hands to work.” She shakes her fingers at me. “Maybe that was TMI?”

“My grandparents used to take me to places just like this on Valentine’s Day.” I chuckle at the memory.

“That’s adorable.” Her hands cross over her chest.

“Pops always told me to treat a woman right. He taught me how to behave on dates: open car doors, use the right silverware, and always order dessert, even if I don’t want it.”

“Seems like a smart man.” She laughs. “But tell me, are we on a date?”

“I wouldn’t bring a first date to a place like this,” I admit. Though I haven’t brought a first date to anything recently. There haven’t been any firsts for some time.

“Has anyone told you that you’re a little judgmental?” She playfully kicks my shin. A tingling sensation spreads from my leg through the rest of my body.

The rush of escaping the paparazzi has left my defenses weak. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I expected to spend the rest of my night alone, not befriending a beautiful companion.”

“Well, now you don’t have to be alone.” A blush dances across her cheeks, and I let my guards stay down. Maybe the night doesn’t have to end so soon. Especially since I’m speaking to someone who doesn’t know who I am.

To this woman, I’m not tabloid fodder.

In her gorgeous eyes, I’m a man in a tuxedo named Goose. However ridiculous that sounds.

“You’re not what I expected,” I admit.

“Do you place a lot of expectations on invisible girls you interrupt in bars?” She takes another sip of her drink. I can’t stop staring as she purses her plush lips together and sucks.

“You’re hardly invisible.” I lean forward. “That purple hair, your bright sweater, and those lips…if I were going to interrupt anyone’s evening, you would be my first and only choice.”

Her pupils dilate, and she bites her lip, sitting up and putting her knitting project to the side. She sets her elbows on the table,chin to her palms, and leans in close. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Featherington?”

I am. For whatever careless reason.

Of course, I can’t fully trust her, but maybe for one night I could try to let go. One night before buckling down and keeping my head in the game for the season. Besides, I can’t get up and leave with the paparazzi still swarming.

“You really don’t know who I am?”

Her laugh is as melodic as her voice. “Now you’re making me nervous.”

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