Page 12 of Smolder

I mean, yeah, but I wanted her to tell me what she thought I looked like. Maybe that was all I needed. I’d found females did stupid things when they were attracted to a man.

“Not necessarily,” I drawled.

Her pouty lips pursed as she looked down at me. “What do you want with me?”

I wanted to fuck her. At least, that was all I’d wanted when I saw her at the pool hall. But now, shit had gone south, and that wasn’t happening. Even though I still wanted to fuck her.

“Do you have plans tomorrow night?” I asked.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Was that really that surprising to her? Guys flirted with her all fucking day. I’d watched it. Their eyes followed her when she walked by.

“Yes,” she clipped.

“You gonna swindle some more men out of their money over a game of pool?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

She probably has plans with Merce, I thought sourly.

Although she hadn’t mentioned the fact that she had a boyfriend. She was either protecting him or planning on using him to get rid of me.

“You can’t change your plans?” I asked.

She bit her bottom lip like she might be considering it, then shook her head. “I can’t.”

Yep. She had plans with Merce. Well, I’d have to follow them and be more discreet. Not sure I actually wanted to witness them together, but it was why I was here.

“All right then,” I said with a nod. “I hope you have a good night, Royal.”

She frowned. “You know my name?”

I shrugged. “I did follow you all day.”

Her nose scrunched up. “I thought you started at the library.”

“Nope. Started right here at eight a.m.”

She sucked in a breath. “How did you know where I lived?”

“Google,” I lied.

“And my name?”

“Chatty waitress at the pool hall.”

She sighed with an annoyed grimace. “Bet I can guess who that was.”

Telling her my name would tip off Dancastle. He’d question why a Shephard was suddenly in Athens and sniffing around his girlfriend. I couldn’t have that. The less she knew, the more I’d get out of her.

I held out my hand through the car window. “Amory Blaine,” I told her, using a name from one of my favorite novels.

She looked down at my hand, then slowly slid her hand in mine to shake it. There was a slight crinkle between her brows as she lifted her eyes back to mine. “Amory Blaine—was it your mother or father who chose to name you after the protagonist inThis Side of Paradise? Or was one of them just a fan of Fitzgerald?”

Damn. I wanted to smile. She was well read. She remembered what she’d read, which meant she’d enjoyed it.

“My father,” I lied.

The right corner of her mouth tugged up. “Last name was Blaine, so he chose Amory to go with it. Or Amory Blaine is your first and middle and you’re leaving out your surname on purpose?”

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