Page 155 of False God

She beams at him, nodding as Charlie says something.

It becomes very obvious, very quickly that the pretty blonde bartender is very interested in Charlie.

He doesn’t encourage her, simply smiling politely, but I’m jealous anyway. And wondering exactly how he’s spent his nights since leaving Saint-Tropez. I haven’t been with anyone else, and I assumed the same was true for him. Maybe he has. Maybe that’s why he hesitated in the barn earlier.

The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

Charlie returns with two full pint glasses in his hands and two menus tucked under one arm. He sets the beers down first, nudging one toward me, then drops the menus.

“What if I wanted champagne?” I ask.

I don’t. I’m off sparkling wine for at least a year. But I’m irritated about the pretty bartender who was flirting with him and in the mood to argue.

“Try it. It’s good.” He takes a sip from his glass.

I try a tentative amount from mine. It’s mostly foam, but I get a strong hit of the malty taste of hops. Run my tongue along my bottom lip.

His eyes are on my mouth now.

“Tastes like … beer,” I announce.

“Itisbeer.” Charlie drops his gaze and flips open one menu. Pushes the other toward me without glancing up.

My stomach does a mini acrobatic routine. I still haven’t told him about my dyslexia, and I don’t really want to bring it up here. Neither do I feel like squinting at squiggly letters.

“What do you get here?” I ask.

He glances up, twin lines appearing between his eyes. One eyebrow lifts. “You wanted to order your own drink, but not your own food?”

“I was just looking for a recommendation. Sheesh. I’ve never had … pub food before.”

Charlie shakes his head, but I catch the curiosity in his expression. He’s contemplating something. Contemplating me.

I hold my breath, waiting.

“The fish and chips are popular,” he finally says.

“Great.” I suck down more beer. “I’ll get that. Does the flirty bartender take food orders, or do we have to wait for a waitress?”

One corner of his mouth curls up. “You sound jealous, Kensington.”

He sounds happy about it, which I think is a good thing. I was thrilled when he finally stalked across that club in Saint-Tropez.

“I’m not.” I am. “It’s just … unprofessional.”

Charlie makes an annoying humming sound. “A waitress will come over.”

“Great.”

“I haven’t shagged anyone since you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” I lie.

“Right.” He smiles—that annoyingly condescending one that I used to want to slap off his face, but now kind of makes me want to kiss him. “So … how was Dublin?”

We haven’t discussed my trip to Ireland—my supposed reason for stopping by here—and I wasn’t expecting for it to come up at all.

“It was good. I tried Guinness.” I point toward the beer he brought me. “This is better.”

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