Page 18 of Plunge

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Thistle

FLETCHER CRAWFORD IS here. At a random bar in Philadelphia. I’m so shocked, I feel like I need a hit from Antonio’s inhaler or I’m going to pass out.

“Where did you even find that guy,” Fletcher says, helping himself to Antonio’s ice cream. Jesus, I wasn’t expecting him to be sexy. He’s got scruff and his shirt sleeves are rolled halfway up and all I can do is stare at his forearms as he brings the spoon to his plump lips. That tongue has been inside me, I think. And then I squirm in my seat.

I’m supposed to hate him. Or avoid him. Or something I can’t think about right now because what the hell is he doing here where my blind date is falling to pieces? I can’t let him see that I’m flustered.

I roll my eyes and pick up my grilled cheese, taking a big bite, letting Fletcher stew for a minute while I deal with the shock of seeing him and having my date yell at me before barging out of the bar.

“Indigo signed me up for one of those online dating sites,” I say with a sigh.

“Hmm, Indigo,” he says. “She was always up to shenanigans.”

We sit staring at each other for a few minutes as I sift through everything I’ve wanted to say to him since the last time I saw him in that hospital room the summer after high school graduation. We eat, and I forget to be grossed out that he’s eating someone else’s ice cream. I catch a whiff of him and his scent is the same—he smells like the wind, like sun and grass and like he’s added expensive shampoo to the mix.

I shake my head. “I can’t believe you’re here. Why this random bar? In Philly? Oh my god, your family hates you right now because you never come home.”

He seems surprised. “You’ve been talking to my family?”

I spin my silverware on the table uncomfortably. “I work with your brother,” I say, and shrug. I guess I thought he knew.

The server comes to our table and does a double-take when she sees Fletcher sitting there instead of Antonio. She raises her eyebrows and looks at me. “I see you’ve upgraded.” Fletcher smirks. “Get ya anything?”

He asks her for another beer and leans to grab his stuff from the stool where he’d been sitting at the bar before intruding. I babble to him about working with Archer. He grunts and eats Antonio’s ice cream and tells me he sort of knows about his sister’s beer brewing hobby.

“I’ve had a few of her beers,” I say. “Actually, Diana was fully involved in getting me here on this shitty date.”

“What would my sister say about him yelling at you,” he asks, tapping his fingers on the table.

I shake my head. “I should have looked at the profile or something. Wouldn’t he have made a note about having asthma?”

Fletcher leans back in the booth. “Fucker like that? Probably just assumed everyone already knew everything about him.”

He continues to lick the ice cream and I have to believe he’s doing it on purpose. Sexily eating ice cream to…what? I remind myself we haven’t seen each other in ten years. He’s not trying to tantalize me. He’s just sexy, I guess.

“You didn’t say why you’re here.” I pick at my sandwich, not really able to eat with my stomach churning. There were a few seconds there where I actually felt scared of Antonio. I don’t go on a ton of blind dates. Temper flares like that…it could have ended badly. I read the news. I don’t want to let Fletcher know I’m glad he was standing there, don’t want to tell him that I had been mentally thinking about how I would signal to the bartender.

“I had business in Philly,” he says. The way his mouth forms the word “business” is dripping with innuendo. His face transforms. He licks his teeth. I tell myself it’s probably to get the ice cream off, but like it or not, I am familiar with his sexy faces. Or, anyway, I used to be.

A lot has happened since I saw him last. He’s probably different in a lot of ways.

Eventually I fold my hands on my lap and take a long breath in and out through my nose. I look at him, at those dark eyes and the strong jaw. His Adam’s apple moves as he swallows his food and sips his beer. “I should have told you,” I say.

And the mood shifts.

His nostrils flare and he throws down Antonio’s spoon. It clatters against the white saucer beneath the sundae. “Yeah, well you didn’t.”

He stares at me for a bit and I watch his face muscles move around while he figures out what he’s going to say next. I can feel…something radiating from him. Anger? Frustration? Attraction? Shit, he looks good. I curse myself for noticing. That’s the last thing I thought I’d think about if I ever saw him again.

He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he drains his beer and then reaches for the new one the server brought. I reach for my drink, too. He doesn’t get to be the only one taking the edge off raw nerves.

“I was a kid, Fletch. We were both kids.”

“I know it, Thistle. And I’m not a kid now.” His eyes rake up and down my body, slowly taking in the date outfit my friends helped me select before they shoved me into the commuter train bound for Philly. I can see him noticing that I am also no longer a teenager.

I shift uncomfortably under his gaze. I should change the subject. “I wish we’d had our grand goodbye,” I say, my voice quiet. We had it all worked out. Or I did, at least.

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