Page 11 of Cupid's Shot

“If you weren’t so cute when you’re frustrated, I might tell you.”

12

“Have you had lunch?” I ask, loving the banter and energy that’s going on between us. She shakes her head. “Would you like to get lunch with me?” As I ask, I wish it would have come out more confident.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” she teasingly asks.

“I know you’re the one who’s supposed to be flirting with me, but I’m picking up your slack,” I tease back in what I hope is a confident smirk.

She giggles, and I’m so attracted to her and all her little mannerisms. She’s probably the only person who can make baggy, paint-stained coveralls look this sexy.

“Where do you want to go?” she asks.

“Cakes?”

“Oh! I hope they are still serving their brunch menu.”

I take my phone from my pocket, looking at the time. “If we move quickly, we’ll make it.”

“Let me lock up,” she says with almost a skip in her step. Sarah flicks all the lights off, then goes behind the cash register and pulls out a huge puffy coat. In a world where everyone wears black parkas, she opts for a bold, paisley-printed winter coat.

“I like that.” I smile.

“Thanks! I love this jacket too!”

As we both step outside, she locks the door behind her. Grabbing her hand, I feel a spark between us, but she pulls away.

“Did I misread this situation?” I ask, needing to understand.

“No.”

Nervous, but eager, I flirt, “Am I moving too fast for you?”

She laughs, a devilish glint in her blue eyes. “No.”

I take the moment to check her out, making it very clear what my intentions are with her right now. “You’re worried your secret admirer might see.”

She leans in, her lips dangerously close to mine. “Maybe,” she says with a sly smile, then leans back. “But are you trying to get the town in a frenzy? This would be some hot gossip.”

I know what she’s implying, but I want to hear her say it. “What do you mean?” I ask, grabbing the end of her hair, adding to our flirtation.

“Two staples of Main Street seen walking hand in hand. Juicy stuff,” she says in a sexy whisper.

“And you care?” I challenge, my hand grabbing for hers again.

She shoots me a daring look, then squeezes my hand. “No. Let them talk.”

I hold back how big my smile wants to be, and we walk toward Cakes.

“When am I getting my glasses back?”

“It wasn’t a fair trade? My number for those glasses.”

“I didn’t agree to a trade. You stole them.”

“Stole?”

“Yes, Aaron Olson. You’re a petty criminal.” She giggles.

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