Page 14 of All We Need

“Are you fu—”Booth’seyes dart around the room before his volume drops, but still loud enough for me to hear. “Thisis the fourth time this month they’ve bypassed me and gone straight to you,Pat.I’msick of it.”

Subtly,Ilean forward to eavesdrop some more.Theblond guy—Pat, whichIpresume is short forPatrick—remains calm.

“Don’t worry about it.”Helays a hand onBooth’stense shoulder. “I’llemail them back and ask them to reconsider.”

“Iamworrying about it.Thisisourrestaurant; not theirs.Thatoven was only two hundred dollars above the budget,”Boothseethes. “I’mnot sure how much longerIcan continue doing this.”

Patrick’s face drops. “Whatdo you mean?”

Booth shakes away his annoyance. “Nothing.Forgetabout it.”Hebends the bill of his hat and fits it back on his head.Themovement causes his forearms to flex andI’mashamed to sayIsalivate a little asIlean forward to get a better look.

Theresa, my server, chooses that moment to come clear my table.

“How was everything?”

Smiling,Itap the metal bowl filled with empty oyster shells. “Theywere divine.Whenwere they caught?”

“Oh,I’mnot sure.”Shenibbles her lip. “Letme askChef.”

Panic sets in. “No, no.It’sfine.Don’tbother him.”Forthe love of god, don’t let him knowI’mhere.

She smiles, and collects my empty dishes, unblocking my view ofBooth.

His lower half is hidden, until he shifts to the right, giving me a glimpse of everything.AndImeaneverything.Tight, black spandex highlights every sinewy muscle, curve, and dip of his thighs, ass, and…bulge.Thecycling shorts stop above his knees, showcasing toned calves dusted with dark hair.It’salmost unfair that he’s able to pull them off.Onanyone else, they might look ridiculous.

I realizeI’mogling and turn to findTheresawatching me, watchingBooth.

“He’ssohot.Heand my older cousin were in the same class,” she says with flushed cheeks.

Voice even,Iask, “CanIget the check, please?”

“Sure?”Shejuggles the dishes with one hand, while reachinginto her apron.Thedinging of the bell from the kitchen distracts her, and in slow motion,Iwatch as she clips the edge of my glass and the fizzy, cloudy liquid spills over my laptop and legs.

The smash of the glass on the floor and my loud “Fuck” draw everyone’s attention in my direction.Includinga pair of bright blue eyes.

“Oh my god, oh my god.Iamsosorry.”Theresastares at the mess with wide eyes, lip trembling.Thisindustry is going to eat her alive if she cries over a spilled drink.

The hostess dashes over with hands full of paper towels, and my cheeks heat.Nothingabout this is low key.

Ginger beer soaks my jeans, no amount of rice is going to fix my laptop, but allI’mconcerned about is getting out of here.

“It’s fine.You’refine.”Igrab some money from my purse—leaving them a generous tip—and stuff my belongings away.Notdaring to look up,Ithrow my coat on and go to hightail it out of here when a tall frame blocks my exit.

“Shit.Areyou okay?”Boothasks, concerned.

Poking him in the chest,Ihuff. “Youowe me a new laptop.”

He freezes, perplexed, then has the audacity to throw his head back in laughter. “Me?Whatthe hell didIdo?”

Shit.I’mbasically admitting that his muscles distracted me and that is something that would inflate his ego to an immeasurable size.

Not wanting to look ruffled,Ipurse my lips.

“Seriously, though.”Hesteps forward. “Leaveyour details and we can cover any repairs and your dry cleaning bill.”

“That’s not necessary,”Isay flatly. “Andneither are those shorts.”

The dramatic rise and fall of his eyebrows does nothing and slowly his smile disappears.Boothstands there, hands fisted on his hips, proudly jutting out his lower body like a male peacock. “Doyou like men who cycle?”

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