Page 3 of That Kind of Guy

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his grin widen. “Need some help? I’m great in a crisis.”

I rolled my eyes. This guy’s ego knew no bounds. I was surprised he got it through the door tonight. I looked up at him with a professional smile. “This isn’t a crisis, it’s just a power outage. Please go back to your table and enjoy your meal.” I was very aware of Max standing beside me, placing candles into lanterns, listening.

Emmett leaned on the bar. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

I gave a laugh of disbelief. “Again? Seriously? I don’t come to your work and bother you while you’re working.”

He grinned wider. “Bother? I’m not bothering you. I’m too good-looking to be a bother.”

Deep breaths, I told myself. “Emmett.”

He put his hands up. “Okay, okay. Going back to my table.”

Emmett walked away, and my gaze followed his tall form.

The first day I met Emmett Rhodes, he had dumped a girl right in front of me with zero remorse. He had come to the restaurant for a quick meal and sat at the bar. A woman about my age had spotted him and slipped onto the stool beside him, leaning toward him and looking at him with such deep affection that when I saw the hesitant, wary expression on his face, my heart ached.

“Look, Heather,” he had told her. I had my back turned to them at the bar and couldn’t help but overhear. “You’re great, but I’m just not interested in this whole thing. We had fun, but let’s not make it more than it needs to be.”

She was quiet for a second. “What?”

“I’m just not that kind of guy,” he told her. “It’s better this way. I don’t do the wife and kids thing.”

He was one of those people who you could hear from the other side of town, always talking, laughing, saying hello to everyone within sight.Schmoozey, that was it. Whereas I had a small circle of close friends, this guy was friends with every single person in town. He knew everything about everyone. Every time I passed by him in the grocery store or on the street, he was making small talk about somebody’s business or asking how someone’s kid was. It struck me as insincere, like he had an agenda.

Beside me, Max cleared his throat, a little smile on his face.

“What?” I asked him with raised eyebrows.

He bit back a grin but said nothing while he slid tea lights into the lantern.

“Don’t start,” I warned.

“I didn’t say anything.” He lit another candle. “But you sure like to spar with him.”

My mouth fell open. “He started it. He always starts it.”

Max gave me a knowing look. “Mhm.”

Disgust rippled through me at the notion of being romantically interested in Emmett. I had seen the way Emmett was with women—flirty, friendly, charming, and funny. He knew exactly what he was doing. And multiple times at my restaurant, I’d seen him remind women that he wasn’t the guy they wanted him to be. He roped them in and spat them out when he was done with them.

My dad was like that. He was everyone’s best friend until he changed his mind and disappeared. He was the brightest star in the room, the person everyone wanted to talk with and hang out with. When he was in a good mood, he brought everyone up with him, laughing and chatting and complimenting people and brightening their day. When he was in a bad mood, the clouds poured on everyone in his proximity, and he dragged everyone down with him.

I’d bet my life savings that Emmett was exactly like my dad.

Before I could respond, Max picked up two lanterns and strolled away. I laughed to myself before glancing back at Emmett’s table, where he was deep in conversation with his client. He glanced up, and we made eye contact before he winked.

I rolled my eyes again before turning back to the lanterns.

I didn’t know Emmett Rhodes in high school, but I had heard all about him. Heartbreaker, ladies’ man, Casanova—just a few of the names people had used to describe his time there. I believed it. The guy was six-four, lean but muscular, olive-toned skin, dark hair that he kept short and stylish, and a sharp jawline. His eyes were a pale grey, like all the Rhodes men. The guy could have modeled for cologne ads if he wanted to. He made whatever he was wearing look designer. Tonight, he wore slim black jeans, brown leather boots, and a white t-shirt, but he looked like he stepped out of the Redwing boots catalog. He was a walking advertisement for clothes, he made them look so good.

Not that I was interested. Yes, the guy looked like Henry Cavill, but I wasn’t in the market for someone who I could barely get within ten feet of without rolling my eyes.

Emmett Rhodes was what happened when a man grew up too attractive. He thought he had the world at his fingertips. I had spent the last five years avoiding Emmett Rhodes.

He liked to play this little game where he’d ask me out and I always said no. He had been doing this for years. He didn’t actually like me, he was that kind of guy who loved the chase. He only messed with me because I was the only person in town immune to him.

One of the candle flames singed my fingers as I placed it into the lantern and I swore under my breath. No more thinking about Mr. Popular. I had a job to do.

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