Page 251 of Branded
“Your tables all have their food and refills,” Beth said. “No one new has walked in. You’ve been on your feet for four hours?—”
“You guys have only been here for an hour,” I countered, just on principle. Beth was awesome and kind and sweet, but she also had a strong personality and was good at railroading people. It was important to show a little spine, otherwise she would walk right over me.
An arch look. “Am I wrong?”
She wasn’t, unfortunately.
But I wasn’t going to admit that.
“So, you’ve been on your feet for four hours.” Beth smiled beatifically. “And we happen to have an extra Sprite with your name on it.”
I narrowed my eyes.
I hadn’t brought them any Sprites. None of the girls, or the guys taking up space at a high top on the other side of the bar, their eyes glued to their women, drank them. And okay…all the guys were staring at their respective women…except for one of them.
Cas.
He was looking at me.
He’d done it a lot.
Before he asked me out.
And he still did it after I’d turned him down.
I was a single mom of a busy five-year-old boy. I worked long hours and jockeyed babysitters and my budget—my superpower was robbing Peter to pay Paul, lasting a few more days so that I could scrimp and save and make sure we didn’t go broke. I didn’t have time for hockey players who dated women like they were the Daily Special (and one that was never repeated).
Clink. Clink.
I jerked, attempting to tear my gaze from the ruggedly handsome face, from the intense green eyes that were the color of the mature Douglas firs I’d grown up with, surrounding me on all sides.
The mountains and cold, crisp air.
The snow crunching beneath my boots, walking into the nearby resorts with my boots tied together and tossed over one shoulder, my skis strapped to my back, bypassing the tourists’ cars, and making good use of my season pass (earned back then from my newly emerging superpower of scrimping and saving).
God, I’d loved being out there.
I missed it now.
But…life changed and people either adapted and moved on or lived looking back.
I wasn’t much for looking back.
I had Ethan, and he needed a happy, steady mom, and that meant not looking back. Because sure as shit, if I spent all of my time focusing on my past and all the bad stuff that had happened, I wouldn’t be happy.
Nor steady.
Nor able to give Ethan what he needed.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
A crisp demand for attention. Beth’s crisp demand for attention.
Right.
Finally, I managed to focus back on the table (and made sure to ignore Beth’s arch smirk). The other woman saw too damned much.
Narrowing my eyes, I asked, “And who is the Sprite for?” A beat. “Because I know it’s not really for me.”
