Page 250 of Branded
Then her eyes came to mine…and I braced.
She was going to keep trying to let me down easily.
God, I wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to hold her close until the uncertainty in the dark brown depths faded.
But she didn’t want that.
So, all I could do was leave her be.
“I get it, gorgeous.” I smiled a smile that I’d perfected over the years, one that had disarmed my parents, turned their worry from me when they had too much on their plates and didn’t need to focus on my petty, unimportant kid-drama. “No hard feelings. Promise.” A wink, my lips curving further, tone lightening. “I’m used to rejection.”
And, just like it had growing up, that smile paired with the light words worked.
Jules relaxed again, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at me. “I’m sure,” she said dryly.
“It’s true,” I teased, tugging open the door (much more gently than the octopi couple) and waving at her to proceed ahead of me. “My heart has been stepped on so many times over the years, I’m sure that it’s basically just pulp.”
Her laughter filling the hall…filling my heart.
Then she shook her head again, her smile as she looked back at me joining that laughter in my heart, and gestured to my table as we strode into the busy barroom. “Go sit down and”—another glance over her shoulder that didn’t do anything to assuage my need to kiss her—“if you behave, I’ll bring you one of Cody’s freshly baked cookies.”
I had a sweet tooth.
And I loved Cody’s cookies.
But I knew that tonight, it would sit heavy in my gut, no matter how tasty.
Because I’d shot my shot.
And I’d fucked it up.
Two
Jules, Two Months Later
“It’s break time.”
I glanced over at Beth, tucking the round, black tray under my arm as I did so…
And instant regret of that action.
Frosty drops of condensation from cold drinks, of spillover from the beers and sodas and just plain glasses of water dripped down my side. From armpit to hip and frigid enough that I bit the inside of my cheek so that I didn’t squeak and squirm in response.
All these years in this job and I still spilled shit on myself.
Though, I supposed I should be happy that my habit of dumping trays full of food on myself had been limited to three times. Total.
Twice—my fault.
Once—an asshole patron (who’d been permanently banned).
Beth cleared her throat, brows lifting, pregnant belly rounded and just visible when she was sitting at the high top table.
Right.
Beth had made a statement. Though, it was more of a question, even if the actual words that had come out of Beth’s mouth had been absent of the querying tone.
I glanced at my watch. “Just about.”
