Page 27 of When It's Us
“I’ll take the chicken Caesar salad, dressing on the side,” I tell the waitress, who slides her gaze my way.
“Grilled or crispy chicken?” she asks, scratching the order on the little notebook in her hand.
“Gilled, please,” I say, closing my menu and setting it on the one Hutch used.
“And for you, doll?” she asks him, her voice sweet and cloying. It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes.
But Hutch shoots her a smile and orders a cheeseburger with no tomatoes, French fries, and a chocolate milkshake. The order takes me by surprise because I totally took him for a bit of a health nut. With a body like that, who wouldn’t?
“I’ll be right back with your waters,” the waitress says with a wink in his direction.
I let out a light laugh, shaking my head.
“What?” Hutch asks, long fingers unwrapping his silverware from the little paper napkin ring. He lines the utensils up on top of the napkin, then slings one arm over the back of the booth as he meets my gaze.
I study him for a beat or two. He genuinely looks unaware. Does he truly have zero idea of his effect on women? No. He has to know. He’s the cockiest man I know. The giant asshole smells like cedar and leather, and it makes me want to ride him like a fucking bronco. His hands are calloused and huge, and I imagine one wrapped around my throat while the other does delicious shit to my lady bits. Hehasto know.
“You really don’t see it, do you?” I ask, incredulous.
“See what?” he asks, scratching at his bearded jaw.
I lean over the table and whisper, “She was clearly trying to get your attention. And not to order food.”
He flicks an uninterested glance at the waitress who has made her way across the diner to take an order at another table.
He lifts a beefy shoulder.
“Oh God, it happens so much you don’t even notice it,” I say more to myself than to him.
The smirk on his face when I raise my eyes to his tells me he knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“Don’t you get tired of women treating you like a piece of meat?” There’s an edge to my voice and I’m not sure why.
“She’s harmless,” he says nonchalantly.
I study his face for a second and then huff out a breath. Why do I care, anyway? Am I defensive of him or is it something more? Something I really don’t want to unpack right now, especially when he’s looking at me like that and the image of him pantsless is so fresh on my mind.
I’m pulled from thoughts of his muscular thighs and the light brown hair that dusts them when my phone dings in my crossbody bag. I unzip it and pull out my phone, seeing a text from Peter.
Oh, thank God.
I swipe into the message, relief bubbling up, but anxiety follows close on its heels. I hope everything is okay.
Peter:Hey. Sorry about the late reply. Something happened with our carrier, and we only now got cell service. The boys are swimming, but I’ll have them call you tonight.
Relief sweeps through me, and I let out a body-wide sigh.
Hutch must sense the tension leaving me because he quirks a brow at me. “Everything good?”
I nod and tap out a quick text, letting Peter know I might not have service and that I’ll explain later, and to kiss the boys for me. He sends back a winky emoji and‘hope you’re doing something fun!’
“They’re good. Something about Peter’s cell carrier being wonky,” I tell Hutch.
He nods as the waitress comes back with our water and food. She sets Hutch’s plate and milkshake in front of him with a smile and then deposits mine in front of me with a quick glance in my direction before dropping off our waters.
“Can I get you anything else, honey?” The question is, of course, directed at Hutch, and he shakes his head with a nod in my direction.
The waitress barely acknowledges the shake of my head and then saunters off again.
