Page 10 of Sugar Coated Lies
“Sorry,” I murmur and set my pad and pen down in a hurry to get my locks back into a bun, as I’m sure Gary is watching.
When I lift my gaze to the customer, my breath catches in my throat.
In the corner booth, farthest from the entrance and the camera, sits a super model or super gorgeous athlete. You have to work to have a physique as fit as his. A tight V-neck t-shirt hugs his sculpted chest and shows off equally toned arms. Golden brown hair that’s thick and longer on top is styled away from a chiseled face that could belong to a celebrity.
I would think I’m hallucinating, because why would a man like this be in our diner on a Saturday afternoon when he clearly belongs on a yacht, except the bruised skin surrounding a green eye is a dead giveaway that he’s real.
“You’re the guy from last night.”
“And you’re the raven-haired beauty I treated like shit.” His gaze sweeps over me from head to toe and settles on my face and hair, his lips parted with a look of disbelief.
It takes a moment for his words to sink in. Raven-haired beauty? Treated like shit? Why is he looking at me that way? Why am I finding it hard to think? Because he’s gorgeous; I couldn’t see it behind his wet, disheveled hair and downcast gaze last night.
I force out words. “I…I didn’t take offense to your behavior. You had a rough night. Your eye looks better, though, less swollen.”
“That’s good.” He touches his eyebrow and gives me a little smirk.
I remember the full-blown version of that and the panty-dropping effect I’m sure it has on all women. “Um, what are you doing here?”
“Maybe I came for more of that delicious pie.”
I narrow my gaze and shovel my hair into a makeshift ponytail before twisting it into a high bun. He watches me in a way that sparks my nerves.
“Are you really here for my pie?”
“I was impressed by it.”
“Okay,” I say with suspicion. “So you want a slice of pie?”
He hesitates. “Yes.”
“No food first?” I point to the menu stuffed between the wall and the napkin holder.
He glances at it, then back at me, his mint-green eyes intense and inquisitive. “Just the pie.”
“Anything to drink?” I grab my pad and pen from the table and write down his order.
“Water.”
Something is off here, and I don’t know what. “Water and pie it is.”
I turn and head for the kitchen, feeling his gaze on me.
For reasons unknown to me, I add a little swing to my hips.
As soon as I push through the kitchen door, Annabeth bombards me with questions.
“Who in the world is that? How do you know him? Are you dating him? Where did you meet him? He might be the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
Me too. Apart from one other guy whose haunting beauty stole my breath but ended up being only surface deep.
“I don’t know who it is. He came in last night.” I get a slice of the fresh-out-of-the-oven pie. Mike has them sitting on the counter, cooling.
“Thank you for not letting them burn,” I say to him as I arrange the bigger-than-usual slice on a plate before adding a bit of whipped cream.
Annabeth hovers over my shoulder. “He came after I went home?”
“Yeah. His friends left him stranded here.”
