Page 2 of Trouble Me
Damn. The man had sex appeal in spades.
He blinked at her then glanced down at the menu, rubbing a hand across his strong jaw. “How are the burgers?” His voice held a husky quality that made her tingle in all the right places.
Prying her tongue off the roof of her mouth, she kicked her brain into gear. “They’re the best in town. You won’t be hungry when you finish.”
While he figured out what he wanted, she studied him from under her lashes, pen hovering over the notepad. A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead and the thick, rich mane held a slight wave that all but begged her to muss it up. One side of her mouth quirked up. Women paid good money for the hair color this guy was born with.
“I'll take a cheeseburger with fries and a soda.”
She bit her lip in an effort not to smile. The hot mystery man must be an out-of-towner. All the locals simply referred to a soda as “Coke.” “What kind of soda?”
“Coca-Cola, please.”
Yep, definitely a tourist. She nodded, not bothering to write it down. “Will do.”
He put the menu back behind the napkin dispenser, dismissing her. When she returned a few minutes later with his drink, he’d lost the navy blazer. His crisp, white button-down shirt accented his broad shoulders, causing her heart to flutter. She’d always been a sucker for that classic male physique. “Here ya go. Your burger and fries will be up in a few.”
He muttered an absent-minded “thank you,” his attention focused on the phone in his hand.
Emma frowned and walked away. He may be hot as sin but he had all the social skills of a grizzly bear. Not that it mattered to her as long as he left a tip.
While she worked to ready the diner for closing, she kept an eye on the level of his drink, but otherwise left him alone. When Bud, the night cook, popped the bell and called out, “Order Up!” she grabbed the plated food and headed toward her definite last customer of the day.
She was locking the damn door this time.
“Here ya go.”
Her customer moved back so she could put down his plate, his focus still on his phone. Irritation flared and weaved its way into her voice. “Need anything else?”
“No.” His tone was brusque, putting her teeth on edge. She spun on her heel, but only made it a couple of steps before he called her back.
“Yes?” She tried to hide the aggravation in her voice. She wasn't expecting him to fall all over her or anything. He was way out of her newfound league. His clothes and demeanor screamed money and power. These days, hers screamed desperation. But was it too much to ask for a little courtesy? Eye contact, or a “thank you” she didn’t have to strain to hear?
She walked back and leaned a hip against the edge of the table. Her body hadn't been her own for the last two years, and the longer she stood on her feet, the more it revolted. All she wanted to do was get this guy out of here and go home.
He looked up with the intense blue eyes that she tried to ignore. “Can I add a slice of pie to my order?” he asked.
“We have apple, peach, and cherry.”
“Hmmm.” He tapped his finger on the rim of the turquoise-tinted coke glass. “Peach, please.”
“Okay. Be back in a few.”
“Thanks.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile that was obnoxiously heart-stopping. She could only imagine what his full-on smile would be like. Angels probably broke into song. A ping from his phone diverted his attention and she was subtly dismissed.
Her teeth clenched until her jaw ached, and she barely resisted the urge to stomp back into the kitchen. With jerky movements, she sliced a piece of pie and slid it onto a plate. What was a man who looked like that doing in a small, southern town diner? He was like a Mercedes at a monster truck show.
Emma closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She needed to get a grip. She was overly tired and didn’t need a man she would most likely never see again to get under her skin. Blowing out a deep breath, she pasted a smile on her face and sailed out of the kitchen to his table.
“Here’s your peach—”
As she moved to set down the plate in front of him, he lifted his glass up to his mouth. Plate and glass collided, sending a shower of Coke all over his very white, very expensive shirt.
Her gasp and his string of curses filled the air.
Shit, shit, shit. They were both still for a moment, with her holding the plate and him holding the glass in mid-air.
Heat spread up her neck until her ears burned. Mortified didn’t begin to cover the emotions that ran through her veins. “Oh, my God, I am so sorry. Here.” She set the plate on the table before pulling a handful of napkins from the dispenser and patting his shirt dry. “Let me clean you up.”
