Page 24 of Shut Up and Jingle Me
His mouth curves, just a little, trying not to smile. “Figures.”
The waitress jots it down, glancing between us as if she can feel the charge hanging in the air. When she heads off, I sink back into the booth, stretching my legs out under the table until they almost—almost—brush his.
“Figures?” I echo, lifting a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Max grins, shaking his head as he toys with the edge of the menu. “Just…you’re predictable, Starling. And I’m pretty sure you have a sugar addiction.”
“Predictable?” I fake offense, clutching my chest. “Please. I’m full of surprises, Calder. And if loving sugar is a crime, then lock me up—I’ll go sweetly.”
I hold out my wrists to him, and he laughs. The sound is warm as it washes over me, giving me a pleasant little buzz of happiness. I love that I can make him do that. Like maybe I’m not just the guy who sings carols on the ice to annoy his teammates, but someone who can peel a laugh out of him when he least expects it.
The waitress swings by with our drinks, drawing out her notepad, breaking the moment, but I’m still grinning as I glance at Max across the table.
The waitress flips open her pad and looks between us. “So, what can I get you boys tonight?”
“French silk pie,” I say instantly, flashing a grin.
Her pen hovers, waiting, but Max snorts and cuts in before she can jot it down. “As your athletic trainer, I have to recommend something with protein.”
Protein. My brain flashes through a dozen inappropriate places to take that, heat crawling up the back of my neck. I’d like some protein alright, just not the kind he’s thinking.
I clear my throat and pretend to study the menu as though I’m not flustered. “Fine,” I mutter, flipping the page and forcing my grin to stay put. “Burger. That enough protein for you, Calder?”
The corner of his mouth quirks, and I swear his eyes linger on me a fraction too long before he nods.
Whoa.
Did he say that on purpose? To make my brain jump straight into the gutter? Because congratulations, Calder—mission accomplished. My pulse is doing somersaults, and I can’t tell if I want to crawl under the table or climb across it.
Maybe thisisa date.
The thought lodges hard in my chest, too big to swallow down. We’re sitting in a booth, snow falling outside, hot drinkssteaming between us like some Hallmark setup gone gay—and he’s looking at me like…well, like that.
I pick up my cocoa just to have something to do with my hands, blowing on the whipped cream until I can see the chocolate beneath as if it requires full concentration.
Max leans back against his side of the booth, stretching out and taking up space. The move shifts his leg under the table until his foot nudges mine, light, almost careless. Except there’s no way he doesn’t notice, not with how I go stock-still at the contact.
“You always get this worked up over food?” he asks, smirking, knowing exactly how off balance I am. And I have a feeling he’s doing it on purpose.
I choke on a laugh, trying not to flinch away or lean in. God, my brain is so loud. “Only when someone tries to police my dessert choices,” I shoot back, aiming for playful and hopefully notflushed and obvious.
His foot doesn’t move. If anything, it presses a little firmer against mine, deliberate now.
“Dessert normally comes after you eat real food. And it could just mean I’m looking out for you,” he says, voice low enough to curl under my skin in all the wrong—or right—ways.
My pulse spikes, cocoa forgotten. Looking out for me. Uh-huh. Or is he flirting? I can’t tell anymore.
Maybe both.
“Looking out for me?” I echo, raising a brow as if I’m not two seconds from melting into the floor. I nudge his foot back under the table, casual, returning the favor. “That what you call it?”
Max’s smirk deepens. “What wouldyoucall it, Starling?”
God, the way he says my name. I sip my cocoa slowly, letting the whipped cream brush my lip, pretending I’m composed when my brain is a mess. “I’d call it interfering with my constitutional right to pie.”
He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, but his foot stays exactly where it is. “Guess I’ll plead guilty, then.”
I set my cup down, meeting his gaze across the booth. My grin’s sharp, maybe a little too daring. “Good. Because I don’t let people off easy.”
