Page 150 of Prodigal Son

She paused, unsure if she’d told him her name the other night. “Thanks…”

“Cain.”

Her gaze lifted and she frowned. “I thought it was Adam.”

“I have a twin named Adam. You’ve met.”

The resemblance was so uncanny she didn’t believe him. “Right. Is that like a Dr. Drake Ramoray line you use when your first hookup attempt fails? Let me guess, Adam’s your evil twin—the Hans Ramoray to your Drake.”

“I don’t know these men you speak of.”

“They’re not real,” she murmured, sliding her martini closer. “It’s from an episode of Friends.” And yes, her social life had been so bleak lately that she was spending more time with fictional characters than real people. So what?

“Friends?” he repeated, then looked at the booth of drunk women ogling him. “Are they your friends?”

When she nodded he ducked his head and she swore his cheeks darkened. His shirt was plain with the cuffs rolled to the elbows, but there was something odd about his attire, something that told her he didn’t shop at Target or Marshalls. “Are you from around here?”

“No, but I don’t live far.”

She wiped her sweaty palms on her knees under the table. Crazy or not, the guy was hot enough to make her nervous. It was like some primitive part of her brain recognized the fact that he would be a good hunter and together they could have strong babies. “You’re really not married?”

“I’m not married.”

“Divorced?” She needed to figure out what was wrong with him. As always, it was her policy to get a guy’s negative stats first.

“No.”

“Children?”

“Not yet.”

“Gay?”

“No.”

“Homeless?”

“No.”

There had to be a catch here. He was probably hung like a light switch. “Do you live with your mother?”

“I live with my sister—”

“Ahha!”

He paused, silently laughing at her response, then calmly said, “My house is being built and should be finished in the spring. It’s temporary.”

She frowned. He was well off enough to have a home custom built? That didn’t make sense. Her typical guy usually had debt, and a backstory a million miles long, with a crazy ex, and at least one custody agreement. There had to be something.

“Let me help you.” He leaned forward, resting his thickly muscled forearms on the table. “I’m Amish.”

“Amish?” The clothes suddenly made sense, but he didn’t have a beard or wear a hat. “Then why are you in a bar?”

“I came to find you.”

Her shoulders tensed and she drew back. “Righhht.” She slid away her martini. “Okay then. Well, it was nice talking to you, but I have to get back to my friends.” She stood.

“Wait.” He caught her hand and she stilled. “Please don’t leave.”

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