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While Bennett politely shook his hand, his eyes had frosted with anger. No. It wasjealousy, definitely jealousy. While that thought made me want to preen like a peacock and wiggle my feathery tail, I also had the urgent need to clarify this situation right here and now. Before Finn went too far. He totally could and would, just to get a reaction out of the guy I kept insisting I wasn’t interested in every day at lunch.
“Finn is my best friend,” I explained. “We work together.”
Finn hugged me against his side, chuckling to himself. “Yeah. Had to take my girl out, or she’d spend another Friday night at home.”
Oh, no. He was about to escalate this.
Then Finn smiled down at me adoringly. Like a lover.
Mouth dropping open, I shoved his arm off my shoulder and leaned closer to Bennett. “He’s gay. He’s very,verygay.”
“What’s the difference between gay and very gay?” asked Finn curiously.
“You’re an idiot,” I hissed.
“I’m the idiot? This from the girl I’ve had to strip down and put to bed every time she thinks she can drink Vodka.”
“Shutup, Finley,” I grit out.
“She’s a slow learner,” he whispered conspiratorially to Bennett. “But a cheap drunk. A definite keeper.”
I elbowed him farther away while Bennett tried to hide his laugh, a wave of relief sweeping his expression.
“Seriously,”—I nodded my head toward Finn—“he’s just messing around.”
Bennett smiled, that mischievous one that made me think of gasping moans and sweaty sheets.
While I’d denied that I wanted to date the man for some time, I was well aware that if we did, he’d set my body on fire in the bedroom. The look he was giving me now had already sent a hot-flash licking down my body.
As if he knew what I was thinking, his gaze wandered to my mouth and down my neck, then back to my mouth. Suddenly, I couldn’t give a shit about the Bolognese pasta. He hitched in a breath, his heated hazel eyes finally finding mine.
“Enjoy your dinner with your friend.” His words were polite but also some kind of warning. Like Finn better only be my friend.
Scatterbrained once again by this man, I rejoined Finn, who was grinning like the cat who got the cream.
“Don’t say a word.”
“Not even a teeny tiny one,” he assured me, still smiling as he dove into the bowl of pasta.
After a painfully long meal—nine minutes—with the other couples, I excused Finn and I. Finn didn’t seem to mind, knowing full well my concentration had been on the door leading into the store the entire meal.
“Someone’s in a hurry.”
“It’s been a long day,” I bit back.
“Mmhmm.”
Not caring what Finn thought, I hustled out to the store as he trailed me, not even pretending that I wasn’t hunting down Bennett. I found him standing at customer service, talking to someone behind the counter. He immediately looked up when we approached the exit.
“I’ll wait for you by the car,” said Finn, carrying our leftovers out with him.
My gaze slid to the woman behind the counter. “Ms. Theriot?”
It was Trace’s mother. I stared, confused.
“Hi, there, Ms. Mouton.” She beamed and waved as I approached. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Uh, you too. When did you start working here?” I glanced at Bennett, whose expression was unreadable.
