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I find it between the chillis and the grits, written in bold cursive as if it didn’t have enough emphasis on its own. I fight back a smile, looking down at that sweet scandalised expression on her face. Her eyes re-read the phrase “Doggie Deluxe” over and over again.
“It’s just a hotdog, Harper,” I tell her quietly as she begins gnawing on her lip. She glances up at me and then returns her eyes back to the menu, a concerned crease in her brow. “We can just get drinks if you prefer. Or we could go to that restaurant–”
“Okay, just drinks for now,” she agrees, moving her body so that she’s sat with her back straight up against the chair, her fingers twiddling in her lap. When she sees that I’m still watching her she admits in a rush, “I haven’t done this in a while is all. I’m a little nervous.”
I hate that she feels nervous but I love the fact that she’s crossed her leg so that it’s almost wrapped around my calf, ensuring me that she wants to be here and that her nerves aren’t to do with my presence. I pull my wallet out of my jeans and slip a card out of the leather, before pushing the wallet back inside my pocket so that Harper doesn’t see what else I’ve got in there.
“What do you want to drink?” I ask her, absentmindedly drumming the edge of the card against the tabletop. Then a thought comes to me and I almost smile, leaning a little closer to her so that I can murmur, “I don’t think that they do champagne here.”
A startled laugh leaves her chest and she quickly scrunches up her nose and knocks her thigh against mine. “You must think that I’m such a princess,” she says sadly, shaking her head.
I return the thigh press, gratified when her breathing catches in her throat. “Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing? I do think that, and I like it. I like the fact that you’re into girly stuff.”
“So you won’t judge me if I say that I don’t want to drink anything alcoholic, and that I’d rather get a milkshake?” she asks, avoiding my eyes as her cheeks burn brighter.
I wrap my left arm around the back of her seat and reply, “All I’d say to that is: what flavour, baby?”
She ducks her head away from me, hiding her cute dimples as she laughs.
After a moment she looks up at me, eyes bright, and says, “Okay, um, maybe a… a strawberry milkshake for now, please.” Then she takes a shaky breath, leans up towards my ear, and whispers, “But maybe we can try the Doggie Deluxe later.”
I grunt and spread my thighs wider as my muscles suddenly flex, my hand dropping the card to the table so that I can squeeze a tight fist. She pulls away from me to watch for my reaction and I look down at her with a warning in my eyes.
Is she trying to kill me?We haven’t been in here for two minutes and she’s already trying to get me excited?
She uncrosses her legs and my gaze automatically falls into her lap, my body tensing as I imagine how warm and ready she is down there.
Jesus fucking Christ. I practically throw myself out of the booth, snatching up my card and the menu before pinning her back with a piercing stare. She doesn’t look too nervous now that she knows how insanely badly I want what she just suggested. I roll back my shoulders, trying to burn off a bit of adrenaline, and she bites back a smile as she watches me struggle.
“Behave,” I tell her, and then I turn away, storming over to the counter.
My head is practically in my hands as I wait for the guy behind the counter to whip up a milkshake and get me a non-alcoholic beer. I keep my eyes completely averted from the booth over to my right, refusing to look at Harper before I’ve managed to fully cool down.
So she wants me as much as I want her – I’m pretty confident of that now, considering the fact that from the few words we’ve shared this evening they’ve all been fairly suggestive. Over the month or so that I’ve known her she’s given me a hell of a lot of whiplash, but now I’m thinking that that has less to do with me and more to do with whatever she came to Pine Hills to get away from in the first place.
I tap my card above the reader as the server rings up the till, and then I slot it between my teeth, taking the milkshake in one hand and the “beer” in the other.
Harper eyes the bottle in my fist with an apprehensive frown as I set down her milkshake and slide onto the bench in front of her, her fingers shoving a red and white striped straw straight through the mountain of whipped cream. She slides the cold glass closer to her body and then after locking her lips around the straw she takes a quick suck. She narrows her eyes on me as I watch her, like I’m suddenly the world’s biggest jackass.
I pick up the brown bottle in front of me and face the label her way so that she can read it.
“It’s non-alcoholic, Harper,” I tell her, and her expression instantly softens.
“Oh,” she says with an embarrassed smile as she slips the straw from between her lips. “Sorry, I just… assumed. Thank you for, uh, for not drinking whilst I’m your passenger.”
I shake my head to tell her that it’s no worries and then I take a long pull on the bottle, bitter liquid coursing down my throat. About half of the contents has disappeared by the time that I place it back on the table.
“That’s the whole point of tonight,” I say to her, meeting her gaze with mine. “No more assumptions. Whatever you want to know, I’m happy to answer. And I’d love to hear every detail that you’re happy to share with me about yourself, too.”
She flutters her lashes as she holds my stare, eyes only dipping momentarily so that she can have another sip of her milkshake.
“What do you want to know?” she asks me, pulling out her straw and then stabbing it back into the cream.
“Everything.”
She pulls a face. “Like career stuff? Family stuff?” she asks.
I shrug, picking at the label on the bottle in front of me. “Yeah, that sounds like a good start. You said you were a writer, I know that much.”
