Page 34 of The Fake Out

It should be noted Sabrina was also on the city council.

I ground my back teeth. “We don’t know the outcome of that vote yet. I have faith in the good people of the council to make the right decision.”

“Oh, honey, bless your heart. I think we all know how it’s going to turn out.”

With an overbright smile, I handed over her items. “Here’s your books. Due in two weeks.”

Hopefully she could deduce what I didn’t say: You’re the worst.

“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll enjoy every one of them,” she said in a sugary-sweet voice and turned to leave.

That’s when the door opened, and Chris walked in, wearing khakis and a blue chambray button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up halfway, revealing muscly, sun-touched forearms.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, as Jane Austen would say, that there’s something about a man’s forearm that makes a woman’s heart skip a beat. How that part of the male anatomy can be so dang sexy without even trying is a mystery. But there you have it.

With a gasp, Sabrina put a hand on her chest. “Chris Sterns. I’d heard a rumor but… I’m so pleased to meet you.”

Chris ducked his head and shot her a smile of the aw-shucks variety. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Could I get a photo?”

“Sure thing,” he said.

Sabrina pulled out her phone and handed it to me. “Would you mind, Mae?”

“Of course not.”

She wasted no time situating herself at Chris’s side, practically burrowing under his arm until he lifted it and put it around her shoulders. I almost laughed at his pained expression, especially when I was ninety-nine percent sure she’d given his backside a good feel-up.

I briefly thought about cutting their heads off in all the photos but, in the end, I was a good girl. Before she left, Sabrina gave him her business card and offered her services for whatever he needed.

“She’s scary,” Chris said, when the door shut behind her.

“It’s the teeth. Very pointy.” I gave him my very best imitation of her smile. “You’re dressed all fancy today.”

He pulled at his collar. “Yeah, I had a meeting this morning.”

For what? I wanted to ask. But it was none of my business. At all. Remember that, Maebell Sampson. “Book club, then?”

With a nod, he followed me back to the office/copy room/break room and set a bag of takeout on the table. “It was my turn to bring lunch. I know we planned on the café, but I was in Houston, so I stopped for barbecue.”

I paused, then pulled the takeout carton toward me. “Oh, okay. That’s fine.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

“I planned on something else, that’s all. I like to know things ahead of time.” I glanced up to find him staring at me, lips pressed together. “Are you laughing at me?”

“A little bit. It’s lunch. I didn’t buy you a house.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to have a plan,” I said, my voice taking on the same edge I used with the kids who sometimes came here after school and hid in a corner to giggle over scenes in some racy novel they’d found.

“Nothing wrong with being a little spontaneous either. Some of my best decisions have been made in the spur of a moment.”

“Agree to disagree.”

“Deal. Let’s get back to the Pirate’s Booty. More like the Pirate’s Booty Call, amirite?” With a wicked little chuckle, he pulled his book out. Somehow it looked even more tattered and worn than the last time we’d met. “Did you finish?”

“Yup.” I tucked a paper napkin in around my neck.