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She glanced at her cart, letting out a laugh. “No. That’s why my cart is so full!”
I extended a hand. “Let me see your phone.”
She gave me a skeptical side eye view, but unlocked it anyway. I air dropped her information to mine, then sent a text message with the address to a restaurant in the next town over. Thea Rose. Even her name was gorgeous.
“Alright, Thea,” I said, adding her contact to my phone. When I was finished, I handed it back. “I’ve got to get my groceries paid for and put away. But would you like to meet me at The Flying Fish in say two hours? We can grab some dinner, and I’ll introduce you to a couple of my friends.”
Thea took her phone from me, shaking her head. “I don’t know…” Her voice trailed off, and she shifted uncomfortably. I was losing her. I probably had been too forward with her, too fast. Or maybe she was just naturally shy and knew that agreeing to meet strangers was a red flag.
“We don’t bite,” I said, giving her a smile. I scratched at my chin, pretending to seem contemplative.
“Is this because you overheard me on the phone?” She asked, her jaw dropped.
I shrugged. “It’s not every day you overhear a gorgeous woman admit on the phone that she’s interested in trying things that you and your friends enjoy.”
Her eyes bulged while I shot her a wink. “I was just kidding.”
I smirked. “I’m kidding too, Thea. You’re new to town, and I’m just offering you a welcome. We all got to eat. So come hang out with us.”
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
Thea followed me, stuttering and coming up with excuses for the things I overheard. She even got in the same checkout line as me. “Go ahead,” I said, pulling my cart out so she could go in front of me.
She shook her head. “It’s fine.”
I smiled, grabbing the end of her cart and swapping her spot in line with mine.
“Thanks,” she said, her gaze on the ground.
When it was her turn to put everything on the belt, I leaned over the front of her cart, helping her to unload. Together, we knocked out both of our carts by the time she was next in line. There was a domesticated symphony to it I wasn’t expecting. A calmness to the quiet as we helped each other finish a task, and I didn’t want to unpack exactly what that meant. Not when I was sure she was only looking for a summer fling.
We could give that to her, if we knew going into this that we had to close off our hearts to any potential heartache.
Chapter Six
Hendrix
Parker bounced on the balls of his feet, an excited little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His hair was down, waves of thick dark hair falling around his face and stopping just above his shoulders. He’d been growing his hair out since we moved to the mountains, and it suited him. It shaped his pointed jaw, making him appear younger than the thirty-three years he was.
Not that thirty-three was old by any means. But his new style, the long hair and the carefree attitude he’d acquired since we left the Army was a good fit for him.
Parker had been glued to his phone since he got home from the store. He even made me drive to the restaurant so he could text. Now, we were waiting outside until our table was called, and he was still on his fucking phone.
Every time I asked who he was texting, he brushed it off, locking his phone and dropping it into his pocket.
He was hiding something, and it was hindering our night out.
This wasn’t technically a date night. We weren’t together in a boyfriend type of capacity. We were friends that sometimes crossed swords in threesomes, with both men and women.
But sometimes I got jealous. Mostly when he was hiding whoever he was talking to from me. We didn’t share everyone, and it was a given that sometimes he may hit it off with someone I didn’t, or vice versa. The secrets and lies didn’t sit right with me, though. And that’s what was happening here.
My phone buzzed, a notification that our table was ready and to meet inside popping up. I nudged him and he followed me. Once we settled into the booth and both had ordered beers, I decided it was time to question him more.
“Are you going to tell me who the third person joining us is?” I asked.
I tried to keep my tone flat–indifferent to his answer–but Parker knew me. We spent a lot of time together on a daily basis. He knew I was frustrated.
The server came back with our beers. Hendrix took a long sip, savoring the cool liquid before he swallowed. Then he finally answered. “Don’t be mad at me for this.”
