She spoke my language, even if I didn’t know why.
I’d gone there for Travis, first and foremost. But, somewhere around the point when she breathed my name, I knew I was going to have to multitask.
There wasn’t a chance in hell I was walking out of that hospital without an appointment for myself too. Mine was going to be after hours and sans the hospital johnny.
Christ, she was cute.
Her smiles were reserved, but when she aimed them at me, it felt as though I’d conquered Mount Everest. I knew firsthand how arduous it was to produce a smile.
Not the one I displayed like an avatar.
A real one.
Gone was her hoodie, and in its place was an equally flattering scrub top. But I didn’t care what she was wearing. Her being beautiful was nothing more than an incredibly nice by-product.
I wasn’t a rash person by any stretch of the imagination, but I felt it with her—the common denominator I’d never found with anyone else.
Don’t get me wrong. Love at first sight didn’t exist. Soul mates were the likes of fairytales. And lust wasn’t love, no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself otherwise.
Feelings faded. Obsessions got rerouted. True colors never stayed hidden for long.
So, while I was absolutely intrigued by this woman, I wasn’t delusional enough to think it would ever be anything more than that. I was a numbers guy. She was only one woman out of the 3.7 billion on the planet. Statistically, I had a better chance of falling in love with a sheep than this broken woman. But I was also a believer that people entered your life for a reason and it was up to you to figure out why.
Yeah. I was going to hell, because before I gave her the chance to shoot me down about Travis, I was going to figure out why she’d entered mine.
“So, what are you naming the new restaurant?” she asked, pinching a bite off her burger before popping it into her mouth. She’d eaten nearly her entire sandwich in the same manner.
Seriously. Fucking cute.
I chuckled and leaned back against the padded cafeteria booth, my burger long since gone. “The Tannerhouse.”
She lifted her hand to cover her mouth and mumbled around her food. “Seriously?”
“Unfortunately, yes. And it gets worse. It’s all one word. Tannerhouse. Like Porterhouse, only not actually a word.”
She laughed, and the sound danced over my skin.
Fuck Mount Everest. That felt like I’d built a ladder straight to the heavens. (And yes, I’d realized exactly how goddamn cheesy that thought was. But fuck, it felt that fucking good when the sound of her laughter drew a laugh from my own throat.)
I tried not to stare at her mouth, but it was a futile effort. Her pink lips were a perfect crescent, pouty and pink.
While Charlotte didn’t have the warmest demeanor, there was no mistaking the fact that everything about her was entirely feminine. Even the simple things, like the way she used two fingers to tuck her hair behind her ear or the way she set her fork down after every bite, were almost graceful.
When she caught me staring, her cheeks pinked and she looked down, her long, straight hair falling forward to curtain her face off.
My hands ached to brush it over her shoulder so I could see her again. Just as I was about to give in to the urge, she looked up, a new confidence blazing in her eyes.
“Your brother sounds like a character.”
I nodded. “If, by character, you mean his life goal is to screw with me, then yes. He is a huge character.”
“Is he older or younger?” she asked before pinching another tiny bite off her burger.
“Younger by two years.”
“So that makes him, what, like, twenty-five, twenty-six?”
I wasn’t the only one at that table flirting. Mine was slightly more overt, but she wasn’t fooling anyone.
Leaning forward on my elbows, I shot her a teasing side-eye. “Are you asking because you want to know how old he is or how old I am?”
Her face remained stoic. “Well, you said he was famous. So, clearly, I was asking about him.”
She was kidding. Dry as the Sahara Desert. But I fucking loved it, so I remained stoic as well.
After picking my cell phone up, I opened the web browser. “He’s thirty-two. You want to see a picture?”
“Absolutely.” She leaned forward with mock interest.
I knew that it was mock because her heated gaze roamed over my arms and my shoulders when she thought I wasn’t looking.
Shaking my head, I went to work searching through Google images for exactly the right picture. Passing it her way, I lied, “If you’re interested, I could see if he’s free for dinner tonight.”
I would quite possibly light Tanner on fire before I’d let him anywhere near her.
“That sounds amazing. I’ll rush home and…” She didn’t finish the thought when her gaze landed on the screen. “Dear God,” she whispered, covering her mouth with her hand. “He’s an Adonis.”
The picture was of Sloth from The Goonies.
“People say we look alike, but I don’t see it.”
“Oh, you don’t look anything alike.”
“No?” I smirked.
“Oh, no way. He’s so much better looking than you are.”
The smile that split my lips was unrivaled. But the real surprise was when it traveled from my mouth through my body, igniting me in the most unfamiliar way.
“Obviously,” I replied, reaching for my phone. “If you give me your number, I’ll be happy to forward you the picture. You know, so you can stare at it later.”
“Really?” she breathed. “Your kindness knows no bounds.”
Swear to God, there wasn’t an ounce of humor in her voice. I was so fucking impressed.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and rattled a string of numbers off. I couldn’t program those digits in quickly enough.
Flashing her a grin, I got busy typing a text out.
Me: Hey, it’s Porter. AKA: Grill Master Max.
I looked up as her phone vibrated. “You should probably reply to that. It might be an insanely gorgeous man trying to ask you out.”
Her lips twitched as she brought her phone up, her thumbs fluidly gliding over the screen.
Her: The ugly Reese brother?
Me: I prefer genetically challenged, but yes.
When I pressed send, I turned my attention back to her. And I had the absolute pleasure of witnessing that lip twitch transform into a full-blown grin.
Her: My sincerest apologies for my insensitivity.
Her head lifted to mine, and I dodged the eye contact by focusing on my phone.
Me: Accepted. Listen, so I was thinking…
I sent the picture of Sloth.
Me: I may not be an Adonis, but maybe you could do your good deed for the year and go on a pity date with me tonight?
She laughed softly as she typed.
Her: Sorry. I already did my good deed by having a pity lunch with a man today. He fed me dog.
I barked a laugh but kept my head down.
Me: Wow. He sounds terrible. I can’t imagine eating my Wagyu terrier.
Her: Yeah. He was charming in an awkward way, but I have no doubt he’s a serial killer. He tried to light me on fire the first time we met.
My head snapped up. “Oh come on! I wasn’t trying to set you on fire!” I exclaimed, placing my phone on the table.
She let out a loud laugh and followed suit, shoving her phone back into her pocket.
We sat in silence for several seconds. She poked at her potato salad with a spoon, while I stared at her, wishing she would give me her gaze back. Finally, I got up the nerve to slide my palm across the table until it covered her hand.
“You think I’m charming, huh?”
“I also think you’re a serial killer,” she told the potato salad.
Rubbing my thumb over the back of her hand, I asked, “So, just to be clear, where do we stand on the whole dinner thing?”
She looked up and her playful gaze had dimmed. “Porter, listen.” She started to pull her hand away, but I refused to let go. “I’m not sure what Rita told you about me, but—”
“Rita didn’t tell me anything.”
“Right,” she said dismissively. “You just happen to know where I was and how I eat my burger?”