Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

“Oh, we’re old friends,” Lance lies. Again. “How do you know her?”

“I’m her date.”

Lance takes a step back. I can’t decipher the look on his handsome face, whether he’s curious or irritated now. He watches Jonah far too closely for far too long.

“It’s nice to meet you, but we were just leaving,” Jonah says, putting his napkin on the table.

Scrambling to get myself together, to find my purse, to take a final sip of my Coke, I freeze everything when Lance speaks.

“You barely touched your chicken, Mariah.”

“Jonah got a call from the hospital,” I explain. “Spur of the moment thing. He’s needed there so we’re going to cut this a little short.”

“Then perfect timing. I’ll take you home,” Lance says. He narrows his eyes as if to warn me, but I skirt right around that.

“Oh, no,” I protest, holding up a hand. “That’s unnecessary.”

“I have ten minutes to get to Merom Memorial,” Jonah notes. “Would it be okay if your friend took you home? I hate asking, but we’re already in Merom and if I drive you back to Linton first—”

“I’ll get a ride. It’s fine.” He may not mean to be rude, but it certainly feels that way. Who lets another man take his date home?

Still, as he gets to his feet and stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Lance, my body releases an evening full of stress. Although Lance is a giant pain in my ass, being stuck with him is better than being stuck with Jonah. At least we can argue instead of regurgitating information over and over.

“I’ll pay the bill before I leave. It was nice meeting you, Mariah,” Jonah says.

“It was nice meeting you too.” I stand, thinking I should shake his hand or something. I don’t know. Instead, Jonah leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

Glancing up at Lance, I see a fire in his eye. I hold my breath as Lance starts to take a step toward Jonah, but then he stops.

“You better get going.” Lance taps his watch. “Nine minutes.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I’ll call you.” Jonah gives me a little wave before taking off through the restaurant. Lance is in his seat before Jonah is even out of sight.

“This isn’t even a cheeseburger,” he scoffs. Pushing the plate to the edge of the table, he makes a face. “Where’d you find this guy?”

“It’s a veggie burger.”

“Did you specifically look for a guy without testosterone or did it just happen?”

“He’s nice,” I object, trying and failing, to hide a giggle.

“You didn’t think he was nice,” he mocks. “And you weren’t the least bit attracted to him.”

I wasn’t. I’m sure everyone watching us could see that. But I’m not about to admit that to Lance. Letting him think I was falling madly in love wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever done. “And how would you know that?”

He leans forward, and his cologne wraps around me. “You were sitting back in your chair, for one.”

“What?” Then I look down and realize I’m mimicking his posture and leaning toward him. I shift back in my seat. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

He shrugs. “Maybe not. But your eyes did light up when you saw me.”

“You’re delusional.”

Much to my surprise, he seems to consider this. “You may be right.” He redirects his attention to the waitress now primed at the table.

“You aren’t the man who was here before,” she laughs. “Girl, where do you find these guys? I need to hang out there.”

“You’d be surprised,” I tell her. “The other guy said he was paying the check. Can you make sure he did?”

“Wait.” Lance whips a menu off the napkin dispenser. “I want dessert.”

“Lance …” I sigh, watching him scan the menu.

“What’s good here?” he asks, ignoring me.

The waitress rattles off a bunch of choices. He’d love the peanut butter pie, but I don’t tell him that.

There’s a touch of stubble dotting his cheeks. He works his jaw back and forth as he peruses the dessert choices. It’s hard, like it’s cut from granite and angled in a sharp line. My hand starts to move, to reach out on instinct and feel the roughness against my palm, but I come to my senses in the nick of time.

“I want the peanut butter pie. What about you?” He offers me the menu.

“I thought you came in to get the apple pie the drive-thru forgot?” I remind him. “Or did that slip your mind?”

“Totally slipped my mind,” he chuckles. “I’m in the mood for peanut butter now anyway.”

“Would you like a piece too?” The waitress asks as Lance and I exchange a knowing smile. “We have a great blackberry cobbler.”

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Give her a slice of the lemon pie,” Lance cuts in.

“I don’t want it.”

“Yeah, you do. Or at least you can sit there and look at it while I eat mine.”

Or I can sit here and look at you and pretend you’re eating me.