Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

Horrified that a stranger had elicited that kind of reaction in me (I mean, what was that?), I decided it was time to move and make a point. I raised my arm slowly, gracefully, as I bent my opposing knee and as I brought my arm upwards, I watched the stranger’s eyes flare with heat.

Shit.

Perv.

Bringing my hand up to my face, I curled it into a fist, except for my middle finger, which caressed my cheek with a pointed “fuck you” glare.

And what was his reaction to the sight of me flipping him off?

He threw his head back in laughter, drawing attention from everyone else. I lowered my hand in case my boss saw me flipping off a customer.

Dark eyes glittering, the stranger’s laughter trailed off, and he gave me a weirdly affectionate smile before he turned and walked away. He disappeared around the corner, and I deflated with relief.

Or was that disappointment?

* * *

An hour later, I walked out of the small closet they’d given us to change in, wearing my own clothes and wishing for the money to get a massage. My back was all kinds of stiff from standing on my feet for four hours with only two fifteen minute breaks in between.

Later that night I had my first shift as a waitress in a bar in Malden, the neighboring town to my own, Everett. It was my sister Davina’s old job, and when the college bar I’d been working at told me they were cutting my hours, I jumped ship. The pay was crappy, but you did what you had to do, am I right?

I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear as I passed a mirror in the back of the gallery. The gallery wanted our faces scrubbed clean except for mascara on the girls, so I looked very young. And boring. I’d been in my Dita Von Teese phase now for three years and loved vintage clothing, black-winged eyeliner, and red lips. Taking a quick glance at my makeup-free face, I decided I needed bangs. Bangs would look hot. Very vintage.

Altogether I wasn’t my usual cute self as I walked out into the main gallery. I wore jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers rather than a pencil skirt, blouse, and sandals combo. Sometimes I wore flattering dresses too. But being curvy, I loved the way a pencil skirt accentuated my small waist and fuller hips.

Jeans made me look ordinary.

My boss had said we could get a free coffee and a sandwich in the small café at the back of the gallery and I was definitely going to take advantage of the offer. After I got my food and drink, I sat down in the quiet café and almost groaned with pleasure at getting off my feet.

It was one of those quietly perfect moments of contentment. A seat and free food.

Until he ruined it.

The chair next to mine scraped back, and I jerked with surprise, only to tense when hottie with the dreamy eyes and lush mouth sat down at my table. Our eyes hooked and locked as he crossed his arms on the tabletop and leaned in.

“Hey.”

I swallowed a bite of my sandwich, and my pulse skittered into takeoff. A flush spread over my skin and I hoped it wasn’t visible. Attempting to ignore my body’s inexplicable reaction to his proximity, I frowned. “Oh goodie, it’s Perv Boy.”

He flashed me a quick, crooked, boyish smile that did not give me butterflies.

Okay, it did. It totally did.

“People usually call me Michael or Mike.” He had a thicker Bostonian accent than me. He sounded like Gary, and I suspected he too was from Southie.

“That’s because they haven’t witnessed you gaping like a prepubescent boy at a half-naked woman before.”

Michael or Mike chuckled. “Was that how it came off?”

“You still have a little drool right there.” I gestured to the corner of his mouth.

He didn’t smile this time. Instead, he stared intensely at my face until I began to wonder if there was something on it. Flushing, I snapped, “You’re doing it again.”

Michael (I decided I’d always liked the name and hated it when people shortened it to Mike) shrugged. “I can’t help it.”

“Well, try.” I bit into my sandwich and scowled at him as I chewed.

“Christ, anyone ever tell you that you’re fuckin’ adorable?”