Cheesy on the Eyes by Teagan Hunter Page 0,4
Sully for friends.”
“We’re not friends.”
“Right, I forgot—we’re dating.” Another stupid smirk. “Soon to be more if I play my cards right.”
“You can leave now, you know. He’s gone.”
Sully leans across the table. “Except…he’s not, is he? He’s still in the restaurant, just a few booths away. He’d see me go back to my seat.” He sits back with a satisfied smirk. “I guess we’re in it for the long haul now.”
I groan. “Son of a…”
He pulls the menu back up, but I know his smile doesn’t fade. I can see the crinkles at the corners of his Aegean blue eyes. “Now, did we decide brownie or cookie? Ah, screw it. Let’s do both.”
Slice Two
Sully
I don’t remember the exact first time I was able to read someone’s aura, but I know I was young when it began. My stomach would get so tied up in knots I’d wind up nauseous.
At first, it was just small things that made me feel all funky, like a guy on TV or a character in a book.
Then it started to feel real.
Tatum Barden, the primary school bully who’d pick on me for the notes my mom would stuff into my sack lunch, always made me feel…wrong, and Mr. Peters’ dog who would bark like mad whenever I walked by on my way home from the bus stop made me anxious in a way I knew wasn’t natural even then.
When Tatum was hauled off to a home for troubled boys after he smashed a rock into a kid’s head and put him in a coma, I took note, and when Mr. Peters’ dog was put down after it bit a neighbor girl, I knew I should start paying attention to those uncomfortable feelings.
So, when my stomach would turn to stone on the nights my father came home smelling like whiskey and trouble or when one of his “co-workers” would drop by for an unexpected visit, I didn’t ignore it.
That’s when I started to notice the bruises popping up on my mother’s arms.
“Oh, that? It’s no big deal, Sullivan. I just bumped into my dresser. You know your mom’s clumsy. Now, how about we bake some cupcakes. Sound good?”
When I told my mom about the aches, she looked worried but told me to listen to those feelings, said they’d help me suss out the good apples from the bad ones.
Turns out my dad was a real bad apple, a liar and a fake.
When I was ten, the cops busted down our door and hauled his ass away for money laundering, fraud, and identity theft. He was a con man, and those “co-workers” who would come to visit were people he owed debts to.
It didn’t escape my notice that my mom never had another “clumsy” moment after he went away.
The older I got, the more accurate my intuition became. I knew who I could trust and who to avoid. It’s been the downfall of any relationship I’ve ever tried to have.
When the pretty girl sitting across from me flagged me down asking for help and I couldn’t see anything, I knew my curiosity wasn’t going to allow me to turn away—especially not when all it took was one look at the guy she was trying to avoid to know he was trouble.
Hell, I haven’t gotten vibes like that since my little sister brought home some guy I knew would break her heart. I warned her to stay away. She didn’t listen. In the end, I was right. The asshole was no better than my father, unable to keep his hands to himself.
When the stranger asked me to sit down, I put two and two together fast. There was no doubt in my mind the guy striding in with the centerfold-material woman on his arm was her ex and things hadn’t ended so well with them.
Be her buffer? I’m game, because whatever settled in my gut the moment we locked eyes was something I’ve never felt before, and that made me damn curious.
Besides, I have nothing to lose in this situation, and I’m not doing anything else with my day.
“For fuck’s sake, Thea. Why couldn’t you just pull your damn panties up and face the man? Freakin’ baby,” my tablemate mutters to herself.
Though I don’t understand why she sounds upset, her rambling is kind of cute.
“I didn’t hear the words brownie or cookie in any of that.”
Thea snatches the menu from my hands. “How’d you even know I like sweets so much?”
I shrug. “Just a guess. You apparently don’t