Cuffs - Cara Lockwood Page 0,8
in his green eyes told her he was determined to get his way. He had the brash confidence of someone who was used to success. The burgers proved that. She finished the last of her double cheeseburger and licked a bit of cheese off one finger. Then she doubled down on the fries. He’d only gotten one large to share.
“You grew up with sisters, huh? That must’ve been rough.” Mags lifted a fry to her mouth and chomped it whole. Then she reached for another.
“You have no idea. I think I have PTSD. Post-traumatic sister disorder.”
“Couldn’t be that bad.” Mags picked up two more fries this time. She couldn’t get enough of the salty goodness. Fries were her kryptonite.
“Kathleen—the oldest—used to punch me when my parents weren’t looking. If I hit her back, I’d get double the punishment. Boys aren’t supposed to hit girls. Maeve was a sweetie, unless she was hungry, and when she was hungry, she’d yell. A lot. Ava...” His eyes grew warm. “Well, Ava’s twelve years younger. She’s adorable and perfect, so she stole all the attention. The jerk.” He laughed as he said it, though, and Mags got the impression Gael cared a lot for Ava. For all his sisters. “How about you? Any sisters?”
Mags took another fry and shook her head quickly. “Only child. Adopted. Thus the name, Margaret McHenry.”
“Ah.” Gael nodded slowly. “Only child? That explains so much.”
“What’s that supposed to me?”
“That you never learned to share.” He nodded at the box of quickly dwindling fries. “You’re hoarding all the fries.”
“You should’ve known to get two orders. That’s your fault. Not mine.”
Gael pressed his hand to his chest. “You always punch a gift horse in the mouth?”
“When they deserve it.” Mags wasn’t going to make any apologies about the fries. Or enjoying the free burger. “Besides, you decided to buy lunch. If you had asked me before you did, I would’ve told you to buy extra fries.”
“You were way too hangry for that. I think if I’d tried to ask you, you would’ve stabbed me in the eye.”
Mags considered this, taking another fry and rolling her eyes to the ceiling. “Perhaps. But now that I know I can punch you and you’re programmed not to punch me back, I might try that instead.”
Gael had just taken a big bite of burger and coughed a laugh through it. He grabbed a napkin and swiped his mouth. “Hey, now. You do that, and I’ll have to dredge up my old revenge tactics. Wet willies.” Gael licked a finger and held it up beneath the fluorescent lights of the shop. “Mom and Dad never said these were off-limits.”
Mags wadded up a napkin and threw it at him. “Don’t even try it.”
He tucked his finger away. “I’ll show mercy. This time.”
Mags felt a warmth in her belly that had nothing to do with the burger and fries. She was actually having a good time. She tried to remember the last time she’d enjoyed a man’s company—with her clothes on. She couldn’t, actually.
Gael considered her over the lunch wrappers as he leaned against her glass counter. He made the counter look so small beneath his elbow. The man took up a significant amount of real estate. “So, want to tell me why you hate Shaded Moon so much?”
She frowned at him. “It’s personal.”
He watched her intently. Interest was nothing new to Mags, who typically fought off all kinds at the seedy bars she frequented, but his interest was less...obvious. He wanted to know about her. Personal things. Not just whether or not she wore underwear, which was the question one stranger had asked her at a bar last week or the occasional racist remark about Asians that she got every now and then from people who thought they were being clever, but in the end, were just showing their ignorance.
“Why do you want Shaded Moon so badly?” she asked.
“It’s Ava’s favorite album of all time,” he said, wadding up his burger’s empty wrapper and tucking it neatly into the paper bag.
“You’re doing all this...” Mags waved her hands around their lunch trash. “And bugging the hell out of me for your little sister?” She couldn’t believe it. Why would a grown man even care what his sister’s favorite band was? And why on earth would he want to tattoo that on himself?
“Well, I promised. She’s seventeen. She’s fighting...cancer. Again.” He paused, the emotion getting to him for the briefest of seconds.
Mags felt something in her loosen, weaken, maybe.