A Flighty Fake Boyfriend (Men of St. Nachos #2) - Z.A. Maxfield Page 0,1
out the back door, glanced both ways, and called out, “Hey. Pssst. C’mere.”
Intrigued enough to solve The Mystery of the Very Weird Waiter, I strolled his way.
He pulled something from behind his back. My heart gave a jolt. Leaped? Stuttered? Nausea crept into my throat, and I nearly lost what little I’d eaten on the pavement. I backed away, hands up.
Turned out he wasn’t holding a gun or a knife but a creamy orange drink.
My reaction probably seemed absurd—at least to anyone who hadn’t recently traveled to a part of the world the US State Department considered too dangerous for Americans.
“Jesus,” I reached out and fell against the wall. “What is wrong with you?”
“Me?” He held a to-go cup in one shaking hand. “I just wanted to give you this. For later, you know. If you want.”
I still couldn’t believe this was happening. “What is it?”
“Mango lassi.” He bit his lip. “With whey protein. It’s, um…it’s easy to digest, and—”
“You made me a mango lassi?”
“It’s on the menu.” He said this like, Duh. “I recommend it because you seem so”—he glanced away—“not okay today.”
While my heart rate went back to normal, I studied him. Thick dark hair, pale skin, and piercing blue eyes. The rest of him was hidden beneath a typical Parisian waiter’s uniform: white shirt, white apron, black vest, and trousers.
I fidgeted when he frowned at me. He made me want to straighten things like his tie and my spine.
“I’m not very hungry this morning.”
He let out a breath. “Look, it’s none of my business, but my grandmother swears by these for hangovers. You looked like you could use one.”
I rubbed my forehead with the heel of my hand. Then I heard my hair sizzle.
“Whoa, pyro.” He took the cigarette from my hand. “You singed your hair.”
“Aw shit. I hate the smell of burning hair. It stays with you forever.”
“I…did not know that.” He didn’t give the cigarette back “I’m keeping this. You’re not allowed to play with fire right now.”
“Do you always get so involved in your customers’ lives?” I felt like a pitcher who’d gone three and oh with a batter he’d never faced. I meant to brush him back. Change things up. “Or am I special?”
“I meddle all the time. Ask anyone.” As if I needed to. “And also, I think you might be special. You’re staying around here, right? I’ve seen you around.”
“Yeah?” I made the word a question.
He toed the ground shyly. “I hope we bump into each other again.”
“Maybe we will.” I took the drink he offered. “Thanks for this.”
There was no reason I shouldn’t try the drink. It could be drugged. Poisoned, for all I knew. Maybe Bob, Jeremy, Muse was a serial poisoner, and no one would ever know because he only poisoned people who were passing through.
I pulled out of the Bistro parking lot and headed back to the highway. A tentative sip of the drink told me it was delicious. Mango and yogurt. What was not to like about that combination? Plus, instead of roiling around after it went down, it quenched the nausea building inside me.
Even if the waiter was a serial poisoner, his drink did the trick in the meantime. I’d take it. If I keeled over later, it was almost worth the price.
The main reason I’d stopped in St. Nacho’s at all was to visit my friends Daniel and Cam Livingston. We’d known each other for ten years—ever since Daniel had become interested in supporting StolenLives in the fight against human trafficking. He’d reached out to my boss, Lila Newcastle to learn more, starting out as a benefactor and becoming a very good friend. Since then, he’d divorced, come out as gay, and married Cameron Rooney. I’d broken up with Luis. Things had changed for both of us, but we’d remained close.
Their house sat just outside Santo Ignacio. As soon as I pulled into the driveway, I was greeted by three dogs and a goat. Their miniature horse stared at me from inside its little paddock.
Daniel had taken well to life in his adopted home. He and his firefighter husband were so in love you could write epic poetry about it. Understandable, because Cam was as gorgeous as he was sweet and caring. I couldn’t be happier for them.
I’d arranged to stay with them for a few days before driving the rest of the way to Santa Barbara to meet my plus-one. Dan worked from home, so I normally found other things to do while