A Guy Walks Into My Bar - Lauren Blakely Page 0,25

he doesn’t mind the question. “I was thirteen. She left for Australia. It’s okay. My dad’s great, and we did just fine without her. He lives down the street, and I see him a lot. Fortunately, he also likes art, and sometimes we go to the National Gallery together. She didn’t ruin our love of museums.”

“Maybe I’ll run into the two of you there some time,” she says, and a momentary pang of jealousy tugs in my chest at how lucky she is to have the chance to run into Dean someday when I’m gone.

“Maybe you will. And you can teach me what you’ve learned. So, you’ve been to the National Gallery. What do you think about my hometown otherwise? Are you both enjoying London?”

“I think it’s obvious that James is enjoying it.” Emma nudges my elbow. “Thanks to you being his guide.”

“Good thing I found one for us,” I tease. “If you were in charge, we’d be lost, and we’d have ordered the wrong tea.”

Emma lifts her teacup, laughing. “Okay, so I’m a little directionally challenged. Sue me.”

“‘A little’? Pretty sure a couple decades of family vacations would suggest otherwise.” I drape an arm around her shoulder. “When we were little, she got lost at Disneyland.”

“Hey, it’s a big place!” She holds up her hands just as her phone buzzes. Grabbing it from her purse, she checks it and looks up, a little contrite.

“Oh, shoot. That’s the guy from the company I’m renting the flat from. He wants me to give him a call. You two will have to handle the scones without me. James, can you meet me at the Tube station in forty minutes so we can go over together to get the key?”

“Don’t go without me. I want to make sure it’s all good.”

“I know, I know,” she says, then turns to Dean. “He won’t let me get the key till he makes sure the guy renting it to me meets with his approval. He’s protective.”

Dean nods approvingly. “That’s smart of him. Also, might as well put those ice-defender-or-what-have-you skills to good use.”

She wiggles her fingers in a wave goodbye as she steps away from the table. I can’t tell if she’s serious about needing to take a phone call now or setting me up again, but in pure Emma form, she’s hugging us goodbye and rushing out of the tea salon before I can ask.

And I honestly don’t care, especially when I turn back to Dean.

“Ice defender? Really?”

He simply shrugs. “What can I say? Hockey’s not my thing.” He doesn’t say it dismissively. It’s more like he says it . . . deliciously. As if he’s letting me read between the lines again, saying without saying that he’s not into me for the number on my jersey, like plenty of guys in New York are.

And that’s another point in his favor. Dean’s not trying to bag a pro athlete. I kinda love it. But I’m not telling him that. No way am I revealing that yet. Instead, I say something else entirely true. “Thank you for chatting up Emma. Means a lot to me.”

“She’s lovely. Inquisitive mind—I can tell.”

“Yes, that describes her perfectly. She’s also always in motion. Never slows down.”

He lifts a brow. “She seems to always be working the angles. She’s quite a wingwoman for you.”

I laugh. “I guess we’ll see how good she is at it.”

His eyes travel up and down my frame in that hungry way he has of looking at me. “I have a feeling she’ll be quite good at it.”

And I heat up again, the flames licking inside me as he cracks open the conversation I want to have. “Does that mean you’re giving me another yes?”

“Your favorite word, Fitz. I wonder if that’s the one I’ll be saying to you today,” he says, and holy fuck, this man is so damn sexy with the way he talks, the way he teases me.

I lean back in my chair, stretching out my arm across the edge of Dean’s chair, toying with him like he’s toying with me. “I wonder too. Or maybe you still plan to resist me.”

He never looks away. Just keeps those dark eyes locked on mine. “As I told you, I have a rule about sleeping with customers.”

“Ah, but I’m not one of your customers anymore.”

“You were, though, and now I’ve lost the bet with Maeve.”

I frown, confused. “What bet?”

“Maeve and I have an ongoing wager. Sort of like a deal about not going home with customers.

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