There are almost two million people in this borough. This just doesn’t happen.”
Her hand splays across her chest, and for some insane reason I steal a glimpse at her ring finger, which is free from any sort of obnoxious metal and diamond bling.
“You don’t think I’m freaking out too?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I peer down my nose at her. “You seem awfully calm about all of this.”
Her mouth pulls up in one corner. “I’m pretty calm about most things, but you wouldn’t know that because we’re still strangers, you see. If and when I freak out, I don’t do it in front of my stalkers. I feel like they’d enjoy it too much.”
“Jesus. How many stalkers have you had?”
“Just one. Summer after high school graduation.” She shrugs.
Gil swings by, dropping a cardboard coaster in front of her and placing a cocktail glass on top of it.
“Thank you,” she says to him with the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen. When her eyes snap back to mine, her smile fades. “What about you? Do you ever get stalkers or do you prefer to do the stalking?”
Smirking, I drag my hand across my mouth. Her cherry lips part just enough to welcome in a small sip of her drink, and she doesn’t so much as flinch when it goes down, which says a lot because Gilberto’s is notorious for strong drinks.
Gripping the glass with the tips of her fingers, she returns it to the coaster and tilts her head.
“I feel like I’ve been here almost ten minutes now and we’ve accomplished absolutely nothing,” she says, checking the dainty gold watch on her left wrist. “We can either sit here and continue to pretend we’re not gawking at each other from across the table, or we can–”
“I am not gawking.” My brows furrow and I sit back in my seat. “I don’t gawk.”
“Fine. Ogling.”
“I don’t ogle either.”
“Checking out,” she says. “Do you check people out?”
“Who says I’m checking you out? Maybe I’m trying to figure you out,” I say.
“Figure me out?” She releases a belly laugh and covers her mouth with her hand. “That’s cute. Now you’re trying to pick me up.”
“What? No.” I frown. This is not going well. Somewhere along the line this train derailed, and I’m not sure it’ll ever get back on track.
She takes another sip, glancing through the doorway as the bar begins to fill with regulars. “All right. Whatever you say. You must look at everyone that way.”
“What way?”
Turning back to face me, she lifts her brows and points at me. “All intense and brooding. Like you’re thinking really, really hard. And every so often your stare lingers here,” she points to the hint of cleavage rising from her top, “or here” she drags her fingertips across her lips, “or here.” Aidy traces her bare shoulder, pulling the strap up. “You’re bold, Ace. And you’re lucky I’m slightly flattered, as messed up as that is.”
“I apologize.” Clearing my throat, I straighten my shoulders. “Had no idea I was . . . looking at you like that.”
She sits back, eyes squinting like she’s trying to gauge the authenticity of my apology.
“I didn’t bring you here to hit on you,” I say.
Her arms fold. “I know. You brought me here to accuse me of following you, which is the staunch polar opposite of hitting on me, and I believe we established that about ten minutes ago.”
Aidy’s gaze falls to my jaw, drops to my shoulder, and then traces the outline of my biceps before settling on my folded hands.
“So you’re a pitcher?” she asks.
“Was,” I say. “Was a pitcher.”
“I don’t watch sports.” She swats her hand before reaching for her glass. Lifting it to her full lips, she takes a small sip. Her drink remains mostly full, and I have to give her credit for that. Nothing about Aidy is insecure or nervous, and if the circumstances were different . . .
“You don’t watch any sports?” I ask.
She juts her lips forward and shakes her head. “Went to a Yankees game once. It was okay. The beer and hotdogs were good.”
Chuckling, I take another swig of my beer and find a rare hint of a half-smile fixed to my face as I look at her. Fortunately, the beard hides most of it. I’ve never met a woman as simultaneously endearing and sexy and unapologetically genuine as Aidy. She’s not trying to impress me. She’s not pounding drink after drink. Hell, she’s not even trying to seduce me despite the