It Wasn't Me - Lani Lynn Vale Page 0,24

he was a few years older than me. So what?

What I cared about was that he liked me. That he looked at me and saw something he desired. Something he wanted in his bed in twenty years.

“They said that they could seat us in about twenty minutes. Unless we wanted to sit out here.” He jerked his head toward the outdoor bar.

“This is fine,” I said. “Unless you want to sit inside?”

“It’s not too hot out yet. Out here is good for me if it’s good for you,” he said. “Let me go give this back. Go grab that table right there.”

I did as he suggested, weaving my way around the people that were standing, waiting for a place to sit inside, out of the heat.

And it was hot. For April, it was downright blazing.

Then again, when was it not hot in Las Vegas?

I’d been at all different times of the year. January, April, August, and September. Each of those months had one thing in common—heat.

Spying the one and only table left open in the outside seating area just shy of the bar, I slid into the booth opposite the strip and reached for a menu.

I wasn’t sure if we’d gotten a chance to eat last night or not, but I was famished.

The waiter came over and asked for our drink orders, and I ordered myself a tea, Jonah a water because I was fairly sure that he still had a headache even though he wasn’t leading on to it, and a giant pretzel that was front and center on the first page of the menu.

With him gone, I finally pulled my phone out of my bag and looked at my messages.

My father had texted asking if I’d arrived, and apparently, I’d at least answered him that I was alive and well.

But from that point forward, I’d ignored every single text message that I’d gotten.

Mostly.

I’d sent one obscure picture of my left big toe to my sister with the caption ‘guess where I’m at.’

My sisters and mom had all answered with their guesses, and I hadn’t answered back.

From that point, they’d sent about forty thousand messages—okay, only about a hundred, but still that was a lot to have to scroll through—and I was still scrolling up to the last message I’d sent seeing as each time they sent a new text message, it would go right back to the bottom.

“What’s that look for?” Jonah grumbled as he sat down.

My lips twitched as he slowly started to look around the area, taking in all there was to see.

There was a bridal party sitting behind us in the circular booth made for eight. They were being very loud, and each of them were drinking out of penis straws and had penis headbands bobbing away on their heads.

On our left was a group of young men all looking hung over. This was probably their very first time to Vegas, and likely they’d all just turned twenty-one.

The table behind us had two single women in their fifties. They looked jaded, as if they’d seen it all. They were talking softly about a show that they were seeing later and discussing whether or not they wanted to eat dinner beforehand or not.

I watched as Jonah took in every single nuance of the world around us before he returned his gaze to me.

I also knew that he’d gauged the threat level, too.

I’d never paid attention to him in a crowded, unsecured environment before. I’d definitely not paid attention last night.

But seeing him here, with all these people around him that he couldn’t guarantee weren’t going to harm him in some way, I could see the difference.

His shoulders were stiff, his eyes were alert, and he looked like he was ready to bolt.

“Something wrong?” I asked carefully.

He shrugged and didn’t say anything.

I figured out why moments later when the waiter set our drinks down in front of us, as well as the massive pretzel.

“Y’all ready to order?” the waiter asked.

I looked at Jonah, who nodded. “You first.”

So I went first, ordering the first thing that I saw on the breakfast menu that had caught my eye by the picture alone.

“I want the massive waffle meal,” I ordered. “Extra syrup.”

He nodded once and turned to Jonah.

“I’ll take the T-bone steak meal, but I want two extra eggs. Grits. Pancakes instead of waffles, and biscuits, please,” he ordered.

My brows rose at all the food that he’d ordered.

“All right,” the waiter said. “I’ll get that right out.”

“Can you bring me