“I mean stubborn, ful of attitude, a little crazy.”
“I’m not crazy!” I was crazy, though not as crazy as Uncle Tex.
“Right,” Hank said again.
“You’ve known me what? Ten seconds? And you think you have me figured out.”
“Sweetheart, I had you figured out the minute you walked into Fortnum’s.”
I felt my breath catch then lock.
With effort, I unlocked it and exhaled. I decided to push the issue, don’t ask me why, it was stupid. Then again, I was a little hammered (okay, maybe a lot hammered).
“And you think I look high maintenance?”
“Eddie cal ed it and Eddie’s right.”
Good God. They’d been talking about me.
“So that’s why Eddie doesn’t like me,” I said.
His grin faded, his hands fel away and he moved back.
I didn’t like this. I liked his hands where they were, they made me feel warm and, if I was honest, safe.
made me feel warm and, if I was honest, safe.
“Eddie doesn’t have a lot of patience for high maintenance.”
“Eddie doesn’t know me wel enough to throw me and neither do you.”
“Eddie’l get to know you and he’l get over it. I’m already over it.”
I didn’t want him to be over it. I didn’t want him to be anything.
This wasn’t strictly true, but I was trying to go with that thought as best I could considering I was highly inebriated.
Hank was watching me and I could tel he was reading my thoughts.
“How long are you staying in Denver?” he asked.
“Awhile.”
“How long is awhile?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Long enough to have dinner with me?”
Holy cow. I’d read it in Uncle Tex’s letters but now it was right here in front of me. When they wanted something, these Denver boys did not f**k around.
I blinked at him.
“What?” I asked.
“You heard me.”
I blinked again.