“Should I guess?”
I felt my body get stiff and I declared, “Absolutely not.”
He gave me a grin and got closer. “Give me a ballpark figure.”
“Older than Becca, younger than your mother,” I told him.
His hand not dangling from the table came up and touched my shoulder. I looked down to see my shirt had again slid off. I rearranged it so it covered my shoulder, his hand fell away and then I glared at him.
“That’s quite a range,” he commented and I shrugged then he said, “You look thirty,” well, that was good, “you act ninety.”
I stiffened then leaned toward him. “I don’t act ninety.”
“Honey, it was possible, I’d think you were born two centuries ago.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means you’re uptight.”
I leaned in closer and snapped, “I’m not uptight!”
He grinned again. “Totally uptight.”
“I’m not uptight,” I repeated.
“Don’t know what to make of you,” he said, his eyes moving down my torso to my lap and he finished with, “contradiction.”
“What does that mean?” I asked but I really shouldn’t have and I knew it.
His eyes came back to mine. “It means you look one way, you act another.”
I leaned in closer. “And what does that mean?”
He leaned in closer too and we were nearly nose to nose. “It means a woman who owns those jeans, those boots, that shirt, deep down, is not uptight.”
“That’s right, I’m not uptight,” I snapped and then jumped when two bottles of beer hit the table.
I looked up to see a waitress standing there, tray under her arm, white t-shirt, jeans, ash blonde hair in a ponytail, pretty mountain fresh face, no makeup.
“Hey Max,” she said.
“Hey Trudy,” Max replied.
“Hey,” she said to me then she smiled.
“Hi,” I replied, not smiling.
Her smile got bigger and without leaving menus she walked away.
I looked at the beer and Max, thankfully, moved away, grabbed both, put one in front of me and took a pull off his.
“Is that for me?” I asked and his eyes came to me around his beer bottle then he dropped his hand.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t order that.”
“I did.”