Waking Up to You Overexposed - By Leslie Kelly Page 0,30
she wiped her mouth, reached for her tea and thought about dessert.
Not that she was still hungry. Honestly, the burger had been huge. She never ate like that, and could almost hear her arteries screaming in protest. But she was not ready to call for her check, get up, leave and drive back to Grandpa’s place. Not while it was only eight o’clock. Not when there was a good chance Oliver would be up, the lights on in his small cottage, tempting her to find some excuse to wander over to see him.
He’d avoided her all day today. As if his rejection last night and the finality of his goodbye hadn’t been enough, he’d made it a point to avoid coming outside at all until she’d left the house this morning.
He had the will of a monk. Or a eunuch. The flash of her cootchie as she’d walked up the stairs hadn’t elicited more than a frustrated groan from the man. She couldn’t deny she’d slammed the door to her room because he hadn’t stormed up after her, overtaken by lust. Then, last night after their wild, erotic kiss that had involved a whole lot more than lips and tongues, he’d still stuck to his terms and walked out on her.
She’d gone to bed full of need and hunger, dying to be filled. Thinking about it later, however, she forced herself to concede she’d been lucky. She’d already listed the million-and-one reasons why she couldn’t get involved with Oliver right now. A little wine and the offer of a kiss had made her forget them, but there was no harm done. He’d ended it, and she was glad.
Maybe if she told herself that often enough, she would begin to believe it. “This sucks,” she mumbled.
“What’s that sweetheart?” a voice asked.
She looked around to see a bunch of guys in dusty gym clothes and ball caps, who had just sat down in the booth directly behind hers. One of them was leaning over the back of his seat, invading her space, and her contemplation.
“Nothing, sorry,” she insisted, her tone polite but cool.
“Hey, we won our game, how about joining us for a celebration?” said another of the men.
Good grief. Did men really think single women eating alone in restaurants were just praying a table full of sweaty dudes would invite her to join their six-some? The guys looked harmless—stockbroker, businessman types, in matching gym shorts and shirts and pricey sneakers. She didn’t feel threatened. Nor, however, was she at all interested. “No, thanks.”
Before she had to elaborate, she heard a ringing from her purse. Coming from L.A., where people’s cell phones were connected to their heads by magnetic beams or something, she’d developed a loathing for anyone who yakked on one in public. Especially in a restaurant. But now, the excuse to cut short a conversation with some overly friendly jocks was most welcome.
When she saw the name on the caller ID, she was even more grateful. She’d talked to Tommy a few times since leaving home and he always managed to distract her from her troubles...usually by talking about his own.
His were always more interesting, anyway. Hmm, this sexy rock star or that studly NBA player? Decisions, decisions.
“Hey, sweetie,” she said, her voice louder than technically necessary, just to underscore the point with the on-the-make guys. One of them continued to hover over the back of her booth, so she upped the lovey-dovey factor. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Missed you, too, sugar lips,” Tommy said with a laugh. “Who’s listening? Grandpa? Biker gang? Jealous she-hag?”
“Nothing of the sort. I’m at a pub, where I just finished dinner. It looks like it’s a popular hangout for the local athletes.”
“Any delicious athletes?”
“I honestly wouldn’t know.”
“Oh, come on, girlfriend, you losing your vision?”
Maybe for some things. She hadn’t really been able to see any man since meeting the only one she wanted.
“Maybe just my enthusiasm.”
Not to mention her opportunities.
“Any idea when you’re going to be able to leave there yet?”
“I suspect I’m going to be here until the day you need me to come back,” she admitted.
He grew serious. “Is your grandfather doing that badly?”
“No, he’s doing very well. But I want to be around to cheer him on during rehab—it’s tedious and painful. Plus I want to be at the house for him when he first comes home.”
“When will that be? Will it leave you enough time for a trip? Maybe you could go to Montreal? They speak French. Or hey, there