Awk-Weird (Ice Knights, #2)(32)

His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Sharing knowledge?” That didn’t even sound truthful to her own ears.

“You’re using it as a defense mechanism and to stay in your comfort zone as much as possible.” That dimple of his appeared in his cheek as he smiled down at her.

Smarting at the direct hit that did nothing to ease the heady ache building from being this close to him, she struck out. “Sort of like you and your routines?”

His dimple disappeared. “No.” His jaw set. “Yes.” He let out a harrumph and shoved his hands through his hair. “Shit. Let’s just go get some food.”

She hesitated for a second but then pushed up her glasses, straightened her shoulders, and looked him straight in the eye. “Fine, no factoids, but I get to pick where we eat, and it has to be somewhere you’ve never been before.”

The look of horror on his face was almost enough to take the sting out of his observation about her hiding behind the factoids.

Cole grimaced. “I’m kind of a picky eater.”

“This is my shocked face,” she said, pointing at herself while managing not to point out that researchers classified selective eaters into one of three categories.

And that’s how they ended up at a mom-and-pop Peruvian restaurant sharing a round of starters—sea bass ceviche and a shredded chicken in a nutty creamy sauce called ají de gallina that Cole was devouring despite having looked at it at first as if it was possibly poisoned—before their waiter brought their main course of roasted chicken to the table.

“Will they think I’m weird if I lick my plate clean?” Cole asked. “This sauce is fantastic.”

“It’s the ají amarillo; they are the best peppers.” It had a medium-size kick of berry/fruity spice that was so amazing. “It’s one of the so-called holy trinity of Peruvian ingredients. The others are—”

Cole scooted his chair over until he was close enough that their thighs were touching, the sizzle of being this near to him effectively short-circuiting her brain. The rest of what she’d been about to tell him died on her tongue.

He slung an arm across the back of her chair, his fingertips brushing her shoulder. “Are you factoiding me?”

“That’s not a real word.” Of that she was 100 percent sure, even if her shaky voice didn’t back her up on that.

“How long have you been doing it?”

She took in a deep breath. It was like the world had been switched into portrait mode with him in focus and everything else going blurry. The air around them was heavy with anticipation—not about her answer but about them and this constant pull between them. It made it hard for her to breathe, and she had to sit up, putting some space between her and his sinewy arm draped across the back of the chair.

Cole seemed to understand how overwhelming he was because he pulled back, adjusted his chair so it was turned toward hers but not touching.

“As long as I can remember.” Riffling through her memories, she tried to pull out the one that would be the first but came up empty. “It can be a bit much for people.”

“Friends gave you a hard time?”

“My cousins weren’t always great about it.” And that was being generous. For someone with as many cousins as she did who she grew up with, they made sure to keep their distance at school and at home. No playdates. No hanging out. Just that weirdo-don’t-talk-to-me glare on the bus. “I didn’t have many friends growing up.”

“Why not?”

“As my aunt Haven once said, I’m an acquired taste and usually best in small doses.” That would explain why her mother never let more than a few months go before dropping her off at another relative’s house so she could go out and explore her inner self.

“Your aunt seems like a bitch,” Cole said, sounding as if he felt it all the way down to his toes.

“She was just overwhelmed.” Tess flinched as the memories came rushing back, the old hurt resurfacing with a solid thwack. “It wasn’t easy to take in one more kid when she already had six to feed and keep track of while my uncle was on the road for work as a long-haul trucker.”

Cole cocked his head to the side, confusion etched into his expression. “Why did she have to take you—”

Thankfully, however, the rest of his question she wasn’t even close to wanting to answer got lost in the commotion when the restaurant’s background music changed with an abrupt squeal of feedback to polka. Then an older guy wearing sunglasses, a rainbow wig, and an orange T-shirt with Laugh It Up written on it walked through the door, blowing on a whistle that cut through any remaining chatter in the restaurant.

“Oh my God,” she said, turning to Cole, a giggly burst of happiness washing the ugliness of the past back into the shadows. “I’ve never seen Jules in person before. He’s a Waterbury legend.”

“Who is he and are the owners about to call the cops?” He looked around, tensing as if he was expecting trouble.

Oh, the poor sweet man. He had no clue what the world was like outside of his controlled environment. He was so in for a shock.

“No way.” She shook her head, trying to melt into her chair so Jules might miss seeing her and calling her out to participate. “He’s famous around here for staging these candid-camera/pranked-your-ride type of gags.”