Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(36)

“You left?” Gloria asks. “After the angels sang?”

“Crazy, right? But there was something in his desperation to clear the air about his fly being down in front of the domestic donkeys that had a mini red flag waving over his head. I didn’t want to subject myself to someone who might have . . . an animal fetish, if you know what I mean.” Silas sharply coughs, and I take that as a solid “shut the fuck up right now, Ollie.”

But I can’t stop.

It’s like a dam that’s collapsed.

“You didn’t know who he was?” Gloria asks.

I shake my head. “No idea. And as I started to leave, he called out . . . you owe me.” See, there’s some truth to this story. “When I asked him what for, he told me I owed him a chicken tender.” I talk behind my hand and say, “Clearly a desperate attempt to spend more time with me. Despite the possible red flag, I saw right through it but was marginally interested. I’ve always been into a little freakiness. After all, he did have a rock stuck up his nose and flirted with me in the doctor’s office. The confidence this man has is astounding. So I told him of course I’d buy him a new tender. Together, we walked over to the concessions, and I purchased more tenders. He asked me to join him, and I did. I watched him mix mayonnaise and mustard together for a dipping sauce concoction I can still smell to this day. Positively putrid. But as he ate, he told me how much he loves donkeys. Their petite stature, unruly hair, and mind-of-their-own ears. As I listened to him go on and on about donkeys, I thought to myself, you know . . . he’s kind of cute, so when he asked me for my number, I handed it over.”

“That’s sweet,” Gloria says.

“But that’s not really how it ended.”

“Jesus Christ,” Silas mutters under his breath.

“His attention to grammar in his text messages truly got my motor revving. Nothing is more erotic to me than the proper usage of punctuation in a text message. A lost art if you ask me.”

“Makes sense, given your profession,” Gloria says. “Well, that was quite a story.”

“Yes,” Roberts says with a smile on his face. “Seems like Silas will need something stronger if that story keeps getting repeated.”

“Something like Scotch,” Silas says.

“I’ll have the finest brought to you.” And with a wave of his fingers, Roberts orders Silas a Scotch while I feel a drop of sweat scoot down my back.

Well, that didn’t go as expected.





“What the actual fuck was that?” Silas asks while Roberts and Gloria are pulled to the side to meet with another couple. I heard mumblings of a big sponsor from one of Roberts’s assistants, which means Roberts needs to shake hands.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I was nervous.”

Silas leans close to my ear, his hand still curved around my waist so he can pull me in even closer. “How the fuck was that nervous? That was a disaster.”

“Disaster seems a bit drastic,” I say. “More like a great story.”

“Says the girl who didn’t have a rock shoved up her nose.”

I wince. “Yeah, that is slightly problematic for your image, but hey, it garnered some sympathy. Instead of a run by fruiting like in Mrs. Doubtfire, this was a glide by rocking.”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“Is it not working?” I ask, his nose now mere inches from my cheek.

“Not even a little.”

“Can I offer you an apology?”

“Not sure an apology can cure the damage done.”

“What damage?” I ask. “You came off endearing.”

“That was not endearing,” he says, his voice dripping in anger. “It’s not the fucking rock that I’m overly concerned about. It’s that you practically said I had my penis out while marveling at donkeys. They’re going to assume I’m some sort of public voyeur with a sick animal fetish. And domestic donkeys? Really?”

I turn toward him so it looks like we’re having an intimate conversation rather than him scolding me in my ear. “First of all, I did not claim you were jerkin’ your gherkin while staring at the donkeys. All I said was your fly was down. If you took that as something else, that’s on you, sir.”

“While eating a goddamn chicken tender. That’s weird behavior, Ollie.”

“I couldn’t think of the word of that stick dough thing with the cinnamon.”

“A churro?” he hisses.

“Ohhh . . . yeah, that’s it. Churro would have made much more sense.”

“So you wanted to say churro but opted for chicken tender instead?”

“What the mind wants, the mind gets,” I respond. The way he snorts steam in my direction makes me believe he doesn’t like that response. “Also, why are you breathing all heavily at me when you could have stopped me and taken over the conversation at any point. Almost seems like you wanted to hear the rest of the story. I can’t be completely at blame here.”

“The fuck you can. This is all on you. Jesus fuck, Ollie, you said I dip tenders in mustard and mayonnaise. Do you know how vile that is?”

“Made me gag just saying it out loud.”

He stares at me, those ice-blue eyes screaming murder. “We had a fucking story, a simple one, so what happened?”