That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(40)

“No?”

He shakes his head and sips his coffee. “Nah, I was never good at that shit.”

“Wasn’t culinary school all about studying and taking tests?”

“Yeah, but in a different way. It was more challenging than anything, and I enjoyed that.” He looks out at the coffee shop, and I wonder if he’s thinking about all the fun he used to have making things, coming up with new recipes, and testing them out on friends and family. That was the Reid who would come up with the craziest concoctions with Eric and then sit me down at the Knightly dinner table just so he could force me to try out their “latest and greatest” recipe. Some dishes were surprisingly delicious given the unheard-of combinations, and some made me run to the bathroom faster than I could put my fork down. I miss that Reid; he was so full of life, so excited.

Don’t get me wrong: I like Reid the way he is, but there was a certain spark in his eye when he was in the kitchen. It was where he belonged, where he still belongs. I just wish he would find his way back.

Clearing his throat, he nudges my foot with his. “So, I texted my dad this morning—told him to pick a time and place so we can meet up to talk.”

“Really?” He took my advice. My heart warms at the thought.

“Yeah, really. You were right.”

“Wow.” I sit up in my seat and hold out a pen and paper to him. “Can I get that in writing so I can use it against you in the future?”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling over me. “Never, Roberts.”

“Figures.” I cross my legs. “So what do you think he’s going to talk to you about?”

“I don’t know. Probably wants me to work with his friend up in Pottsmouth again. He suggested it a year ago, and I refused.”

“Who?”

“Willy Kneader.” Such an unfortunate name. “He runs a fishing company up there. Dad said I would make more money if I had better gear and a boat that didn’t threaten to sink every time I took it out to sea, but I don’t want to be working for someone else. I like my hours. Plus I enjoy being on my boat by myself. I like the solitude. The last thing I want is to hang out with a bunch of guys I don’t know while they bro out. I’m good. But I’ll hear what my dad has to say, let him know why I don’t want to work with Willy, and leave it at that.”

“Willy Kneader . . . was he the one with the daughter who asked that famous football player to prom, and he said yes?”

“Yeah. Gabby Kneader. He wound up taking out all their friends in a stretch limo. Rogan was so jealous. I think he told Harper at the time that she should have pulled the same stunt just so he could meet Joe Garrison.”

“That’s right. He was whoring his own girlfriend out for his personal gain. I remember that. Harper was so mad because Rogan made it seem like the football guy was more important than her.”

Reid leans forward and looks over his shoulder before saying, “I think at the time Rogan would have taken Joe over Harper.”

“No way.” I shove him back in his seat. “Rogan was so in love with Harper. Even though I was just a sophomore watching them as seniors, I knew what infatuation looked like, and Rogan couldn’t ever take his eyes off Harper. I remember wishing a guy would look at me like that one day.”

“Yeah?” Reid asks, staring me down. “Am I looking at you like that right now?”

“Oh yeah, and it’s giving me all kinds of butterflies,” I deadpan. “Please stop. My heart can’t take it.”

“Sorry, babe. Can’t help myself when I’m with you.”

“Shut up.” I nudge him with my foot. “It wouldn’t kill you to be more romantic.”

“You don’t think I’m romantic?” His eyes widen. “What do you call the way I sucked on your clit last night? If that’s not romantic, I don’t know what is.” He crosses his bulky arms and huffs.

“Say it a little louder next time,” I whisper, glancing around. “And that’s not romantic—that’s being a sexual deviant.”

“Sexual deviant?” A hearty laugh pops past his lips. “If I’m a sexual deviant, then you’re Satan’s mistress after the blow job you gave me this morning.”

“Reid,” I hiss.

“What?” He shrugs. “That was some good sucking, babe. Nearly sucked me to my knees.”

“Oh my God.” I go to pack my things, but the devil of a man grabs my wrist and pulls me onto his lap, right in front of everyone in the coffeehouse. A few people turn, watching us with wide eyes; others just ignore us altogether. “What the hell are you doing?” I whisper out of the side of my mouth.

He cups my cheek and draws my face close to his. “Trying to make it into the newspaper as the most romantic guy in town.” He presses just a whisper of a kiss across my mouth, teasing me, taunting me. He knows how much I get lost in his kisses, and he’s using that to his advantage.

When he pulls away, I run my tongue across my lips, tasting his blueberry coffee. And even though we’re in public, in goddamn Snow Roast no less, I can’t seem to pry myself off his lap, not when he makes me so completely happy.

“You’re not playing fair, Knightly. You can’t kiss me like that and think I don’t want more.”