The Way You Make Me Feel(24)

I slipped my phone into my back pocket and tightened my apron. Time to get this party started.

When Rose got back to the truck, she was holding an iced black coffee.

“You live a joyless existence,” I said as I stirred the rice in the pot, making it nice and fluffy. There was nothing worse than matted-down rice. She ignored me and sipped her drink in one long, loud drag.

The office park run went astonishingly well. I slipped easily into the cooking zone. Soon I knew how to get the lombo to the perfect crispness level and how many pickles to scoop out so that the juices didn’t run into the rice. I was surprised by how little I hated this. Rose chatted easily with the regulars and grew adept at both taking orders and getting the food out at the pickup window.

When we were getting ready to wrap up the stop, Hamlet moseyed over to the truck again.

“Slow day?” I asked as I wiped down the counters.

He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he propped his arms on the low counter where people could place their plates to eat, cradling his chin in one hand. “Yeah.”

He was just looking at me at this point. I stopped and stared at him levelly. “So, are you a gymnast or something?”

“A gymnast?” An adorable puzzled expression appeared on his face for a second.

“Yeah. You do all those flips and stuff.”

A grin stretched across his face, quick and easy. “Oh! No, I used to do a lot of martial arts and stuff as a kid. But now I mostly box.”

Totally out of my own control, my face flushed. I found this inexplicably hot. “Who boxes anymore?” I sputtered. “I mean, like men from the 1970s wearing sweatpants maybe.” What are you saying, Clara.

But this made Hamlet crack up. Head thrown back and everything.

Rose popped up next to me, outta nowhere. “Where do you train?”

“At this gym in Chinatown.”

“Cool! Do you compete?”

A little modest shrug. “Yeah.”

To my surprise, Rose scrambled out of the truck and hopped over next to him on the pavement. “Show me some moves!” She held up her fists comically, a huge grin on her face.

It was cute, and I wanted to barf.

Hamlet laughed and stepped toward her, hands reaching out. “Is it okay if I touch your arms?”

WAS IT OKAY TO TOUCH HER ARMS.

She nodded, keeping it cool.

“Are you right-or left-handed?”

“Right.”

He adjusted her arms so that her right fist was held up to her cheek and her left was in front of her face, positioned a little to the left of her nose. “Okay, keep your arms up like this at all times, protect that nice face.” His voice took on an authoritative tone, and I resisted the urge to fan myself.

Even in this awkward new pose, Rose looked graceful. Then he adjusted her stance a little bit. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

“So, strike out at my hand with your left fist,” he held up his right hand, palm facing out. “But take a small step with your left foot forward as you do it.”

In one pretty, fluid motion, Rose gently punched, her body moving toward him.

“Awesome! That was good, but you can really hit me, you know,” he said.

She made a face. “No way!” He assured her that it was fine, and while skeptical, she hit him harder the next time.

“Yes!” he cried out, giving her a high five. She was glowing. Brownie points via hot dude: a heady cocktail for Rose Carver, I’m sure.

I watched them go back and forth for a while, getting grumpier with every second, with every bit of physical contact between the two of them.

To squash down this unpleasant jealous feeling, I turned away and wiped down the griddle.

After a few minutes, Hamlet called my name. Argh. I looked out the window, and he motioned toward himself and Rose. “Do you wanna try?”

No. “No.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “Come on! It’s fun! Plus, you get to punch a dude.”

Well. That was actually enticing. My hesitation was enough. Rose ran inside the truck and dragged me out. I stood in front of Hamlet, my arms crossed. He looked at me, head to toe, and I blushed. What the heck, Clara. Chill!

“So, you saw what I showed Rose, right?” He stepped forward but stopped, hesitating. “Um, do you need me to…”

Feeling extremely stupid, I held up my fists like Rose had. “Like this?” He nodded, and I was disappointed when he didn’t adjust them for me.

“Okay, Clara. Hit me.”

I looked at his face, so open, so encouraging. A sheen of sweat on his forehead, his high cheekbones. And I got incredibly self-conscious. My limbs felt clumsy and heavy, and I couldn’t figure out how to move my feet properly as I reached out to punch him. When my fist hit his open palm, it was weak and sloppy. It didn’t make the satisfying smacking noise that Rose’s punch had.

I dropped my arms to my sides. “Cool. That sucked.”

“No, it didn’t! It was good!” Hamlet exclaimed, walking over to me. “Here, just spread your legs out a little more…” His voice trailed off and he kept staring at my feet. But I saw a blush creeping up the back of his neck. “Um, sorry, I mean…”

He was dying. I was dying.

Making a fool of myself in front of cute dudes was literally the opposite of my brand, and every molecule of my being was on fire right now. “Thanks, but we have to go anyway.” I ran inside and hopped into the driver’s seat. “Rose!” I barked as I started the engine.