Fumbled (Playbook #2)(16)

I shake my wrist free of TK’s grip when I lose sight of the witch and move beside him.

“Do they have any tables ready?” I ask, putting the previous situation behind me. “It looks really busy.”

“I slipped the hostess a hundred when we walked in to keep a table open for us.”

“Damn, Moore.” I let out a long whistle. “Who you trying to impress?”

I laugh, bumping my hip into his. I remember asking him the same question on our first date when he came to my front door dressed in a suit jacket . . . to go to the movies.

He stops walking and turns to me, looking me dead in my eyes, and says, “You.”

It takes my breath away. How can he pack so much meaning into three letters?

Ace.

The thought of him forces me to break eye contact.

“Come on.” I tug on his hand. “I’m starving and I want to see the TK Moore work his magic.”

“I’ll show you my magic later,” he whispers into my ear before his teeth graze it, sending shivers down my spine.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

I almost just came in the middle of the restaurant.

I’m still standing in the same spot when I hear my name. “Poppy! You coming?” TK yells a few feet away from me and I don’t miss the way he smirks over his choice of words.

“Ass.” I roll my eyes.

“Later,” he says.

I shake my head and stop talking. I bet he’ll have an answer for anything I say.

He wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side and kissing the top of my head. I’m not a huge PDA fan, but something about the sweetness of his gesture makes my heart clench inside my chest.

Ace.

I close my eyes, trying to force him out of my mind for just one night. I’ll tell TK, I reassure myself. Just not tonight.

The hostess shows us to our table. It’s tucked into what might be the only quiet corner in the entire place. I say thank you, followed by TK, who I see slide another bill into her palm. I try to ignore it, but a part of me who has zero business getting mad does. I’ve been struggling for years and he just threw away two hundred dollars so he didn’t have to wait his turn.

“So,” I say, when he slides into his side of the booth, unaware of my hidden resentment. “What’re you gonna get?”

“Meatloaf,” he answers, not even looking at the menu. “Always the meatloaf.”

I stop myself right before I blurt out that meatloaf is Ace’s favorite meal too.

“I make a great meatloaf,” I offer instead. “It was my aunt Maya’s recipe. It’s the best.”

“You’ll have to make it for me one day.” He taps my leg under the table with his foot, which reminds me of something, and I grab on to it like a dog with a bone to get off the subject of his coming to my house.

“Crap! We left our shoes!” I start to move out of the booth to go get them. I was wearing the Tory Burch flats I’d been pining over for years that Ace (well, Sadie) bought me for my birthday.

“It’s fine.” He motions for me to sit. “I told them before we sat down, they said they’d bring them to us.”

Shoe delivery.

Another Mustang perk, I guess.

“Oh,” is my lame response. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” He smiles, those green eyes so much like Ace’s drilling a hole through my heart. “You have to get a punch.”

“’Kay.” I flip over the menu to look at the options even though I’m not sure it’s the best idea considering I’m already down a bottle of wine tonight. But clearly, I’m not the ambassador of good decisions. “They all look good,” I tell him at the same time the waitress approaches.

“Can I start you with something to drink?” she asks, looking at me instead of TK, and I want to kiss her for it. I was starting to think I’d become invisible standing next to him.

I don’t kiss her, or answer her for that matter, because TK orders for me.

“We’ll have one of each punch,” he says.

Eyes wide, I whip my head in his direction and a stray curl slaps me in the face.

“Do you know what you want to eat yet?” he asks, either oblivious or ignoring my look of shock. “Or do you need a couple of minutes?”

“Um, I’ll have the burger, medium-well, please.” I hand her my menu.

“And I’ll have the meatloaf,” TK orders when she turns back to him.

“Three punches?” I whisper yell after she walks away. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Maybe.” His lips curl up under his mustache. “How else am I going to get you to do karaoke?”

“Oh no!” I laugh at the thought of my ever doing karaoke. “I’ll have to be blackout drunk for you to ever get me on a stage!”

“Then I’ll have to order more,” he says.

And I have a feeling he’s not joking.





Seven




TK was not joking and I am drunk—with a capital D.

I drink wine, never hard liquor, and the punch hits me harder than I’d anticipated.

I’m also having more fun than I can ever remember having.

“You’re lying to me!” I reach for his hand on the table. “That did not happen!”