“I have to use the restroom so you two can talk while I’m gone.” Morgana turned and bounced happily toward the back of the room.
I frowned as I watched her leave but as I turned my attention back to Jagger, I caught him watching me.
“Please, sit.” I waved at the booth seat Morgana had recently vacated. “Now, what did you want to discuss?”
Just as he took a seat, the waiter appeared and Jagger waved him off.
“Perhaps I wanted a drink,” I said.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I saw your glass and just assumed . . .” He waved his hand at my mostly full glass of whiskey sour.
“I usually like to have two drinks at a time. You know, double fisted,” I said as I glared at him.
That was a lie. The truth was, I rarely drank. Only during SWIM Meet did I allow myself one drink, on occasion, two. Having a drunk driver kill my husband made drinking something I refused to let hurt me any more than it had. That was until Vegas. I hadn’t planned to drink a lot, even in Sin City. Yet, I must have as I blacked out. I wish I could remember what happened.
I had no idea why I said that to Jagger. Maybe because he assumed a lot of things. Assumed I would tell him how to do his job. Assumed I wouldn’t need to place an order.
Assumed I found him attractive.
Whoa. Where did that come from?
“I can call him back?” He began to raise his hand but I reached over and pulled his arm down.
Heat traveled up my arm and my skin tickled with the most curious yet exciting sensation. I snapped my arm back, and as I gazed up at him, his emerald eyes darkened.
“I was only joking, haha.” My weak laugh wasn’t fooling him. “What did you want to talk with me about?”
I shoved my hands under the table and crossed my fingers, hoping he was here to tell me he couldn’t be my son’s physical therapist anymore.
“I’m not who you think I am,” Jagger said as he pulled some folded papers from his back pocket.
