“Hi. Table for two, please.”
Her beaming smile never falters, and I have to believe the extra sway of her hips is all for show as she leads us to a booth in the back.
“My name’s Hannah. Someone else will be with you in a minute to take your order, but is there anything I can get for you now?” she asks Noah.
My jaw strains and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I want to be annoyed, but I can’t fault her. If you’re able to avoid staring at Noah’s tree trunk thighs, his broad chest, or his piercing eyes, all you’re left to focus on is the way he just wrapped his sizable hand around his wrist and pushed the fabric of his shirt up to his elbows. He rests his thick, golden, forearms on the table, and clasps his hands together in front of him. By the way Hannah and I gawk at him,you would think he did something completely obscene. For the second time today, I gulp down a swallow.
“Just two waters would be perfect, thank you.” He smiles at her, and thankfully this isn’t one of those diners where they have to wear roller-skates, because I’m almost certain her legs would have fallen out from under her.
“I’m going to wash my hands real quick.” He slides out of the booth. “You good?”
I shake my head, pulling my attention from the hostess, not realizing I was unintentionally glaring. Noah’s gaze follows my line of vision before he looks back at me with a crooked grin.
“Aww Savvy, don’t be jealous.”
“I’m a lot of things Noah, but jealous isn’t one of them.” I cock my head with a menacing smile.
He either doesn’t believe me or he doesn’t care, because his husky laughter is his only response as he leaves me on my own.
I let out a sharp breath as I frantically pull my phone from my bag.
Savannah: I need help.
Chloe: 9-1-1 what’s your emergency?
Savannah: I got paired up with Noah Kingston on a project in my stupid journalism class.
Chloe: WHAT?! I’ll start stocking up on water. It’s the end of the world as we know it.
Savannah: Hey. Remember last week when you had a meltdown over spilling your Diet Coke?
Chloe: It had been marinating for two weeks! Anyway, I’m listening but I’m failing to see the problem here.
I look around the diner, telling myself that I’m just making sure Noah isn’t on his way back, but truthfully—I’m steadying my breath, preparing to type these words.
Savannah: The problem is his forearms.
Chloe: Sav. I wish you could see my face right now. His forearms?! What’s wrong with his forearms?
Savannah: They’re making me….think.
Chloe: Think?
Savannah: Inappropriate thoughts! Chlo, FFS. Keep up.
Chloe: Of course they are. He probably has veins on veins in those things. He’s spent his whole life wielding that stick. Innuendo intended.
Savannah: Goodbye.
I drop my phone to my lap and ignore the smell of fried food while I take deep breaths.
Get a grip, Savannah.
I shake my head, roll my shoulders back, and slide my hands under my legs just as Noah appears and falls back into the booth across from me.
Two glasses of water are suddenly placed on the table, and I can’t prove it, but I’m positive she waited until he came back to bring us—him—our drinks.
Noah offers her a ‘thank you,’ but his attention is on his bag. “Alright, let’s take a look at this.” I remain stoic, as his eyes roam over the papers. His lips twist to the side and he clicks his tongue as he continues reading. “Here we go. It says to arrange a quiet and comfortable setting for conducting the interview. Ensure there are minimal distractions.”
