Swallowing another large gulp of my drink, I tell him the truth. “It’s the single most meaningful thing I’ve written. It’s coming along very well, thank you. Smith,” I say, looking at Smith.
His eyes crinkle as he flashes me his very best smile. The scars on one side of his face pull his skin oddly. I rarely notice his scars. Sitting in front of both of the men, one whole and one dismantled, it’s easy to understand Smith Eppington’s life a little better than I did before.
Without breaking eye contact, I finish. “Is a great man. I didn’t know men like him existed. His story is sensational, actually. It’s better than fiction. As his best friend, you already know that. Between his stories and my imagination, there’s no telling where this thing will land.” I take a beat to gauge Moose’s reaction to my words. He’s satisfied. Wiping the sweat off my glass with my finger, I smile widely. It falls a little when I remember the blank circle on my marker board back home.
“She’s good for my self-esteem at the very least,” Smith jokes. “Carina is too kind.” His molten gaze meets mine, and heat rises up my neck.
I pop a stuffed olive in my mouth. “I’m not good at stroking egos. It’s all truth,” I reply. It’s a lie. Stroking egos is something I’m actually masterful at because of Roarke. I’m not stroking egos now. It is truth.
Moose shakes his head. “I don’t know how you do it, man.”
“Do what?” Smith asks his friend, eyes narrowed.
“Nothing,” Moose says, clapping Smith on the back. “I’m starving. Do they have burgers here?”
Smith quirks a brow at his friend but lets him change the subject without another word. I think they have the kind of friendship that’s beyond conversation. I imagine them telepathically finishing their dialogue to keep me out of their business.
I push a few trays of tapas in front of him. “Eat seven trays, and it’s equivalent to a burger,” I explain.
Moose smiles and begins eating. After he swallows a mouthful, he says, “You know, I have better stories than he does.” He jerks a thumb to his right. “Sure, he’s all scarred and decorated, but I’m pretty sensational, too.”
Smith coughs, laughing. “She’s booked. Sorry, Moosey. No interviews for you.”
I laugh. Moose grunts.
“Another perspective might be good for the story,” I say, fishing for a reaction from Smith. In actuality I have more from Smith already that I’m not sure I’ll be able to fit it in one story. I meet Smith’s gaze and smile. It’s fierce, protective—not happy with my suggestion. It tells me all I want to know. “Just joking,” I say, letting my lips pull to the side.
Smith tells me my joke was funny, and Moose laughs at his friend’s response.
Moose is happy and polite. Truly, I can’t help myself.Or, I’d kick myself. “Rumor has it you’re single.”
Moose tilts his head to the side, chews with his mouth closed, and furrows his brow.
“I have someone I want you to meet.” My girlfriend Teala will be ecstatic if I can snag her a date.
Smith scoots his chair back and holds his large arms out to the sides. “Come on, man. Carina has better taste than Aunt Ethel. Ol’ Eth still thinks you like blonds with small dogs in purses.”
I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle.
Moose sighs, looks me up and down once, and says, “For some reason, I trust you.” After he agrees, he makes himself scarce, disappearing into the bar next door, leaving me alone with Smith on our date.
CHAPTER TEN
Smith
Carina is talkingabout a funny short story she wrote in high school. While I do hear her words, all I can focus on is her lips. They’re so full and pink, and she licks them every so often, causing a riot of emotions. She has foreign lips. I’ve never tasted them. I want to. Badly.
Moose loved her. She loved Moose. Their meeting was almost too easy. I expected some hesitance on Moose’s part because he’s a huge Megan fan. He did tell me he had to respect our decision to part ways because of our extenuating circumstances. On some level I’m sure Moose thinks I’m an idiot for letting Megan go. I had to—it’s more of a need at this point.
All my thoughts of anything else are eviscerated now that the possibility ofmorewith Carina has risen. When her mouth stops moving, I alternate my gaze from her lips to her eyes, and she smiles.
“Did you hear anything I just said?” Carina asks. She runs her hand through her hair and tucks her bangs behind one ear. It’s a self-conscious gesture she hasn’tbanished since her ex destroyed every shred of normal confidence from her body.
“You’re so beautiful,” I say.
She turns her eyes down.
“Don’t do that.”
