“Where’s your little guy tonight?” she asks.
Why does her asking about him make my heart flutter?
“He’s at home with a babysitter.”
“You look like you wish you were home right now, too.”
Not at this exact moment, no.“That obvious?” I ask.
The bartender slides our drinks in front of us, and I gesture for her to put both on my tab.
Sienna shakes her head. “Not unless you’re paying attention.”
Is she flirting with me? Shit. I’m out of practice.
“It just doesn’t seem like your thing,” she says, taking a small sip of her wine.
Seeing the people gathered behind us waiting to get up to the bar, I grab her free hand and lead her over to one of the high-top tables where we can set our drinks. Her skin feels delicate and soft against my skin, callused from years of fighting fires and working with my hands.
As soon as we are away from the bar, I move to release her hand. She squeezes my fingers for another long beat before she lets go.
What the hell is wrong with me? I must be in third grade again because a girl holding my hand should not make me feel this way. I really need to get laid.
“It isn’t my thing,” I say, waving my hand over the room of mingling people all in fancy clothes.
She leans against the table. “Whatisyour thing, then?” she asks with a sparkle in her eyes.
You. No. What was I just thinking about, not wanting to drag her into the mess that is my life?
I can’t resist the flirty edge to her question, though. The corner of my lip curls up.
My silence must be too much for her because she proceeds to answer for me. She ticks the items off on her fingers as she goes.
“Being a good dad. Saving people’s lives. Being too tall and muscular for your own good.”
Now I’m full-on smiling.
Her eyes widen, taking in my expression. It probably isn’t something she’s seen before. Jackson tends to be the only one that drags that kind of happiness out of me.
“I was going to say hanging out with Jackson, watching hockey, a good steak, jeans,” I say, looking down at the dress pants that I can’t wait to peel off when I get home.
She bites her lip as she nods.
“You?”
“What’s my thing?” she asks, furrowing her brows.
I nod, taking a sip of my beer.
“What do you think?” she asks, tilting her head to the side. Her hair falls over her shoulder.
“Animals.” She gives me a look like, “duh, try harder.”
“Colorful clothes.” She always wears bright pops of color in her outfits. This one earns me a small smile.
I decide to make a few small guesses with the last one. “A bottle of cheap wine and sweats on your couch.”
She quirks a brow like maybe she’s impressed. “I guess you know me better than I thought, Mr. Ryder.”
