Chapter Four #2
“Eating.” His answer was quick and held a note of truth in it. Okay.
“Um, I have a twenty-five percent employee discount. I’ll use it on you.”
“Won’t you get fired?”
“I’m only here for the night,” she reminded him with a shrug.
Why was she so nervous? She had a hell of a time finding the jalape?o poppers on the order kiosk, and her hands shook a little as she poured his beer into a frosty glass. By the time she was walking back over to his table, she was overthinking her entire life.
“What did you mean we are paired?” he asked as she set the beer down in front of him.
“Oh, you heard that?”
“Yeah. Do you mean Vic forged my signature? On matchmaking paperwork?”
She looked at him sympathetically and then pulled her phone from her back pocket. She typed in the werewolf registry database and pulled up her profile. Under her name was the pairing information. In the box, Bridger Thomas was listed as her mate, and beside his name it said Rogue.
“Shit,” he muttered on a breath.
He typed his name into the search, and sure enough, she was listed as his mate, right under his name. Nakita Rothchild, Rogue.
“You’re a Rogue? I thought you said you had a Pack.”
“I was listed under the McIver Pack until last week when we…err…those people signed our pairing contract. I took on your title. I guess that’s how it works,” she said softly.
“I’ll get it fixed as soon as I can. I will call our…
err…my matchmaker tomorrow and see what I need to do to have our pairing dissolved.
Hey look, I finally had a mate for a minute.
” She gave off a nervous giggle. “My mom would be so proud.”
Bridger had been looking disturbed at the talk of their pairing, but at the mention of her mom, he looked up. “She wants you paired?”
“She wants grandbabies,” Kit deadpanned. “My brother is dragging his feet getting paired up too, and my mom is impatient.” She gave a nervous laugh. “I’ll fix the paperwork. Don’t worry. I’ve got this. I’ll have your food out in a few.”
Bridger nodded once and gave his attention to the window by his table.
Geez, he was hard to look away from. He had those high cheekbones, and a chiseled jawline that belonged on a model, but he had this rough edginess to him that was so appealing on an animalistic level.
The way he’d hit Chase without an ounce of hesitation.
His accuracy. His power. His ability to just take care of it and then go back to what he was doing? So hot.
She made a few drinks that had been ordered while she’d been talking to Bridger and then saw movement out of the corner of her eye near the kitchen. One of the pretty servers was grabbing the food that had just been set under the warmer in the window. It looked like Bridger’s dinner.
“I can get that,” she called, rushing to finish the drink she was making.
“Oh, I don’t mind,” the pretty blond said with a bright smile. No tattoos either.
A strange sensation filled her. Was this insecurity? Your type, she mouthed at Bridger as she tilted her head toward the gorgeous blond headed his way with his plates of food.
The strange sensation in her chest grew as he smiled up at the server and said something to her. She set the plates down and stood there with her hands on her hips, chatting with Bridger.
Okay, lady. He is fine.
“Miss?” an older gentleman asked. “Can I get another?”
She glanced at his empty beer glass and nodded. “Absolutely.”
But her attention stayed on Chatty Cathy over at Bridger’s table. She gave this little wave to him and Kit’s inner wolf wanted to bite her hand clean off.
Move along, hussy.
Kit had been pouring beer from the tap, and it spilled over the side of the frosted glass. “Crap,” she murmured, rushing to clean up.
Bridger was eating when she looked back up, and the server, Gretta, her nametag read, had a dreamy look in her eyes as she came to the bar to pick up a pair of the drinks Kit had just made.
“Nice guy,” Kit said conversationally.
“That is the finest man I have literally ever seen.”
Kit swallowed down a growl. “Yeah, well he’s my mate, so…taken.” Oh my gosh, stop talking!
Bridger snapped his attention to her, and any hope she’d had that he didn’t hear that was extinguished in an instant. Shoot.
“Oh,” Gretta said in a disappointed tone. “Sweet. Congrats. You know, on bagging that.” She cleared her throat and excused herself, then took the drinks to a table on the other side of the restaurant.
Bridger was just staring at Kit with those unsettling gold eyes.
She wished she had a humorous way of getting out of the awkward moment, but no intelligent words escaped her, so here she stood, blushing like a schoolgirl, and wishing she had just kept her big mouth shut.
What had possessed her to say that out loud?
He chewed slowly, his eyes narrowed under the bill of his hat. His chair creaked as he leaned back in it. He took the napkin from his lap and threw it onto the table, and now he was doing that slow saunter her way. Crap, act busy.
She set the beer in front of the customer and looked around desperately, then gave Bridger her back to add the beer to the guy’s tab.
“Kit,” he rumbled.
She cleared her throat and tossed him an overly chipper smile. “I’ll be right with you.”
He looked down the bar and back to her, sighed and leaned on it. She typed around the kiosk until it was borderline weird and then pursed her lips and turned toward him. “Look, I’m sorry. My intrusive thoughts won. I shouldn’t have told Gretta you are taken. It’s not my place.”
He shrugged. “No skin off my back. Can I get my beer?”
“Oh, shit!” She rushed to pour his beer into a frosty glass. “I’m so sorry. I’m…I’m…off my game tonight.”
“Because of me?” he asked, and the way his gold eyes drilled right into her soul, she stammered her answer.
“N-no. Nope. Well? Maybe. I don’t know. I’m…I’m…I’m usually really good at this, but then you walked in and…and…maybe it’s your fault. You are flustering me.”
He didn’t move a muscle as she blabbed her way through that strange answer. Just stared, unblinking, and now his beer was spilling over the frosty glass, just like the last one she’d poured.
“Good grief,” she muttered to herself, pouring the thin layer of froth off the top. She pursed her lips and handed it over to him. “I’m…I’m sorry. This is strange for you too, I can only imagine.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth and then took a drink of his beer. “When do you get off?”
“Umm. I close.” Hope bloomed inside of her. He was going to ask if he could spend time with her.
“Can you send me the information for the matchmaker? I can start the conversation with her about dissolving our pairing.”
Such a wave of disappointment drowned her. Her shoulders slumped before she could stop them, and she plastered on a forced smile. “Of course. I’ll text you Lauren’s information now.”
He wasn’t asking her out. He was trying to get unpaired to her faster.
The feeling of insecurity was back. He’d talked so easily to Gretta, but with her, he was clipped and wanted to separate his life from her as fast as possible.
She really wasn’t his type.
This hollowness filled her as she pulled her phone out and texted him the contact information.
“What’s wrong with you?” he rumbled in a growly voice.
Kit couldn’t meet his eyes. “Nothing.”
“Lie.”
“Can I get one more margarita?” a lady called from down the bar.
And Kit did what Kit did best. She plastered her customer service smile to her lips and looked at Bridger. “Excuse me.” To the customer, she said, “Of course. Another regular one or do you want to try a fruity one this time?”
Bridger hung there at the bar with a frown etched into his handsome face for a few seconds longer and then made his way back to his table. He shook his head on the way. She saw it.
She kind of understood. She was shaking her dang head a lot today too. This was not at all how any this was supposed to go.
Bridger started texting before he even finished his meal.
He was sure in a rush to dissolve this. Gah, how girly of her, caring about his every move, and getting her feelings hurt by how fast he wanted to end their pairing.
He didn’t even know her. He was helping to take something off her plate while she worked.
She should be thanking him, but instead, she felt… she felt…mad at him.
Was it right? No. Could she explain it? Nope. Could she convince herself that she was being dramatic and to be more forgiving. Also no.
She was an emotional little creature around him, and she would have to try and figure that all out later, when she was alone in her hotel room.
Bridger shoved his phone into his back pocket and laid some cash on the table. She made her way around the bar to make change for him, but he put his hand out and said, “Keep it.” And as she stood there in the middle of the restaurant, he left without saying another word to her.
The sound of that closing door was very lonely.
She knew Bridger wasn’t for her, and he wasn’t hers in any way, but she sure liked the way he looked. She liked the tone of his voice, and how good he smelled, and how decisive he was at getting rid of Chase for her.
He left her a hundred-dollar tip, and she shook her head and rolled her eyes, knowing damn well she would give it back to him on the cash app tonight. That was, if she could find an ATM close so she could deposit this.
Out the front window, Bridger walked by, but halted.
He stared off toward the parking lot, then yanked off his baseball cap and ran his hand through his short, dark hair.
He turned around and headed back for the door but then paused at the edge of where she could see and turned back around. What was he doing?
He put his baseball cap on backward, shook his head hard again and then strode off for the parking lot.
What had that meant? Was he forgetting something?
She would never see him again. That thought struck her.
Had he been wanting to say goodbye?
Go, her wolf urged her.
“Be right back!” she called to Anna, who was near the front door.
Kit bolted out the door and headed for the parking lot. Bridger was about to climb into a big black diesel truck.
“Bridger!” she called, and he froze.
His golden eyes found her, and she ran straight for him.
He stepped toward her, a question hanging on his masculine lips. Don’t think. Just do it.
Kit wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his, hugging him tightly.
Bridger stood there completely frozen. She eased out of the kiss and pecked his lips. Pecked them again. Uh oh. He wasn’t moving at all. She pecked his lips again.
Slowly, mortified, cheeks on fire, she lowered down on her heels and let her hands slide from around him to his chest, where she could feel his heart racing like a jack rabbit.
“Figured I should do that while we’re paired.”
His strong chest heaved with his breath, and his fiery gold eyes bore straight into her.
“Sorry,” she whispered. Kit turned to walk away, but an iron grip squeezed her wrist, and he yanked her back around to him.
This time it was his lips that crashed against hers like a hurricane.
A helpless whimper escaped her as he lifted her up and drove her right to his truck and pressed her against the back door.
His hand was gripping her hair, and his tongue was driving into her mouth, over and over.
She grabbed at him desperately, gripping his shirt, his hair in the back, then wrapped her arms around him.
There was such an urgency in the way he kissed her.
It was volcanos erupting, and waves crashing against rocks, and fire fueled explosions.
His grip on her was strong, but the more he grabbed the back of her neck, her hair, her back, her thigh… the safer she felt.
God, had she ever been touched by a man like this? Never that she recalled. Had she ever felt instant chemistry like this? Never.
His hand went to her throat and he pushed her back, settled her onto her feet, and backed away from her fast. She stumbled forward with the absence of his strong frame, but Bridger was already getting into his truck.
His window rolled down and he ground out, “I’m sorry,” before he sped out of the parking lot, leaving her standing there numbly, wondering what the hell he’d just done to her body.
Her skin felt tingly, and her insides felt like porridge. She tried to convince her legs to move, but they wouldn’t.
“Kit? Are you okay?” came Anna’s voice from the bar.
“Y-yes. Coming,” she said.
I’m sorry. Bridger’s eyes had held such sincerity in them. Such disappointment. In himself? In her? In kissing someone who wasn’t at all his type?
Kit wrung her hands and she forced her legs to steer her toward the bar.
I’m sorry.
She would probably never be kissed by another man like that. Now she would live with even more regret for the cat-fishing that had happened to her. She would question why he’d apologized. She would take his earlier insults to heart because, truth be told, she wanted him. Oh, she wanted him.
And she was going to have to live with that now.
She was sorry, too.