Chapter 15 Zoey #2
“I’ll be back soon,” I promise them as my eyes track Hunter stalking through the dining room to sit on an open stool at the bar.
Mason greets him, shaking hands and saying something that I can’t make out because it’s too loud in here and I’ve always been shit at reading lips.
I make my way behind the bar, taking a few requests for more beers from some regulars.
“Hey,” I say to Hunter as soon as I’m close enough for him to hear. “What’s up?” I reach into the cooler, grabbing a couple drinks.
“I have a break between customers, and I’m hungry.” His eyes rake over me, taking in my outfit. “I love the sweater.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, popping the caps off the beer bottles before I deliver them. “Burger?”
“With cheese and to go.”
“Got it,” I say before leaving him for a minute to deliver the drinks and ring in his order.
When I glance his way, he’s leaning forward, noticing my boots. “Combat?”
“Stilettos and ice don’t mix.”
He runs his fingertips down his beard, scratching. “Smart.”
“You need lotion.” I lift my chin toward him. “Skin gets too dry with this weather.”
“Lotion my beard?”
“Or some balm. I may have some at my place you could use. The wind is only going to get worse, and you’re only going to get itchier.”
“I can’t imagine that,” he says as his hand switches sides. His eyes close, and his lips part as he hits one spot. I’ve been there. Sometimes there’s nothing more satisfying than scratching an itch.
“Trust me. My skin is as dry as the Sahara by the time January rolls around.”
“I know nothing about this stuff,” he tells me.
But I already knew that. We haven’t touched much, but the few times our hands have brushed, his were dry. Not his hands, but his knuckles. And with all the tattooing, I know he is washing his hands dozens of times every single day, and that only makes things worse.
“Are you doing okay?” he asks when I lean over the bar in front of him, letting my back take a break and stretch.
“I’m great. Why?”
His gaze moves across my face, studying me in a way that makes me squirm. “You’re great?”
“Don’t I look great?” I’m being argumentative. I know I am, but I’m not breakable or ready to lose my marbles because I received flowers from the jackass.
“You look better than great.”
“Good man,” I praise him.
“Should we bring home a pizza tonight?” he asks me.
My belly flips a little. Home. The way those words slid off his tongue sounds like we live together, and we’ve had this conversation all the time.
“Pizza would be great. You think you can stay awake for the entire movie this time?” I smirk at him, loving that I’m able to tease him without him getting all bent out of shape.
“Did you make it much further than me?”
“I watched the whole thing,” I lie.
He stares at me, and I know he wants to call me on my bullshit. I can see it in his eyes. Did I watch the whole movie? Absolutely not. Would I admit that I fell asleep shortly after him? Also a big no.
“I’ll stay awake tonight.”
“We’ll see. You want to make a bet?”
Hunter rubs his hands together. “Are you talking money?”
“Foot rubs,” I tell him, because I don’t need any more money, but foot rubs are always appreciated. When I get off work after being on my feet for hours, there’s nothing more delicious than someone rubbing the soreness away.
“I’m down with that,” he says with a nod as his lips curve into a smile and his blue eyes sparkle.
“I could stay up all night if it means someone will rub my feet.”
“Baby, I’ll rub your feet without you having to lose a bet.”
My eyebrows rise at his admission. “Did I tell you that I like you?” I tease, but man, I like him like him, and the more I get to know him and the more time I spend with him, the deeper I seem to be falling.
“Burger,” Mason says, breaking our playful banter and the moment by weaseling his way between me and the bar. He looks at Hunter and then me as he sets down the to-go bag on the bar. “Was I interrupting something?”
“Aren’t you always?” I ask.
The man has always had a knack for killing moments since he was a little boy. It’s as if he was born with the gift of mood-killing and hasn’t been able to grow out of it. I’m not sure if it’s because he doesn’t pay attention to anyone except himself or he just doesn’t care.
“I’ll be back after closing to get you,” Hunter says, grabbing the bag with his burger inside.
“I’ll be waiting for that foot rub,” I tell him with a wink before he stalks out of the bar, his bag in hand.
“Ick,” Mason mumbles. “That’s gross.”
“You better start liking feet if you want a wife. There’s nothing better than having a man rub my feet.”
“I don’t mind feet, but your feet are…” His voice trails off as he grimaces.
I hip check him so hard his body jolts. “You’re a jerk. I have pretty feet.”
“They look like mine,” he says, and my eyes widen.
“I don’t have your ugly claws.”
“You do,” he says and glances down. “Yours are just painted.”
Cousins suck sometimes, and I wouldn’t trade him for the world, but there is no way in hell I have his toes or feet.