Cigar, huh? I’ve never been with a guy who smokes cigars. Not that I’ve been with Lachlan either, though I have to admit, Linden’s words are still floating around in my head. Should I really make a move? I mean…that’s nothing new to me. If I want a guy and he’s not coming up to me, then I’ll go up to him. I have no shame.
But with Lachlan…yeah, I do have shame. And I don’t want to do my same old song and dance (again) because he’s worth so much more than that. But what else can I say, other than, “Hey, so I think you’re really hot. Wanna screw?” That just wouldn’t cut it. It’s not enough.
“I’m hungry,” Ava complains, while I sip my wine and think it all over.
Bram pats her legs as they rest on his shoulders. “You just ate, you little munchkin. Where are you putting all that food?”
“I want tacos,” she says, pointing to a pair of dancing hippies holding tacos and beer.
I can tell Nicola is trying to stay strong, but she caves in because she wants tacos too. I mean, tacos. Who doesn’t? While everyone turns to make their way to one of the fifty million taco stands lined up around the fence, Steph nudges me gently and nods her head to the gate.
I turn around and see Lachlan sauntering toward us. Even the way he walks is distinctive and one hundred percent man, almost like a guy in a Western, all shoulders and swagger, someone who’s ready to fight at a moment’s notice. It’s intimidating and intense, and it makes me freeze right where I am. I want to play it cool and look away, but I can’t.
He’s dressed in hiking boots, green cargo pants, and a grey, long-sleeved Henley shirt that clings to his every muscle. I haven’t seen him for a week and his beard has grown in more, the same deep brown as his hair. Combined with those ever present lines on his forehead, darting eyes, and permafrown, he looks like a mountain man about to wrestle some bears.
Yeah. Whatever plan of attack I had just got thrown out the window. I’ll be lucky if I can talk to him in anything other than gibberish.
“Hey,” he says when he approaches. He says this to both of us, though when he looks at me, that crease between his eyes deepens.
“Hey,” Steph says. “Glad you came! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to make sure Linden orders me extra guacamole.” She takes off running toward the taco stands, leaving the two of us alone. Real smooth, Stephanie.
But Lachlan doesn’t seem to notice. He’s staring intently at me, hands shoved in his pockets. He smells like cigar and musk.
“I saw the article,” he says.
I bite my lip for a moment and nod. “Yeah. Did you like it?”
He seems confused by that. “Of course I did,” he says in his thick brogue. “But why did it say someone else wrote it?”
I sigh and give him an exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know. My editor thought it would be better if a real writer was accredited.”
“And that’s who Neil is?” His voice is oh so coarse, like he’s about to find Neil and punch his lights out.
“I work with him,” I explain, trying not to seem affected by it all. “He edited it. And I guess my name on the byline would have lowered credibility or something. I don’t know. But if that’s the case, it’s better that it happened this way. I don’t want to take away from what you guys are doing.”
He makes a noise of agreement, nodding his head quickly, though his expression doesn’t relax and his body is still tense. “I think it would have been better if it were truthful. I didn’t do the interview with some cunt named Neil.” His voice lowers. “I did it with you. You should have gotten all the credit.”
My heart is fluttering. I don’t know if it’s because he’s getting mad that I wasn’t rightfully attributed or it’s that his eyes won’t quite look away from mine. I can feel his anger, his frustration. For me.
“I know,” I say slowly. “But there’s not much I can do.”