I feel my face flush. “Sounds like that isn’t such a bad thing,” I mumble.
She cackles and smacks my upper arm. “This one’s got spitfire. I like her.” She leads us through a room packed with tables to a small two-top table right by the fryer. “Best I can do, so suck it up.”
“This is fine,” I assure her. “We appreciate you fitting us in.”
Aunt Sylvia moves away back to the register, and we sit down. Due to the location of the table, we’re forced to be right beside each other, since the table is pressed in between the building wall and the half-wall of the fryer area.
A teenaged waitress brings us waters, and I take a deep gulp as I try to pretend I’m not totally nervous about being out with him.
I can’t believe I’m here with him. That we’re on what is definitely looking like a legitimate date, something he said he doesn’t do. So why me? I can’t help but ponder it as we sit in silence for a minute, then two.
I shift in my seat. “So you got today off work, then? Sounds like you never leave the bar.”
Smith groans and reaches for his water. I see the snake tattoo peeking out from his sleeve, wrapping around his forearm. “Aunt Sylvia exaggerates. Kind of.”
“Is she really your aunt?” I’m not sure if that’s a rude question to ask or not, and my cheeks get a little warm.
“Sure is. My granddad married her and brought her here from Key West. She’s his second wife after his first passed away young. But she hates being called Grandma, so she makes me and my brothers call her Aunt.” His face softens and he seems different, less edgy, as he talks about her. “After my dad died, she got us through the hard time.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” I say, a heaviness in my chest at the thought of his sorrow, losing a parent at such a young age. “I can’t imagine how difficult that had to be for you. Your mother must have been devastated.”
The softness fled his face until the hard lines returned. “I wouldn’t know. She ran out on us when I was five. Dad raised us, and then he had an unexpected heart attack and passed a few years ago.”
My heart lurches, and I realize this probably explains a lot about Smith and why he is the way he is. He’s the oldest brother, that much I can tell. I bet he had to step in and be a parent to two teens when he was barely an adult himself. “So…how did you come to own the bar?”
“It was Dad’s. He always wanted to run a bar. Be that place where the regular locals loved to come.” He gives a wry smile. “Unfortunately, as you’ve seen, the locals that frequent our spot tend to be on the rowdy side.”
I laugh and nod. “Ummm…yeah, I did notice that.”
“We’ve got an unfortunate reputation and some people are afraid to even try us out.”
“It probably doesn’t help that you send new customers to the competition,” I reply, watching to see if he gets it.
His face is momentarily blank and then he breaks into a grin. “You’re never going to let me live down the fact that I was rude to you that first night, are you?”
“Definitely not,” I say, trying not to smile too widely. My heart squeezes in my chest, and I hate the fact that I’m enjoying this time with him so much.
Aunt Sylvia arrives with two slices of key lime pie, golden and delicious on top of a thick graham cracker crust.
I didn’t think I was really hungry, but my mouth waters upon the sight. “Oh wow, these look so good,” I tell her.
“Duh. Just wait until you eat it.” She saunters away.
“I see where you get your confidence from,” I say.
That makes Smith laugh. The earlier tension from his eyes vanishes, and he gives her an affectionate look. “She’s nuts, but we love her.”
I dig into my pie and take my first bite. And die of pleasure. Holy hell, it’s creamy and tart and exquisite. I can’t help but moan as I lick the last bits off the fork. I close my eyes for a second and just taste, savor. “Okay, she has a right to be arrogant. This is incredible. I would marry her just to have her make this pie…” As I open my eyes, my words drawl off, because Smith is looking at me like he wants to spread my thighs and eat me the same way.
My pussy clenches in a tight spasm.
“You have no idea how sexy you are with how you enjoy things,” he says in a low rumble. The intensity pouring from his eyes almost overwhelms me. A room full of people, but I almost get the feeling that if I told him I wanted to have sex, he’d brush everything off the table and prop me up there and fuck me. In front of everyone.
Something about that thought makes my clit throb harder. I try to sit still in my seat and not shift, not give away my arousal. I’m not doing anything else sexual with this man, I chant to myself. I can’t risk him running off on me again like that. My pride won’t take it. Pie is fine. Pie is safe.